David Palmer, 1927-2008

Come and sit by my side, if you love me
Do not hasten to bid me adieu
Just remember the Red River Valley
And the cowboy who loved you so true



On behalf of myself and the David Palmer family, I would like to welcome each of you to this celebration, and to thank you all for the support and compassion you’ve directed towards us. It is truly appreciated.

Dad had a plethora of positives. Despite not being a Boy Scout, he was still trustworthy, loyal, helpful, friendly, yada, yada, yada. He was a staunch believer in and supporter of the United States Constitution, especially the Third Amendment, and would never, ever, involuntarily quarter soldiers. He was active and involved in his career, but always made time to advance the Profession through his work with various professional societies. He was a respected Professional Agricultural Engineer, whose primary obligation, like all engineers, was to the health, safety, and welfare of the People. This is an obligation he took very seriously.

He never really retired, just redirected his efforts from work, to professional associations, to volunteer efforts – often rising to top leadership positions. He wasn’t one to hang with the buds and choke down a couple of 40’s. He may not have seen the benefit to that.

He was true to the Rotarian motto long before he was involved in the Rotary. He was a poster child for Service Above Self.

I guess he did have one of bad trait. Like many engineers, Dad was a sorter and a filer of every scrap and tidbit and, mostly, a stacker of said scraps and tidbits, using every square inch of horizontal space to pile some papers about something or another. Many of you have seen the mess of his desk at their Evergreen house, where only the need to maintain the space as a guest bedroom kept the piles of paper below three tonnes.

Prior to that, the piles were in Joel’s old bedroom at the Regent Park place, packed full to overflowing, including the closet. He had moved up there from the family room, when his overstuffed alcove was absconded for use as a bar. [Which, by the way, he only got around to building after we kids had turned 21 and moved out of the house. For many years, that bar was used to pleasantly celebrate the daily happy hour.]

Before that, he piled his many piles downstairs in the furnace room, until fears of radon moved him upstairs. In the furnace room, however, many piles remained piled until the day they sold that house.

In Ames, his home office desk was an interior door, with legs bolted to it to form a table. Of course, a table has no file drawers, so stacks and piles are the only way to organize.

He was a piler from before the day I knew that there was such a thing and, sadly, separating from this inherited trait has proved difficult.

Of the good points, there were many. These have been passed down, through heredity or upbringing, to each of his children. We each share all of these traits in different measure. He had a great love of the outdoors, which Joel tends to follow. His love of music and performance is shared strongly by Sarah. John (obviously) got the brains. I received his love of travel to backwater burgs and exotic shitholes.

We each received his tolerance for most everybody and every idea. We each received his logical way of thinking. And we each received his strong dislike of FDR and the policies of Socialism in this government.

We each have the upmost love and respect for his wife of 54 years.

What have you picked up from the man? Hopefully not his laugh, or hairline, or the way he always sneezed twice. Perhaps you picked up his ability to always have someone to talk to at a party? Perhaps it was his narcolepsy? Perhaps his love of trucks, tractors, canoeing, travel, limnology, rodeo, agriculture, politics, or the Cubs? Perhaps you have noticed an increased love of pie?

He was clever and appreciated wit. [John’s wit, perhaps. I preferred to amuse him with a broader brand of humor.]

Dad was a man of letters, both academically and literally. While going through his office this week, we discovered one of his early letters, written to his eventually esteemed younger brother, Joseph. He was ten years old when he wrote this.

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Josephene,

You are a P-I-G baby pig. You are a great big fraidy cat and cry baby. You are a great big old sow that just came out of a mud hole. You squeal [to] your ma and pa and everybody else.

Your chicken pox, David

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Little known factoid – you know that cold headache you get when you wolf down ice cream or suck down a Squishy too fast (I think kids today call it a brain freeze). Well, he never suffered from those.

The flowers fall, for all our yearning; weeds grow, regardless of our dislike.