Dave’s wife Jennifer and daughter Barb spent hours putting together photo displays of Bob (see below for a photo slideshow) that stood by the urn in the funeral home, and Mathew and Dave put together a program for the funeral service that included the words to the hymns that were sung and a profile/biography of Bob that Mathew wrote based on conversations with Edie, Bob’s brother Jack, the grandchildren and others (a PDF file of the program can be found here). The profile/biography can be found on the About page of this website, and more memories from Edie are collected in a post further down on this page.

(For more about the funeral click the word “more” below)

After Edie’s niece Anne Moulding played the flute, Edie’s brother Sam Lee gave the eulogy for Bob, and spoke movingly about Bob’s friendship, his love of fun and (to much laughter) his inadequacies as a farmer. Barb’s husband Steve read a Bible passage that he thought Bob would like, from **, then Steve and Barb’s son Christopher read a passage from **, then Dave and Jennifer’s oldest son Michael read a passage from Ruth, followed by a passage read by Mathew and Becky’s daughter Caitlin. Then Dave’s twins Jonathan and Laurel came up with Mathew and Becky’s youngest daughter Zoe and middle daugher Meaghan, and the grandchildren read a poem they wrote for their “Poppa.”

Following the poem, Bob’s brother Jack spoke about his big brother, his hero growing up, who saved him from playground bullies and taught him how to drive and allowed him to come on hikes through the Niagara Glen with Bob and his girlfriends, and how Bob was his inspiration to become a teacher. Then son Dave read a letter written by Bob and Edie’s longtime friend Canon Ron Davidson, after which Dave spoke with great emotion about how his father was a patient and wonderful friend and mentor. Following Dave, Mathew spoke about how he thought Bob was one of the most successful men he knew — not necessarily in monetary terms, but because of his friendship and love, and his qualities as a father, husband and friend.

After the service, many people gathered at the community centre in Pine Ridge, the housing development Bob and Edie planned to move into after selling the cottage, where the church women’s group and friends Doug and Mary Lou Roberts put on a reception, and everyone stood around and shared their stories and memories of Bob.

I quite liked Bob when I saw him. It was raining, and I had to sit on Bob’s knee in the car because there wasn’t room for me to sit anywhere else. He had a scar on his nose from a car accident he had in Syracuse, and had a lump on it — I tried to pick it off because I thought it was a raindrop. I thought he was wonderful — kind and gentle, and he treated me like a lady. He told me he loved me. That was the first time someone came out right from their heart and told me they loved me. It was one of those things where you just clicked. I was quite smitten, but he didn’t call, and didn’t call, so I started dating other people. Finally in September, I was doing a stint working, and a call came to call Bob Stone. I was so excited, I called him back and we played phone tag; then set up a date and from them on continued to date.

I never knew why he didn’t call me for a long, long time. Then his mother told me later that he was going out with someone else at the time. We always talked about getting married — I don’t remember a formal proposal but at one point he asked to marry me and I said yes. I told him I didn’t want a ring but he went to his dad and borrowed $500 to buy a ring at Birk’s. He worked at Akers and I was working at Toronto General, and we got married in 1957. We decided to do it as simply and cheaply as possible, so went to the Riverside Inn in Bradford for our reception, and picked our own lily of the valley from the graveyard on the edge of our property.

(For more of Edie’s memories, click the word “more” below)

We got the bridesmaids dresses from Simpson’s, and my father’s suit was also from there, and they were all supposed to be there on the Monday before the wedding. But by the Friday, the day before the wedding, there was no suit and no dresses, and I started to cry the night before. Then we found out the suit was in Brantford instead of Bradford, and the dresses were sitting at the train station for 10 days. For our honeymoon we rented a Chrysler, someone wired a rotten fish under the hood, someone put tin cans and a Mickey in the car. We had a room at the Oro Motel. Bob had a bottle of champagne, hit me like a ton of bricks, because I wound up drinking his as well as mine. The room was going around and round when we got into bed, so I had to put one foot on the floor, and Bob got a washcloth for my head. We stayed a few nights at Killarney Lodge and then Bob was graduating so we had to be back.

We had an apartment in Niagara and Bob started work on Monday. Mum and Dad had put food in our apartment. I got a job at the hospital, in the OR. Dave was born in 1959 and weighed six pounds and then we had to move to Chute de Passe, and I had to sterilize Dave’s bottles in a Dutch oven on a hot plate. It took us four to five days to get there and we lived in a trailer that had one bedroom and a kitchenette. I was excited because I had a baby, and it was my first — I would look at David and say he’s mine, he’s ours, the first thing I don’t have to share with my brothers and sisters. Then we moved into a house, and somebody gave us a bed, and someone else had an old couch from somewhere. We stayed into spring of 1960 and then I got pregnant with Becky. Bob drove two days, day and night, to get home for Christmas.

