The Colt 45

I lost a good friend this week, a person who I was fortunate enough to get to know over the last two decades, to spend quality time with, to learn from, to be influenced by and I think maybe even to have a small influence on. Albert "Bud" Hale was 87 years old and passed away in the same small town where he was born, raised, and spent his entire adult life, Manchester, Iowa. He will be sorely missed and dearly remembered by the big family that he left behind, by his friends, which although many preceded him in passing, were numerous and legendary, and certainly by his son-in-law.

Bud was one of the coolest, toughest, and sweetest men I have ever known. This may sound like an odd combination, but it was the essence of who he was. He was as cool as they come, never seeming to get rattled, always playing his cards right, a gambler who in his earlier days was a pool shark, and certainly a card sharp who taught me the finer points of both gin and 500. He never got flustered, not even the time that I was up in the attic and stepped through the dry wall, leaving a big gaping hole in the roof over the garage. While I proceeded to throw down my cap in disgust and go for one of my walks to cool down, Bud simply got to work doing what needed to be done to fix the hole.

I call him Bud, but those of us who knew him know him as the Colt-45, which was both his nickname and your nickname when you were with him, the more he drank the more often he called you Colt. He was cool enough to have two nicknames, Bud and Colt.

The Colt 45 was tough as nails. He grew up in the Depression, served his country as a tank driver in the War, and worked most of his life for the railroad building bridges, doing the work that no one else wanted or could perform. He never called in sick, which is symbolic of how he lived his life. You could always rely on The Colt to be there for you in whatever way you needed him. He never backed down from a fight or a challenge, and when there was work to be done, he was the first one to show up and the last one to leave.

Bud was one of the sweetest men I've known, beneath his tough exterior and outward coolness, he had the heart of a lion. He loved his family immensely, and was always a loyal and faithful husband and father. He was a wonderful grandpa who was adored by all his grand kids, especially by mine, even if he did bribe Jake with his little snickers bars or Chloe with his box of chocolates. "Take two, they're small" he would always say, and that gets to the heart of his generosity. And I gave up long ago trying to get him not to give table scraps to the dogs at dinner, because The Colt didn't know how to not be generous.

The last time that Bud and Dorothy, my beloved in-laws, were out for one of their winter visits, where they would stay with us for a few months in order to get away from the brutally cold Iowa winters, I had a pretty strong sense that this might be their last trip out. It was getting tougher for them to make the long trek, and Bud's health was starting to fail him. I didn't know if I would be able to get back to Iowa anytime soon, so when I gave him a hug goodbye before he left on his journey, I held on just a little bit tighter and longer and squeezed just a little bit harder. I just wanted to take in every ounce of this wonderful man that I could, and I'm glad I did because I'll never forget that moment, just as I'll never forget him.

I'm going to finish this now because the tears are starting to come down, and I'm not going to try and stop them. I love you Bud, and I know that you're in a better place right now, I'd like to think that you're up in heaven's version of the Eagles Club, having a drink with my Pappap, and looking down on all of us who love you so much and will always miss you. You will always be in our hearts and in our souls, a big part of you will continue in us and a hundred years from now my grand kids grand kids will still be reciting your many sayings. My favorite of all of them is the one you used to say on a regular basis. Every day's a holiday Colt, and everyday I got to spend with you was a day to celebrate.