Ross Shirley

1912-2008

Ross Shirley, 96, of Wilford, died Wednesday, Oct. 1, 2008. He was born June 25, 1912, in Salem, the son of James Frederick and Sarah Francis Virgin Shirley. He attended school at Sugar-Salem High School, where he excelled in athletics and was student body president. He also attended Ricks College and played football. He graduated with a teaching credential and taught in the Teton and Sugar-Salem school districts. He enlisted in the military following the bombing of Pearl Harbor and served in the South Pacific. He retired from the Army with the rank of major. He married Margie Ward and raised four children in the Salem area. He was a carpenter as well as a security officer for Ricks College. He was an active member of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, serving in the Idaho Falls temple for 20 years. He is survived by his wife, Margie of Wilford, Neal (Cathie) Shirley of Wilford, Dale Shirley of Salt Lake City, Scott (Jan) Shirley of Sunnydell, and Janet (Arden) Howell of Sandy, Utah. Services will be held Saturday, Oct. 4, at 11 a.m. in the Wilford LDS Chapel. The family will receive friends on Friday from 6 to 7:30 p.m. at Flamm Funeral Home (61 N. First East, Rexburg) and on Saturday from 10 to 10:45 a.m. at the church. Burial will be in the Sugar City Cemetery.

I lifted the preceding obituary from the Rexburg Standard Journal. I was saddened to hear of Grandpa Shirley’s passing on Wednesday. I knew that sooner or later this day would come. He was fortunate enough to have spent 96 years on this earth, and to be married to the same woman for more than 60 years. I am grateful that my children were able to know him, and that my older kids will be able to remember him.

The way that Grandpa passed away was reflective of how I always saw him. Things had to be on his terms. Many years ago when I was managing the Trolley Corners Cinemas I received a call informing me that Grandpa had fallen while riding his motorcycle and had broken his hip. It was expected that because of his age (he was probably in his early eighties) that he might not survive the recovery. Eventually he mended, and Grandma took away his motorbike.

Shortly thereafter he slipped on some ice while putting the cat out and broke a hip. Again we were told to prepare for the worst. And again he healed. So last December when he fell ill and was admitted to the hospital I wasn’t sure what to think. I tried to cope with the inevitable, yet deep down I wasn’t convinced. And sure enough, after a grueling recovery in a care center, he went home.

On Monday of this week I heard that Ross had fallen ill and had refused to go to the hospital. My heart sank because I knew that there would be no recovery this time. I think he had determined that his time had come, and he was ready.

All week we’ve been reminiscing about what we loved about Grandpa, and I am sure it will continue at the viewing and funeral. We’ve always joked about the fact that Grandpa ‘lived in the tropics’. When we would arrive in Idaho for Thanksgiving dinner we would step out of the cold and instantly melt because he would the heat cranked. We would go in to the addition and shut the sliders to watch TV and open the back door to let some cold in. Eventually he would walk in and chastise us for letting the heat out, demanding that the door be shut.

My kids never eat gravy with their mashed potatoes. The last time we had Sunday dinner with Grandpa, Patrick sat next to him and dished up a huge serving of spuds. Ross thought that he would be nice and poured a spoonful of gravy on P’s potatoes. Patrick didn’t know what to say, and just gave me a ‘look’. He then ate the spuds, scraping all of the ‘untainted’ potatoes from underneath the gravy.

I am happy that Grandpa has been able to peacefully pass from this life to the next, though I will miss him. I will miss his hearty handshakes that belied his frail form. I will miss yelling sports with him. I will miss the way he would end each day by handing over the TV remote and saying ‘Weeeeel. I guess I’ll go off to bed.’ I will miss his honest and blunt opinions on all kinds of subjects. But most of all I will miss knowing that he will be there when we get there.