We left in April — Dave had measles — and then we moved back to Niagara Falls into a little two-bedroom house. We left Becky at home one day when we went to Welland for peaches, got about halfway there before we realized we didn’t have the baby. But she was a good baby — we left her with the neighbour when she was six months old when we went to California. When Bob got a job with Northern and we were moving to Toronto, I found out I was pregnant with Barb and burst into tears, but Bob said we would make it work. We came up in 1964 to the Lawson’s cottage in Muskoka and had wonderful times, so we looked at renting something ourselves; Laws said the people next door to them rented their cottage, the Hainsworths, but they had it on the market so we decided to buy it. It was $7,000 and they wanted $2,000 down. We went to my father and he didn’t think it was a good risk, and went to Aunt Bessie and went to Uncle Jack. Then we put down a thousand and Bob’s father lent us the other thousand, and the mortgage payment was $29 a month for the next 10 years.

He was everything to me — he was very loving, caring, somebody I could confide in, someone who helped direct me; he was a good friend, he loved fun, and had a sense of humour. He always had a respect for women and for me — my mother said to me when I was getting married that she knew I would be happy, because he was so kind to his mother she knew he would be kind to me.

He taught in Sunday school. He had lots of girlfriends — he had a charm, very affable, and he could really chat up the ladies. It served him very well when he became a sales rep.He was inclined to be an engineer — but he liked to build more than to take apart. He built balsawood and paper airplanes from World War Two, like the British Spitfire that hung from the ceiling of our bedroom which we shared. I looked up to him a lot — immensely. He played football in high school (quarterback), and was in the theatre too. At McMaster he was in the chorus of Mikado, the Gilbert & Sullivan operetta. He coached hockey for years too, Dave included.

My Dad was a great man with many outstanding traits that endeared us kids to him.
He was kind and gentle
Understanding and compassionate
Loving, nurturing and patient
But most of all, he was a teacher, who instilled morals and values in us kids by leading through example.

Dad was playful and quick to laugh and see the humour in things

Barb spilt milk on the floor in Dunsany and when Dad roared into the kitchen to properly chastise the offending party, Barb piped up “Don’t cry over spilt milk” and all was immediately forgotten and forgiven in tears of laughter over simple accident.

Dad could turn the mundane into special event. A simple task such as doing the dishes with Becky would turn into renditions of The Mikado or the Pirates of Penzance or any Gilbert and Sullivan musical and if they ran out of material it would be Monty Python skits like “We are the knights who say Ni!”

(for more of Dave’s eulogy, click the word “more” below)

Dad loved telling stories. One particular favourite that we had him repeat many times involved me as a young 2 or 3 year old in Niagara Falls on Heximer Avenue. Dad had an empty box and he put it on my head and walked me along the sidewalk (effectively blindfolded) down the path and into the local park, where he made a number of turns and then returned to the entrance to the park where we stopped. He asked: OK David, where are you? And I immediately replied “I’m in the box”.

When we were young Dad was in sales and had to travel out of town on a regular basis. Our highlight of the week was waiting for him to appear through the arrivals gate at the airport. He always had a big smile and hugs and kisses for all. He never failed to bring back a small trinket for each of us. He hated being away from the family and eventually moved on from that job to one that would allow him to spend more time with his family.

He loved kids and involved in all of our lives and involved in the Scouting movement for many years beginning as a Pack leader while teenager in Niagara Falls, then returning to the pack when he and Mom moved back to Niagara Falls shortly after I was born. When we moved to Toronto he involved himself with a local troop and assisted Jack Lawson with a number of camps. When I was old enough, he joined my cub pack as Bagherra and guided me through Cubs and into Scouts then moved on to successfully coaching my hockey teams for as long as I can remember. He and his good friend Jack Lawson were shithead and turdface and taught us working hard and playing hard also included laughing hard. I loved having Dad as a coach, he taught me the values of fair play, and
He earned the respect and admiration of players and parents alike for his love of the game, sense of fair play, and ability to motivate and instill values through his coaching and direction.

His Blue Jays, the Leafs, golf and even the Argos. Dad and I watched Leaf games together, sometimes with me in Canada and him in Florida with the phone to our ears.

