My Friend Bob

In mid February, our dear friend Bob Funkhouser died. Fred and I were both asked to speak at his memorial a month later and below is a transcript of my remarks. Even though this was written for a particular friend and a specific friendship, the elements of joy and pathos, humor and resiliency are common to all great friendships.So I decided to share it hoping that it resonates with others.


Figuring out where to begin on a life as rich as Bob’s is something of a challenge. An even more difficult task is knowing when to end. As Fred mentioned, Bob was an exceptional listener, one who could hold his tongue longer than most. When he did speak, he was generally economical with words. I will try to take a page from the Bob Funkhouser playbook, and not prattle on.

One of the first times we were in the Funkhouser’s home, in the course of snooping around, I came upon a picture that I had grown up with – a photo taken at the Junior Livestock Show in Spokane, when Harry Truman was making a whistle stop campaign tour of the country. There were three men on a podium – my dad, Harry Truman, and some other guy. When I asked Bob what he was doing with a picture of my father in his house, he replied – “we always wondered who that other fellow was.” Turns out that the third person in the picture was Bob’s uncle, Frank Funkhouser, who Bob visited one summer that later prompted him to leave Indiana and settle in Washington. That picture hangs in the small bathroom off their back porch, which I consider “my bathroom” whenever I am there. That picture that our two families shared was the beginning of an enduring friendship.

Bob and Coke’s gift for hospitality is legendary. Susan and Karen both brought home their friends from kindergarten through college, many of whom considered 826 Percival their home away from home, and no doubt a few of them, wished it had been their real home. I expect that nearly everyone in this room has enjoyed a meal at their dining room table or coffee on their deck, drinking in the amazing view of Mount Rainier and the Capital Dome.

For many years, Bob and Coke acted as the unofficial medical welcome wagon, inviting all the new physicians who came to Olympia to their home to get acquainted and settle into the community. Many of us here will remember Bob’s 40th birthday party with the beer Keg in the trunk of the Falcon. It wasn’t the first time I had drunk beer out of the back of a car – Fred and I met at the University of Idaho, for crying out loud. But it was the first time I had been to someone’s 40th birthday party and I was amazed that I could actually know someone that old! Of course now, the only 40 year olds I know are my friend’s kids, and many of them won’t see 40 again. Time does have a way of moving on.

I am sure I am not the only one who refused to recognize that Bob had retired, just because he was no longer at the MedArts building. I continued to chat him up on all maladies, real and imagined, knowing that he would want to be in on the front end of some new medical discovery. One memorable examination came about when I managed to ram a lavender stem into my eye. It was late fall and I had been in the garden cutting back the lavender – any of you who have tackled that project will know that when lavender stems dry on the stalk, they become hard and sharp – much like bailing wire. This occurred not long after Bob’s mishap on the garage roof that Chris alluded to earlier. With broken bones in both legs, Bob was getting around in a wheel chair. He decided that the best place to perform this examination was the bathroom, with me on the commode and Coke standing to my left holding a large flash light. Bob rolled in the door directly in front of me. What made the examination doubly difficult was the fact that we were all laughing so hard, we couldn’t hold still. Eventually, he was able to get a good look at my eye and confirm that I had scratched it – translate, I wasn’t just making this up – but that the injury didn’t look permanent, thus dispelling any fantasy I might be entertaining of becoming a romantic figure with an eye patch. We adjourned to the living room and he poured me a glass of red wine as a pain killer. One of many glasses he served me through the years.

Not only did I count on Bob for all things medical, but he became my personal “go to” guy for shopping. I am a terrible shopper – buying is the part of that equation that I excel at. I lack the patience to check out multiple sites in order to find just the right, whatever. As my family can attest, through the years I have had numerous bouts of organization mania, where everything gets thrown out of the cupboards and closets and then returned in a manner that confounds anyone else who is looking for an item in its former home. On this occasion, I decided that what I really needed were some of those wire racks that attach to the back of a cupboard door to hold cleansers, and brushes and cleaning rags. I hadn’t clue where to begin and so, naturally, I called Bob. He not only directed me to the store but told me the aisle and shelf where I could find them!

One day last December when Fred and Bob were having coffee Fred mentioned that we were thinking about getting me a new car. Well, shopper Bob came through again recommended that we look into buying it through “Costco”. (And to think, we thought they only sold Salsa and Worcestershire sauce by the gallon!) And so we did. I drove directly from the car dealership to Bob & Coke’s so that they could see and smell my new car. Bob allowed as how he felt like a “godparent” to the car and from that day on, I have called my lovely new cheerful red Outback “Bob.”

We are all familiar with the notion of leaving a legacy, something for our family or community to mark our lives, to remember us by. Not a day goes by that we aren’t asked, even badgered at times, to consider the “gift that keeps on giving.” And that is not a bad thing. But as I have been thinking about Bob these past several weeks, I have come to realize that the real legacy we leave is the life we live, and Bob “lived his life well.” His was a life of intelligence combined with intention; a life of problem solving and caring; a life of love,and laughter and good humor.

It is hard when a good friend dies not to feel a wave of sadness when you recall something you did together – a trip, a meal, a quiet moment. You find yourself picking up the phone to call and tell them about something, or cutting out an article you are sure would pique their interest. We have all done that, I am sure. But I have decided it is blessing, a kind of ongoing grace that survives. And so I am making a point of doing something every day that reminds me of him. Just something small, done without a lot of fuss and bother or fan fair, but something that invariably brings a smile or nod of remembrance. I call it “doing a Bob.” I invite you to do the same.

And so I return to the beginning. My “Bob” for today will be to quit talking and take my seat. It was a privilege and an honor to be asked to be part of this remembrance and Fred and I thank the family for that. It was an even greater privilege and honor to be Bob's friend. It was a lot of fun as well!