Hugh Hogue's Obituary
Hugh W., son of Robert I. and Joanna Hogue, was born in Tingley, Iowa, Jan. 5, 1894, and departed this life June 2, 1969.
His parents were devout Presbyterians, so their son was born right into the faith, leaving that heritage and also teaching his children to be honest and upright in all their dealings.
Nov. 2, 1924 he was united in marriage with Birdie Nina McDowell, with whom he lived 44 years and seven months.
During the last 49 days of his earthly life, his wife and family were constantly at his bedside in the hospital and convalescent home.
A devoted husband and father, he, as they, longed for the day of his homecoming.
Now his spirit rests and hovers near his bereaved ones, whose love would not hold him but rather, would rejoice in his higher homecoming. For truly, in a beautiful new way he has come home.
He leaves to mourn his passing, his widow, Birdie; two daughters, Patsy and Billie; a son, Ron, and nine grandchildren.
A Tribute to Dad
By Ron
There was a whisper of greatness in my Father, but I doubt he himself knew it. His most brilliant thoughts were left forever unsaid, because he rarely spoke ... only the words he found necessary for daily survival. And when he spoke, he spoke softly. Indeed, he walked softly as well. Everything about him was muted and gentle.
The small-town, farm-boy chemistry that created my father's peaceful ways never left him. His accomplishments were internal in nature, but they were lush. In short, my father harmed no one by his presence on this planet. And although this achievement may seem modest at first glance, look again.
Consider what is called a quiet, simple man, with a traditional philosophy of life and death, and a startling capacity for tolerance and love. He surely must have amazed himself with his ability to accept and understand the changing world that surrounded him.
My father was an artist ... in his own way, within his own scope. From landscapes to signboards to houses. He allowed his brush to enlarge with the addition of each new line on his forehead, each new year on his life, each new dream that grew old.
Yet, there was a great element of surprise about him. He caught you off-guard. When my father used humor, he was genuinely funny. When a depression took hold of his spirits, he was despairingly low. He thrived on his worry for others. And when he gave you his love, it was bound by his life-time, and such was his wish.
We, his family, accepted his love through half a century; and we accepted his life-time as well, giving all that we could in return. We now accept his death for the future it holds for him.
My father believed in God, and welcomed the eventual sight of Him. And his, who permitted His stream of peace to be reflected in the streams of my father's life, must surely now welcome the sight of him...
A man who held no claim to fame, but who leaves us with a grateful second look at his one miraculous accomplishment -- he harmed no one by his presence on this planet, and we, his wife, his daughters, his son, his grand-daughters and grand-sons, his friends, his relatives, his animals ... loved him.
Hugh W., son of Robert I. and Joanna Hogue, was born in Tingley, Iowa, Jan. 5, 1894, and departed this life June 2, 1969.
His parents were devout Presbyterians, so their son was born right into the faith, leaving that heritage and also teaching his children to be honest and upright in all their dealings.
Nov. 2, 1924 he was united in marriage with Birdie Nina McDowell, with whom he lived 44 years and seven months.
During the last 49 days of his earthly life, his wife and family were constantly at his bedside in the hospital and convalescent home.
A devoted husband and father, he, as they, longed for the day of his homecoming.
Now his spirit rests and hovers near his bereaved ones, whose love would not hold him but rather, would rejoice in his higher homecoming. For truly, in a beautiful new way he has come home.
He leaves to mourn his passing, his widow, Birdie; two daughters, Patsy and Billie; a son, Ron, and nine grandchildren.
A Tribute to Dad
By Ron
There was a whisper of greatness in my Father, but I doubt he himself knew it. His most brilliant thoughts were left forever unsaid, because he rarely spoke ... only the words he found necessary for daily survival. And when he spoke, he spoke softly. Indeed, he walked softly as well. Everything about him was muted and gentle.
The small-town, farm-boy chemistry that created my father's peaceful ways never left him. His accomplishments were internal in nature, but they were lush. In short, my father harmed no one by his presence on this planet. And although this achievement may seem modest at first glance, look again.
Consider what is called a quiet, simple man, with a traditional philosophy of life and death, and a startling capacity for tolerance and love. He surely must have amazed himself with his ability to accept and understand the changing world that surrounded him.
My father was an artist ... in his own way, within his own scope. From landscapes to signboards to houses. He allowed his brush to enlarge with the addition of each new line on his forehead, each new year on his life, each new dream that grew old.
Yet, there was a great element of surprise about him. He caught you off-guard. When my father used humor, he was genuinely funny. When a depression took hold of his spirits, he was despairingly low. He thrived on his worry for others. And when he gave you his love, it was bound by his life-time, and such was his wish.
We, his family, accepted his love through half a century; and we accepted his life-time as well, giving all that we could in return. We now accept his death for the future it holds for him.
My father believed in God, and welcomed the eventual sight of Him. And his, who permitted His stream of peace to be reflected in the streams of my father's life, must surely now welcome the sight of him...
A man who held no claim to fame, but who leaves us with a grateful second look at his one miraculous accomplishment -- he harmed no one by his presence on this planet, and we, his wife, his daughters, his son, his grand-daughters and grand-sons, his friends, his relatives, his animals ... loved him.
