He was a mountain of a man, who always had a plan
and dreams of grandeur, the horizon to span
T.C. we called him, and everybody knew
with each of the telling, the legend it grew
When he walked in the room, there surely was no doubt
what he thought was a whisper, was really a shout
From Orange County blossoms, to warm desert air
Indelible mark, said T.C. had been there
Time had bent, the sturdy old oak
knots and burls, but the branch never broke
Cause inside that man was an awful soft heart
in that calloused old frame made of wood n bark
Speakin of bark, it was worse than his bite
But pity the fool who picks the fight
With the mountain of a man who always had a plan
that was vast and shifting, as the desert sand
I often saw a tear, run down that chiseled face
when he spoke of kindness, from Gods amazing grace
The heart of a saint, the youth of a sinner
One constant he had, long-suffering Edwina
Then came the day, the legend it died
of the one that we called… Mister Theron Clyde
David Kettler 12/13/14
I wrote this on our son Doug’s 27th birthday, and also
This is the last sequential date that we will see in our
lifetime…twelve-thirteen-fourteen. Very fitting for the
passing of one, the which we will never see the likes again!
( I wrote this while hearing the voice of the Dodge Ram commercial
guy, Sam Elliot, reading it…seemed fitting!)
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