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Losing a parent is always difficult, no matter whether the loss was expected or not.  A son losing his dad cuts deep.  How that loss is dealt with can ease the pain.

In Clarendon, Texas on October 6th of this year Robert Boehm heard the Mormon Tabernacle Choir tuning up and, before he knew it, was feeling the warm embrace of Jesus.  Among the many tasks suddenly facing his son, Charles, was the task of writing his father’s obituary. How do you sum up a man’s life in a few paragraphs?

I remember when my own father passed, the National Cemetery contacted me and said I needed to pick the six words that defined my dad that would be carved in his marble headstone.  I’m not sure if boiling it all down to six words was easier than being afforded the luxury of several paragraphs or not.  But I know that Charles did a damn good job.  One that I’ll bet would have made his father proud.  The route he took was not the conventional one, which is what made it so darn good.

“Robert Adolph Boehm, in accordance with his lifelong dedication to his own personal brand of decorum, muttered his last unintelligible and likely unnecessary curse on October 6, 2024, shortly before tripping backward over ‘some stupid bleeping thing’ and hitting his head on the floor,” the obituary started off.

Charles noted that his father was a truck driver, born in the town of Winters in 1950,  “after which God immediately and thankfully broke the mold and attempted to cover up the evidence.”  He noted that his father knocked up his mother three times between the late 60s and early 70s and intimated that it might have had something to do with his father wanting to keep from going to serve in Vietnam.  That may have been speculation.  Or, Charles may have known his dad pretty damn well.

Having successfully avoided the Asian conflict, Robert took up firearms as a hobby rather than an avocation.  As a result, Charles added, his father “managed to blow not one, but two holes in the dash of his own car on two separate occasions.” 

His expertise with firearms was outdone only by his flair for putting together his wardrobe.  Robert would go “about town wearing the latest trend in homemade leather moccasins, a wide collection of unconventional hats, and boldly mismatched shirts and pants.”

Charles was also enamored with his father’s harmonica collection.  These ‘musical instruments’ were not kept for his own pleasure, “but to prompt his beloved dogs to howl continuously at odd hours of the night to entertain his many neighbors, and occasionally to give to his many, many, many grandchildren and great-grandchildren to play loudly during long road trips with their parents.”

Charles noted in his father’s obituary that his mother, Diane, had passed in February of this year.  He spoke in a much different tone when discussing his mother.  “She was a beloved wife, mother, sister, and grandmother who touched the lives of those around her with her unwavering love and quiet strength.”

He did go on to speculate that perhaps Diane’s death might have been an act of kindness shown from above so that she could finally receive “some well-earned peace and quiet. Without Dianne to gleefully entertain, Robert shifted his creative focus to the entertainment of you, the fine townspeople of Clarendon, Texas.”

Robert Boehm was laid to rest in Amarillo on Monday, October 14th.  Charles said that a tip jar would be available at the front of the funeral home, but flowers were okay, too.  “We have all done our best to enjoy/weather Robert’s antics up to this point, but he is God’s problem now,” he said.

Nothing written or said about the dearly departed Robert Boehm mentioned that he ever had a Vortec-Powered 1946 Ford F-1 with a 1961 Harley-Davidson Super 10 tied down in the bed.  But, when you read the obituary and then see the Bring a Trailer listing of exactly that combination, it seems like it could be the second “match made in heaven” Robert could have had.  The first one being Diane, who looks like she would have enjoyed riding shotgun in the well patina’d cab.

But then, based on the photo of Robert and Diane and the obituary crafted by their son, my guess is that Diane would have enjoyed riding shotgun next to Robert in just about any damn thing he drove home.

Thanks, Charles, for giving us the unvarnished version of your father’s life.  Rest in peace, Robert. You’ll be missed.

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