Lisa Loucks-Christenson's Story on the Gum Man for Super Hay Magazine

Lisa Loucks-Christenson Archives

Human Interest Story

Originally Published in Super Hay Magazine in the early 2000s.

The Gum Man, Dale Stockdale, poses for a photo with over 500 packs of gum he hands out as a gift to everyone he meets. Crowned the King of Gum by Lisa Loucks-Christenson during a photo shoot, Dale's smile captures not only his spirit, but shares his spirit of giving.

Sticks and Stones… The Gum Man Knows

By Lisa Loucks Christenson

An old nursery rhyme comes to mind when I hear the name ‘The Gum Man.’ It goes, “… sticks and stones may break my bones, but names will never hurt me.” According to Dale Stockdale of Grand Meadow, MN, the name stuck to him after he handed out the first of many thousands of sticks of gum, and he doesn’t mind one bit.
I hadn’t heard from the Gum Man for a while, so I gave him a call.
“Hello,” a man answered.
“Hi Dale, do you know who this is?” I asked.
“The voice sounds familiar, but I can’t quite think of who you are,” he answered.
“Lisa, it’s Lisa from Rochester,” I said.
I didn’t need to be in the Stockdale living room of their quaint farm home to know a wide smile graced his face. Dale’s contagious smile came right through the phone, the distance, and the memories I have of him.
“Dale, how many packs of gum do you have in your pocket right now?” I asked.
Quick to know the answer, he said, “Oh, I have six or seven packs on one side of my jacket, and I stuck a bag of candy in the pocket on the other side.”
“Dale, do you remember how it all got started? Why did you start handing out gum? I asked.
“I just like doing it. I like giving it out.”
“Dale, I remember the last time we talked, you were excited because you found a deal for Beemans, Black Jack, Clove, and Teaberry gum.
“Yes, I kept those packs for special customers,” he replied. “But I can’t find that sort of gum anymore. I used to buy them up at Hunt’s Drug, in Rochester, but nobody carries them anymore.”
I could hear the disappointment in his voice. He felt as if he was disappointing others by not carrying their favorite gum.
“So, how many varieties are you stocked up with and currently carrying?”
“Well there’s: Big Red, Cinna-Burst, a couple other cinnamon kinds, and then, Wrigley’s, Double mint, and Juicy Fruit I guess.”
One would think, wow, that’s really generous, but to further show how considerate Dale is, if you asked him to dig deeper into the jacket, you’d find he also carries a special stash of Carefree for customers who can’t have sugar and Freedent for customers with dentures.
“Dale, I know you were spending about five hundred a year buying up gum to give away. Are you still spending that much every year?”
“Pretty close. Probably three hundred fifty or four hundred dollars. We used to find good deals, but now it costs a buck for five packs.”
I heard a clicking sound and another familiar voice came on the line.
“Hi Elaine, its Lisa. Good to hear your voice.”
Dale hung up, and I chatted with Elaine. I learned a long time ago that behind every great man or woman stands a supporter in the shadows. I was glad she picked up, so I could hear her side of the Gum Man story.
“So how is Dale really, Elaine? I asked.
“Oh,” she paused,“ not so good. We got him out of the nursing home on April 1 or so last year. He gets around in his walker, but has a hard time getting in and out of the car, or into the shower. Last week he fell out of bed face down, with his hands underneath him. He kept calling out ‘Ma.’ But I couldn’t get him up, so I called the neighbors at three-thirty in the morning, and they came right up and got him into the chair. They are such good kids.”
“I remember how much he loved to play cards. Does he still get to play cards?”
“Yes, he gets around to Chester, and Lime Springs, and then the church, and we go to the senior citizen center on Thursdays.”
“Does he still hand out a lot of gum?”
“Not as much as he used to, but he’s always there after church spreading it out at the end of the long table waiting for the kids, or who ever wants a piece.”
“Tell me a story or just a couple memories you have of him, will you?”
She stopped for a moment and then began, “Once, a mother saw kids just going up and taking the gum and candy and not even thanking him. She said, ‘If they can’t thank him, they shouldn’t be taking.’”
“Another time, a little boy, Luke Johnson, got up in front of the whole congregation of the church, walked in front of the Pastor and said, “Thanks Dale!” He was only three or four, but he wanted to make sure Dale knew he was thankful. I think that was one of my favorites!”
“Then, there was the day Dale didn’t make it to church, and I saw a little boy crying, throwing a fit, and refusing to go home until he saw the Gum Man.”
“Do you ever hand out gum?” I asked Elaine.
“No, if he’s not there, I don’t do it. I don’t want to get started with that. It’s too much for me.”
“Elaine, do you remember how the gum thing got started? Who got the first stick?”
