Of all the John Wayne movies in which he played cowboys and war heroes, the one that repeatedly stands out was one of his favorites because he was cast in neither role.

The actor who was in real life an Irish-American named Marian Michael Morrison played the lead in “The Quiet Man,” the story of an Irish-American who was a prolific boxer tormented by the fact that a man he once fought in the ring died as a result of the match.

Logansport’s own version of the Irish-American quiet man was Leo Cahalan. I don’t know that he ever boxed, but he did many things in a life that neared 92 years before his passing on Friday.

Few people would go completely through college once, start a career and then go back to college and complete a second degree in a completely unrelated discipline. Leo did. After receiving a physical education degree from the University of Iowa, he went back to Iowa State University to become a veterinarian.

Leo’s version of Maureen O’Hara in the movie that was his life remains Betty, who bore him five children. With so many young people under one roof, it had to be difficult for Leo to get a word in edgewise at times. For the quiet man he was, it might have been frustrating. But he was proof that quiet men can be up to good things.

Leo was a Boy Scout leader for Troop 227. That may not sound like much, but on a summer evening a few years ago in the old St. Vincent de Paul Elementary Auditorium where troop members past and present were gathered. There standing in a group were many of the Eagle Scouts who had been produced in his troop, and it was an august group of young and older men who could have done many things throughout the community that evening. Somehow, “Doc” persuaded and encouraged them in his own quiet way to pursue something few young men do.

Part of his quiet nature was his love of nature, and that was never more apparent than when he led a wildflower hike through Cass County’s France Park. While many visitors think of that park along the Wabash River as a place with an old stone quarry and camping, Doc, who served on the Cass County Parks and Recreation Board, thought of it for what it really is — one of the few places in the surrounding area where development never surpassed the natural beauty of what this part of the world was like when Native Americans were the only residents.

Doc was a natural choice for The Book of Golden Deeds Award presented by the Logansport Evening Exchange Club. But he humbly admitted he wasn’t much for making speeches.

For a quiet man, he could raise his voice now and then. Once when an errant Frisbee left his property and sailed into a pasture next to a bull, Doc stared down the bull and shooed him away. The bull ran. The Frisbee was saved.

As a father of five, he knew it was a good idea to hold on to a station wagon as long as possible. For many years, that practice came in handy for the family’s Christmas caroling gig as we referred to it. Leo was the flagship for young and old alike who made it to as many as 40 stops in one night, including nursing homes, the hospital and homes where shut-ins turned a light on and left some cookies for the carolers. I saw him blush in my own house once when he was kissed under the mistletoe while caroling.

My favorite Christmas memory of him was a mellow moment in his home living room. Late at night after caroling one year, he quietly removed a mouth harp from his pocket and began playing Christmas carols. I never knew he had it in him.

Granted, Leo was a fan loyal to sports teams in this state, but he was forever a native Iowan. He was proud when the Iowa Hawkeyes found their way to the Rose Bowl, but disappointed when the trips never produced a champion. A few years ago when Doc was in his 80s, I took him to a Purdue-Iowa football game in West Lafayette. He was the only Iowa fan in our section, and he sat quietly as adults cheered against his team, gently teasing him from time to time on a chilly night when Iowa, a top 20 team, was going to be upset. When the Hawkeyes finally scored a touchdown, he stood up and doffed his cap as if to say, “Ladies and gentlemen, I give you the Iowa Hawkeyes.” A woman sitting behind us said, “I love him.”

And many people did in quiet ways.

His signature saying was something Irish-esque I’ll never forget, “Oh great day.” If the news was horrible or wonderful, Leo could weigh in with the same comment which was his own exclamation point.

It’s easy to take the people who give us many great days for granted sometimes. But the things we can never take for granted are the quiet memories and legacies they gave us which we never give up.

• Dave Kitchell teaches journalism at Ball State University. He can be reached through the newspaper at ptnews@pharostribune.com