Hugh Hogue's Obituary
Hugh W., son of Robert I. and Joanna Hogue, was born in Tingley, Iowa, Jan. 5, 1894, and departed this life June 2, 1969.
His parents were devout Presbyterians, so their son was born right into the faith, leaving that heritage and also teaching his children to be honest and upright in all their dealings.
Nov. 2, 1924 he was united in marriage with Birdie Nina McDowell, with whom he lived 44 years and seven months.
During the last 49 days of his earthly life, his wife and family were constantly at his bedside in the hospital and convalescent home.
A devoted husband and father, he, as they, longed for the day of his homecoming.
Now his spirit rests and hovers near his bereaved ones, whose love would not hold him but rather, would rejoice in his higher homecoming. For truly, in a beautiful new way he has come home.
He leaves to mourn his passing, his widow, Birdie; two daughters, Patsy and Billie; a son, Ron, and nine grandchildren.
A Tribute to Dad
By Ron
There was a whisper of greatness in my Father, but I doubt he himself knew it. His most brilliant thoughts were left forever unsaid, because he rarely spoke ... only the words he found necessary for daily survival. And when he spoke, he spoke softly. Indeed, he walked softly as well. Everything about him was muted and gentle.
The small-town, farm-boy chemistry that created my father's peaceful ways never left him. His accomplishments were internal in nature, but they were lush. In short, my father harmed no one by his presence on this planet. And although this achievement may seem modest at first glance, look again.
Consider what is called a quiet, simple man, with a traditional philosophy of life and death, and a startling capacity for tolerance and love. He surely must have amazed himself with his ability to accept and understand the changing world that surrounded him.
My father was an artist ... in his own way, within his own scope. From landscapes to signboards to houses. He allowed his brush to enlarge with the addition of each new line on his forehead, each new year on his life, each new dream that grew old.
Yet, there was a great element of surprise about him. He caught you off-guard. When my father used humor, he was genuinely funny. When a depression took hold of his spirits, he was despairingly low. He thrived on his worry for others. And when he gave you his love, it was bound by his life-time, and such was his wish.
We, his family, accepted his love through half a century; and we accepted his life-time as well, giving all that we could in return. We now accept his death for the future it holds for him.
My father believed in God, and welcomed the eventual sight of Him. And his, who permitted His stream of peace to be reflected in the streams of my father's life, must surely now welcome the sight of him...
A man who held no claim to fame, but who leaves us with a grateful second look at his one miraculous accomplishment -- he harmed no one by his presence on this planet, and we, his wife, his daughters, his son, his grand-daughters and grand-sons, his friends, his relatives, his animals ... loved him.
Hugh W., son of Robert I. and Joanna Hogue, was born in Tingley, Iowa, Jan. 5, 1894, and departed this life June 2, 1969.
His parents were devout Presbyterians, so their son was born right into the faith, leaving that heritage and also teaching his children to be honest and upright in all their dealings.
Nov. 2, 1924 he was united in marriage with Birdie Nina McDowell, with whom he lived 44 years and seven months.
During the last 49 days of his earthly life, his wife and family were constantly at his bedside in the hospital and convalescent home.
A devoted husband and father, he, as they, longed for the day of his homecoming.
Now his spirit rests and hovers near his bereaved ones, whose love would not hold him but rather, would rejoice in his higher homecoming. For truly, in a beautiful new way he has come home.
He leaves to mourn his passing, his widow, Birdie; two daughters, Patsy and Billie; a son, Ron, and nine grandchildren.
A Tribute to Dad
By Ron
There was a whisper of greatness in my Father, but I doubt he himself knew it. His most brilliant thoughts were left forever unsaid, because he rarely spoke ... only the words he found necessary for daily survival. And when he spoke, he spoke softly. Indeed, he walked softly as well. Everything about him was muted and gentle.
The small-town, farm-boy chemistry that created my father's peaceful ways never left him. His accomplishments were internal in nature, but they were lush. In short, my father harmed no one by his presence on this planet. And although this achievement may seem modest at first glance, look again.
Consider what is called a quiet, simple man, with a traditional philosophy of life and death, and a startling capacity for tolerance and love. He surely must have amazed himself with his ability to accept and understand the changing world that surrounded him.
My father was an artist ... in his own way, within his own scope. From landscapes to signboards to houses. He allowed his brush to enlarge with the addition of each new line on his forehead, each new year on his life, each new dream that grew old.
Yet, there was a great element of surprise about him. He caught you off-guard. When my father used humor, he was genuinely funny. When a depression took hold of his spirits, he was despairingly low. He thrived on his worry for others. And when he gave you his love, it was bound by his life-time, and such was his wish.
We, his family, accepted his love through half a century; and we accepted his life-time as well, giving all that we could in return. We now accept his death for the future it holds for him.
My father believed in God, and welcomed the eventual sight of Him. And his, who permitted His stream of peace to be reflected in the streams of my father's life, must surely now welcome the sight of him...
A man who held no claim to fame, but who leaves us with a grateful second look at his one miraculous accomplishment -- he harmed no one by his presence on this planet, and we, his wife, his daughters, his son, his grand-daughters and grand-sons, his friends, his relatives, his animals ... loved him.
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