Dan Goodrich has a warm smile and a positive attitude.  

Goodrich worked as a contract administrator for timber sales with the Forest Service, mainly in Libby. At logging sites on the Kootenai Forest, he was the eyes for the contracting officer. 

“I’d go out and their stumps are supposed to be X high. I check stumps, check what they’re cutting, if they're going out of bounds, anything that wasn’t in the contract,” he said. “Then, I’d have to tell a contracting officer, and they would fix it.” 

He also spent two summers as a fire lookout. 

“Some people can't stand it because you're basically alone, but I liked it,” he said. “I worked on two lookouts. One was on the Idaho, Montana border, so I cooked and ate breakfast in Idaho and slept in Montana.” 

A Navy veteran who now calls Whitefish home, Goodrich has a relaxed manner, his smile is easy, and he speaks like a philosopher with an unusually generous amount of joie de vivre.  

The 93-year-old was born in Fort Peck, Montana, where his dad worked on the dam. As a child, he moved with his family to Darby, Missoula, and Fishkill, New York, where his dad had a hand in building the New York aqueduct. 

During his first school year in Fishkill, he made an impression on his teacher, a young woman who thought Goodrich was a genius because, in part, he could lead the other students in art class. 

“I bossed the kindergarten group around,” he said. “At that time, the Second World War was starting, and so I started making war machines, cannons and stuff. I designed and built an aircraft carrier out of clay and used up all her clay. 

“Like I said, she thought I was a genius. My mother knew different,” he said with a laugh. “But I had a good time. Come to think of it, I've had a good time all my life.” 

Some of the keys to his good times are laughing, being happy and not worrying about things he can’t change. When he was 12 years old, he figured out that if he couldn’t change something, he needed to let it be. 

“Before that, I went through a black and white stage. It was or it wasn't. There was no gray,” Goodrich said solemnly before adding with a laugh, “Then I found out it's all gray.”

Goodrich continued to be observant throughout his career.

“I found out that when I'm dealing with people out there, timber sale contracts, thinning contracts, any contract — you deal with people, problems show up,” he said. “They always do.”

He said after about six years on the job, he had run into every possible problem. He was then able to maneuver in such a way as to avoid conflicts. Goodrich also developed the ability to know when someone involved in a business dealing wasn’t honest.

"I could look at a person while I'm talking to them, and if they're lying, I could tell it,” he said. “Their shoulders come up, their head goes down a little bit, and off to the side when they're trying to hoodwink you.”

A student of human behavior, Goodrich is also handy with tools and has built boxes, multiple dressers and floor lamps along with a myriad of other items in his wood shop. He’s an accomplished woodworker with an affinity for trees.

A Forest Service biologist once told him that trees communicate with one another via chemical messages sent through the air and the roots. He relayed that story with reverence and wonder, and the wood pieces in the room took on an elevated feel. 

Goodrich’s wife was a “wonderful woman,” with whom he had three children. His daughter lives nearby and visits often. One of his sons lives in Missoula and the other is in Nevada. 

After a discussion that covered a range of topics from a variety of disciplines, a couple slightly shorter fingers on his left hand became the focus. 

“Is that from a woodworking accident?” I asked gingerly, with a nod toward his hand. 

“Yep. A 10-inch table saw,” he said, looking at his two fingers that are slightly shorter than the rest. 

“What was your first thought when that happened?” I asked.

“First thought was, ‘Oh, s***,’” he said with his trademark sparkling laugh.