Born to Henry John and Clara (Robinson) Meyers, my Uncle Dutch was my favorite uncle. He was very fun and loved by all, especially children and teenagers.
His father died when he was very young and his mother moved the family to Montana.
Uncle Dutch had to go work at an early age to help take care of his family. He worked hard all his life.
He served in the Army during World War II and after his discharge he returned to Butte, where he had grown up. He married Wilma Mae Nash, my mother's sister, on March 31, 1951. Dutch worked more than 30 years in the warehouse for Consolidated Freightways. He had years and years of safe driving awards, loved playing the guitar and singing, was a longtime member of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, was loved by everyone who knew him and he always had a joke for whomever he met.
He would talk in funny voices, like Daffy Duck. He was a great tease. He loved telling North Dakota jokes, which any Montanan can appreciate. But, since he was born there, I guess he had more right to joke about the place.
He and Aunt Wilma weren't blessed with biological children, but they adopted a niece and reared her as their own. Also a nephew was very close to them and his children call them their grandparents.
Dutch was his father's nickname and after his dad died, it was bestowed upon him. When I was a child, I got confused when Aunt Wilma would talk about Fred. For the longest time, I thought she had a boyfriend on the side because she really seemed to love this Fred fellow she always talked about. Finally, I got brave and asked "Who's Fred?" and everyone laughed. Finally, my mother explained to me that Fred was Uncle Dutch's real name and that Dutch was his nickname.
I was 12 when my dad died of a heart attack. I will always remember that cold January day when we were gathered at the cemetery and Uncle Dutch stood next to me. He had tears running down his face and said "He always called me The Dutchman." He and my dad were close and I know they're having a blast in Heaven with their stories and jokes.
The morning of the day Dutch died, his first great-grandchild was born. He knew this and it brought him great joy. He passed away that night.
His father died when he was very young and his mother moved the family to Montana.
Uncle Dutch had to go work at an early age to help take care of his family. He worked hard all his life.
He served in the Army during World War II and after his discharge he returned to Butte, where he had grown up. He married Wilma Mae Nash, my mother's sister, on March 31, 1951. Dutch worked more than 30 years in the warehouse for Consolidated Freightways. He had years and years of safe driving awards, loved playing the guitar and singing, was a longtime member of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, was loved by everyone who knew him and he always had a joke for whomever he met.
He would talk in funny voices, like Daffy Duck. He was a great tease. He loved telling North Dakota jokes, which any Montanan can appreciate. But, since he was born there, I guess he had more right to joke about the place.
He and Aunt Wilma weren't blessed with biological children, but they adopted a niece and reared her as their own. Also a nephew was very close to them and his children call them their grandparents.
Dutch was his father's nickname and after his dad died, it was bestowed upon him. When I was a child, I got confused when Aunt Wilma would talk about Fred. For the longest time, I thought she had a boyfriend on the side because she really seemed to love this Fred fellow she always talked about. Finally, I got brave and asked "Who's Fred?" and everyone laughed. Finally, my mother explained to me that Fred was Uncle Dutch's real name and that Dutch was his nickname.
I was 12 when my dad died of a heart attack. I will always remember that cold January day when we were gathered at the cemetery and Uncle Dutch stood next to me. He had tears running down his face and said "He always called me The Dutchman." He and my dad were close and I know they're having a blast in Heaven with their stories and jokes.
The morning of the day Dutch died, his first great-grandchild was born. He knew this and it brought him great joy. He passed away that night.
Born to Henry John and Clara (Robinson) Meyers, my Uncle Dutch was my favorite uncle. He was very fun and loved by all, especially children and teenagers.
His father died when he was very young and his mother moved the family to Montana.
Uncle Dutch had to go work at an early age to help take care of his family. He worked hard all his life.
He served in the Army during World War II and after his discharge he returned to Butte, where he had grown up. He married Wilma Mae Nash, my mother's sister, on March 31, 1951. Dutch worked more than 30 years in the warehouse for Consolidated Freightways. He had years and years of safe driving awards, loved playing the guitar and singing, was a longtime member of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, was loved by everyone who knew him and he always had a joke for whomever he met.
He would talk in funny voices, like Daffy Duck. He was a great tease. He loved telling North Dakota jokes, which any Montanan can appreciate. But, since he was born there, I guess he had more right to joke about the place.
He and Aunt Wilma weren't blessed with biological children, but they adopted a niece and reared her as their own. Also a nephew was very close to them and his children call them their grandparents.
Dutch was his father's nickname and after his dad died, it was bestowed upon him. When I was a child, I got confused when Aunt Wilma would talk about Fred. For the longest time, I thought she had a boyfriend on the side because she really seemed to love this Fred fellow she always talked about. Finally, I got brave and asked "Who's Fred?" and everyone laughed. Finally, my mother explained to me that Fred was Uncle Dutch's real name and that Dutch was his nickname.
I was 12 when my dad died of a heart attack. I will always remember that cold January day when we were gathered at the cemetery and Uncle Dutch stood next to me. He had tears running down his face and said "He always called me The Dutchman." He and my dad were close and I know they're having a blast in Heaven with their stories and jokes.
The morning of the day Dutch died, his first great-grandchild was born. He knew this and it brought him great joy. He passed away that night.
His father died when he was very young and his mother moved the family to Montana.
Uncle Dutch had to go work at an early age to help take care of his family. He worked hard all his life.
He served in the Army during World War II and after his discharge he returned to Butte, where he had grown up. He married Wilma Mae Nash, my mother's sister, on March 31, 1951. Dutch worked more than 30 years in the warehouse for Consolidated Freightways. He had years and years of safe driving awards, loved playing the guitar and singing, was a longtime member of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, was loved by everyone who knew him and he always had a joke for whomever he met.
He would talk in funny voices, like Daffy Duck. He was a great tease. He loved telling North Dakota jokes, which any Montanan can appreciate. But, since he was born there, I guess he had more right to joke about the place.
He and Aunt Wilma weren't blessed with biological children, but they adopted a niece and reared her as their own. Also a nephew was very close to them and his children call them their grandparents.
Dutch was his father's nickname and after his dad died, it was bestowed upon him. When I was a child, I got confused when Aunt Wilma would talk about Fred. For the longest time, I thought she had a boyfriend on the side because she really seemed to love this Fred fellow she always talked about. Finally, I got brave and asked "Who's Fred?" and everyone laughed. Finally, my mother explained to me that Fred was Uncle Dutch's real name and that Dutch was his nickname.
I was 12 when my dad died of a heart attack. I will always remember that cold January day when we were gathered at the cemetery and Uncle Dutch stood next to me. He had tears running down his face and said "He always called me The Dutchman." He and my dad were close and I know they're having a blast in Heaven with their stories and jokes.
The morning of the day Dutch died, his first great-grandchild was born. He knew this and it brought him great joy. He passed away that night.
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