Leo Adler died more than 31 years ago but the weight of his legacy can still test the solidity of Baker City’s biggest stage.

That legacy jostled for space Wednesday evening, May 28, in the Baker High School auditorium.

Seniors, nine days from graduation, stood as their names were called to accept their college scholarship from the Leo Adler Foundation.

They stood close, shoulders rubbing, but the line of recipients sprawled across the whole width of the stage long before Carrie Folkman, chair of the Leo Adler Foundation committee, had finished reading the names.

There was a great deal of shuffling as two other committee members, Mark Johnson and Tabor Clarke, handed each senior a certificate.

Folkman suggested the taller students swap places in the front row with a shorter classmate.

It was the sort of slightly chaotic scene, brightened by many smiles, so common when a large number of people gather for a scripted ceremony.

But there is nothing small about Leo Adler’s lingering influence on the community he loved so well.

Indeed, the figures that Folkman recited sounded more like the report of a prestigious university’s endowment than a scholarship fund for a modestly sized town in a rather remote part of Oregon.

I met Leo only once, not long before his death on Nov. 2, 1993, at age 98.

As Folkman told the crowd in the auditorium Wednesday, Leo had for more than half a century been known as “Mr. Baker,” a moniker that reflected both his tireless promotion of his hometown as well as his financial contributions to it from the proceeds of the multimillion-dollar magazine distribution business he operated from Baker City.

Leo’s particular affinity for the Baker City Fire Department was well known. He had bought multiple ambulances and other equipment for the department.

But I still recall the sense of surprise, even shock, in the community when the extent of Leo’s philanthropy was revealed.

The amount he bequeathed — $20 million —  seemed a fantastical sum.

We learned that not only would Leo’s money continue to support the fire department and a host of other local groups and projects, but he had also established a scholarship fund for graduates of high schools in Baker County and Powder Valley High School in North Powder.

Thanks to the minor miracle of interest income, that $20 million gift has long since bestowed far greater riches on Leo’s beloved town and on students, many of whom were born long after Leo was gone.

The Baker seniors who crowded the stage Wednesday — more than 40 of them — were the 30th bunch of Bulldogs to receive Adler scholarships.

Over those three decades, the Leo Adler Foundation has awarded more than 10,200 scholarships totaling about $26 million.

That’s in addition to more than 1,500 community grants exceeding $14 million.

To put it another way, Leo’s $20 million gift has been more than doubled.

Yet no numbers, no matter how impressive, can completely capture the scope of what Leo has accomplished.

As I watched the students stand to accept their awards, including my daughter, Olivia, I thought about how many young lives Leo has enriched in ways that mere dollars, necessary though they are, never can do.

How many people have earned degrees they could not otherwise have afforded but for Leo’s scholarships, which can be renewed for up to five years?

How many graduates, who left with their diploma but without a firm idea about their future, found their calling because Leo’s gift made it possible?

And then how many people — family, friends, co-workers, patients, clients — benefited in turn?

The questions can’t be answered.

But it is gratifying to ponder the matter, to plump the depths of a man’s love for a place and its people.

Leo lived a longer life than most of us will.

We are all ephemeral.

But we all have the ability, with our actions, to ensure that our influence persists after we have gone to the grave.

As I listened to Folkman read the names I was reminded, as I am whenever I am confronted by the sheer scale of Leo Adler’s generosity, how immensely fortunate we are to live in the place that he cherished.

And I marveled that, even after those smooth, beaming faces on the stage are creased with wrinkles, even after their own children and grandchildren have perhaps stood in the same spot, Leo’s legacy will persist, something as close to timeless as anything can be in a world that changes at a dizzying pace.

Jayson Jacoby is the editor of the Baker City Herald. Contact him at 541-518-2088 or jayson.jacoby @bakercityherald.com.