“Oh, I guess it was probably back in sixty-three. Our daughter Juliene had a friend, Kim Hodson. Of course, she’s grown now and married, but Dale gave her a stick of gum one day after Sunday school. Then, the next week, a few kids said, ‘Hey, there’s Juliene’s dad, he gives out gum!’ I guess that’s how it all started. Now, after forty years, Dale still hands out gum, but his technique has changed. Now he spreads it out at the end of the long table while waiting for the kids to come.”
For over nine years, Dale drove patients to Rochester, MN, for their appointments at Mayo Clinic, or St. Mary’s, or Methodist. Whether it was while he waited for his riders to finish their appointments, or during times he spent in the hospital while he was being treated for his own cancer, or his knee surgery, one thing remained constant: he would hand out gum to all the nurses, the kids, and anyone who shared a smile.
A couple times he was told not to do it, but he did it anyway. Goodness always prevailed. It was only a few years ago Dale drove and now, his age has slowly gotten the best of him and reduced his mobility.
Most days he watches TV and a couple times a week he goes to play cards, or he goes to the senior citizen's center. His hearing is bad, but not his spirit. Sometimes it’s in the unspoken words where the meaning rings clear, and that’s truly the way of Dale.
In July, Dale will celebrate his eighty-seventh birthday, and when he looks back, almost half of that time was spent handing out gum. Once, he showed me his stash in the cupboards of his farm home. Boxes stacked upon boxes in every color, and every variety. That was when I said, “Dale, I want to take a picture of you with all that gum.”
So, a week later, he arrived in my studio with 542 packages of gum. We shot a few rolls of film, but nothing captured his spirit — until I placed the crown on his head. His smile widened like never before when I crowned him King of the Gum. I ran off hundreds of photo cards that he handed out with a stick of gum to strangers, friends, and family. His picture ran in many of the local newspapers. Soon, everyone had heard of The Gum Man.
Sometimes, I wonder where these people are now? How many lives did he touch? How many did he change just by being there? What happened to the ones who smirked behind his back and called him names when he showed up and started handing out gum? How many of those stone hearts did he grind down with his constant smile, giving, and presence?
A good deed starts with a small gesture, a small gift, a small token. Dale has a flock of people larger than any shepherd. He gives from his heart, and he believes what he gives others is his duty. He watches over those who need encouragement, those in need, and he plants seeds. Dale is destined to become a legend.
I heard a click on the line, I knew Dale had returned to the conversation.
“When are you coming up for some of my spicy homemade spaghetti, Dale?”
“Oh, I don’t know,” he answered. “I can’t drive at night anymore.”
“Then I’ll have to bring it down,” I said.
I finished up our interview and thanked him and Elaine. What wonderful people to know. Then I heard Dale say, “I’m still here. I love you.”
“I love you too Dale, I’ll see you soon!”
During our call Elaine, was busy trimming the borders of a quilt she was making for her great-granddaughter.
“I draw out all my patterns; this one has a hen and chicks on it. After all these quilts, I’m running out of ideas,” she mused.
On September 1, 2002, Dale and Elaine will celebrate their 65th wedding anniversary.
Two people who created their family values based on what they learned from the forty years of farming hay, corn, beans, and raising cattle, pigs, and chickens. Four children, sixteen grandchildren, and thirty-six great-grandchildren is what love built.
“What’s it like being together that long, sharing that many memories?”
Elaine paused for a moment and then answered, “It’s been a good life. A busy one, but a good life, and our kids…well, they still keep us busy.”
As Elaine and I finished our conversation, we got on the subject of calling cards and how they didn’t work with her rotary phone.
“I get all the way to the last number, and it hangs up on me.”
“Don’t you have touch-tone available in your area?”
“I guess we do, but we’ve had this phone since we built the house, in fifty-six or fifty-seven.” She remained quiet for a moment, and then added, “I guess it’s been here quite awhile.”
Whenever I hear the phrase, “They don’t make them like they used to,” two things will pop into my head. The generosity of a man, a friend to all, the famous “Gum Man,” and his old phone still connecting lives after almost a half century.

They don’t make them like they used to, because good things are built slowly, steadily. No one has time anymore. “Slow and steady wins the race.” In this lifetime, the winner is the one sharing his gum, and the one who holds his hand.

The End

First Published in Super Hay Magazine (2003)