MCSO Jeep Posse |
Dear Gene, I am the daughter of Bob Dearing's girlfriend, Winnie. She had written down some thoughts about Bob that she wanted to share, and I am forwarding them on to you. I hope you can put them on the web page. Thanks, Anne Stillman
WINNIE'S REFLECTIONS
When I think about Bob, I always think of his hands. They were beautiful hands and the way he used them, is the story of his life. I'm sure they were chubby little baby hands when he was four years old, gathering rose petals to make rose beads for "Grandma" in Nebraska. He reached into the brush and almost grabbed a snake. It scared the bejeebers out of little Bobby. He screamed bloody murder, his bucket went flying, and he never cared for the critters for the rest of his life. In his teen years, Bob's young eager hands delivered newspapers and raised bunny rabbits. He had agile hands that built a complete running car with parts he retrieved from the river. He proudly told of that vehicle which only cost him 24 cents. He had to purchase the points. The grown up Bob had large hands-made for lifting beams and driving nails into the 45 houses he built from the ground up-not to mention the assorted tree houses, storage sheds, gazeboes, and what not. |
He had strong hands, which guided his beloved Jeep over all sorts of rough terrain on countless search and rescue missions. That Jeep posse was probably the highlight of his life. His hands were warm hands. He owned a small dairy at one point in his life, and he claimed those cows loved him for the way he gently milked them on those bitter cold Idaho mornings.Bob's hands were gentle. When he picked apples, he knew how to carefully leave the stems just so, for packaging. He fed the pigeons, and he had a knack for treating little animals in distress. Once he went hunting and came home with nothing but a wounded duck, which he nursed back to health. His hands were always busy. In his leisure hours he would write, and we're all familiar with the terse verse and witty recollections he produced. In his twilight years Bob's dexterous hands began to create unique clocks. Seems like he made a million of those original timepieces, which delighted folks from New Hampshire to Hawaii. He sold some, but if his customers were short of cash, he'd just give them a clock anyway. Bob had very loving hands. Those were the hands that caressed the people he loved. They hugged his two precious sons and patted the heads of the grandkids. The last time I saw Bob, his hands were trembling. He pointed to a face on the wall, which seemed to be beckoning. It was a face made visible only to him. He described her as a pretty young woman with white clothing, curly hair, and tears running down her cheeks. He became nervous, and I tried to comfort him. It was the last chance I had to hold those beautiful hands. |