Dad taught us many things over the years but I think the most important was respect. Respect for oneself but more so the respect of others. He was always there to lend a helping hand, whether it was building a neighbours dock or deck (Dad loved decks as you can tell by the Quarry). He was always there to lend a helping hand.

He taught us respect for our family and for our family’s family. For years he was Mr. Fixit for Grandma Lee and he would repair anything that the Lee handyman’s best friend, Scotch tape, wouldn’t fix. Perhaps he was helping paint lay tile flooring, solve an electrical problem, replace a screen or fix a leaking tap. One day when something dear got broken at Grandma Lee’s house a young Libby Evans was quick to cheer up that “It’s OK Grandma, Uncle Bob can fix anything.”

He taught me to respect women, and that chivalry was not dead. It is a mere pittance to hold a door, offer a seat, hold a chair or help out around the house. The efforts are often rewarded with a hug or a kiss and Dad loved those. He taught us to respect our Mom. I never heard him say nor do anything negative about His Edie. He adores her, and I speak in the present tense, for even in death I know that can’t be suppressed.

Dad cherished his family, his wife, his children and his 10 adoring grandchildren; Christopher, Caitlin, Michael, Andrew, Matthew, Meaghan, Laurel, Jonathan, Justin (who provided him with a special charm necklace) and Zoë Through his life and his examples, he taught me and Becky and Barb how to be a spouse and a parent and someone he can be proud of. The fruit of that labour is evident today in the strong family before me. We are now 17 strong but we are not reduced by his absence, only stronger by the love and respect that he instilled in us all.

We’ll miss him, but he’ll live on through us in all we do, today and tomorrow.

I remember talking with Bob years ago, around the time he retired, and he was sort of looking back on his life and his career, and he seemed to feel that he hadn’t accomplished as much as he should have. I think he felt that he could have provided more for his family, that he and Edie weren’t able to go on as many trips as they wanted to, and that sort of thing. In other words, he seemed to be questioning whether he had been a success or not.

This is what I should have said to him: Bob, that is the stupidest thing I have ever heard. You are as successful a man as I have ever met. You have been a wonderful husband and a terrific father and a great friend to so many people, me included. You have raised three wonderful children, who in turn have gone on to become wonderful husbands and wives, parents and friends. If that isn’t success, then I don’t know what is.

In school, we learn about so-called “great men” like George Washington and Winston Churchill, men who founded countries or fought great wars. Bob didn’t start a country or fight a war, but I would argue that he was still a great man, in the sense that he was a great human being. He was as faithful a friend as anyone could have wanted, and he was a great father — generous and kind, firm when he needed to be but also forgiving.

More than anything else, Bob was the kind of man who enjoyed people and enjoyed life, regardless of what it brought. Even during his final moments, you could tell he was happy to be with Edie and Becky and Barb and Dave, despite the fact that he was in the hospital hooked up to all kinds of tubes.

And so I think that Bob left this earth a happy and successful man. In other words, a great man.

And Ruth said, Intreat me not to leave thee, or to return from following after thee; for whither thou goest, I will go: and where thou lodgest, I will lodge; thy people shall be my people and thy God my God; and where thou diest, will I die, and there will I be buried; the Lord do so to me, and more also, if ought but death part thee and me.

And seeing the multitudes, he went up onto a mountain and when he was set his disciples came unto him, and he opened his mouth and taught them, saying:

Blessed are the poor in spirit, for theirs is the kingdom of heaven;

Blessed are they that mourn, for they shall be comforted;

Blessed are the meek, for they shall inherit the earth;

Blessed are they which do hunger and thirst after righteousness, for they shall be filled;

Blessed are the merciful, for they shall obtain mercy;

Blessed are the pure in heart, for they shall see God;

Blessed are the peacemakers, for they shall be called the children of God;

Blessed are they which are persecuted for righteousness’ sake, for theirs is the kingdom of heaven;

Blessed are ye, when men shall revile you, and persecute you, and shall say all manner of evil against you falsely, for my sake;

Rejoice, and be exceedingly glad, for great is your reward in heaven; for so persecuted they the prophets which were before you

The Lord is my shepherd; I shall not want. He maketh me to lie down in green pastures: he leadeth me beside the still waters. He restoreth my soul: he leadeth me in the paths of righteousness for his name’s sake. Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil: for thou art with me; thy rod and thy staff they comfort me. Thou preparest a table before me in the presence of mine enemies: thou anointest my head with oil; my cup runneth over. Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my life: and I will dwell in the house of the Lord for ever.

If you have any photos of Bob that you would like to contribute to this website or add to a slideshow, please email them to mathew@mathewingram.com.