Moe, you are fondly remembered by many people. You had the ability to make lasting friends easily. I remember your story about shelling corn back when it was done by hand. Folks around Brighton wanted you to compete in the Iowa State Fair corn picking contest. Evidently they thought you were very fast. You told me to pick 100 bushels in a day, by hand, one started with first light and continued with "an ear in the air" all day. As the season grew colder early morning frost would set on the corn and ones hands would get badly chapped. This is where corn huskers lotion originated. Also you never did compete, as you said "why should I pick some one else's corn"? You were very practical. You loved cars and owned 70 vehicles in your lifetime. You made money on nearly every one, I'm still amazed when I think about it. My favorite was a 49' Lincoln, pearl white, convertible with a white top. You didn't succeed at farming, I don't know why. You were the hardest working man I knew and many people agreed with this.
Your sense of humor was somewhere between bent and odd. You told me a story from when you were in civilian pilot training after the war. You and Max Shepard were at a small country air show. A pilot was giving rides for a few dollars. "Shep" paid for a ride and was about to get in the plane when you slipped the pilot another $5 saying "give him a ride". When Max got out of the plane he was greenish and sick. To you this was funny (har har). Another time a you told a story about rubber tires on tractors. One man boasted the tractor could run over his foot and the rubber tire would not faze him. So here came the tractor out went the foot and ..... nothing happened. The other gentleman took a turn and his foot was nearly broken in pain. In the first guys shoe was a wooden foot. This was roll on the floor funny to you.
I remember a road trip you and I shared driving from Tucson to Iowa. We made Dalhart, Tx. that first evening. It was long enough ago Hiway 54 thru New Mexico retained a lot of its small town charm. On that trip, I picked up a habit from you that I hold dear to this day. That is whenever one sets out on a long drive, wash the windshield of the car. This puts a beautiful glow on the day and brightens the view over the hood. It is a nice way to view the world.
You once told me a wonderful story when you were driving a load of cattle from Washington, Iowa sale barn to Chicago stockyards. Nothing unusual here, just farm commerce selling livestock. En route and in Illinois, toward Chicago you are probably averaging 40 mph, 50 on the flats when, in a flash a sporty looking car sped past you at about 80. A sign in the rear window proclaimed "you've been passed by a Tucker".
Father ahead you see that car at a roadside mom and pop truck stop. You being you, pulled over to take measure. Yes, it was a Tucker! Chronologically, it was that one week where the cars were on the road as advertising, for the day when Tucker began selling cars. Alas no such day ever materialized, the modern air cooled Tucker only drove into the history books. For you, here was real americana! Preston Tuckers dream on the hiway.
Of 51 Tuckers produced, 48 are still operational occasionally sell for millions and are all in museums or collections. For you, one was "sitting on gravel", engine and seat cushion still warm, and in life! Not many folks can say they had such an experience as "passed by a Tucker"! Good for you Moe. (jlb 10/9/2023)
I will never forget your pictures as a young man. Your physique was absolutely amazing. There never was a Hollywood Tarzan actor that had muscle form over you. At your death you were still your humorous self. I will say here you looked about 130 years old on your last day. Bone cancer does that. You refused chemo. I asked " Moe, how you feeling"? When you answered, "I've been better" I knew you were still you.
Rest in peace, Moe. Many, many friends remember you and remember you fondly. I met one when I visited the Pleasant Plain cemetery. He spoke very well of you. I could tell he was happy simply recalling that he knew you. Godspeed!
A little note, 2012. I was back in Iowa and Esther and I were driving the countryside. We went past the farm stead where the picture of you with the rifle was taken. That was 1936. In the 80s there was still a windmill and a barn foundation to remind one where you lived. Today there is NO TRACE. It is all plowed field, even the roads have a different location, the local bridge is gone. It doesn't matter, in very few years there wont be any one left who remembers these things.
Just to keep up with time it is 2017. 5 years gone by since Esther and I viewed the old Bleess Homestead on Soccum Road. I thought of a story, one of the few times you and I actually went out to do "field things" You set up 2 tin cans side by side, touching and shot once, hitting both cans from about 50 feet. Its a good stunt. You loved your Oliver tractor a 60 series in the 50s. You moved us to Arizona in 1960. This was the best possible move for me. Frankly it wasn't as good for you. You spent all your energy making annual trips back to Iowa to visit. Oh well, you're there now!
- billcarr
Your sense of humor was somewhere between bent and odd. You told me a story from when you were in civilian pilot training after the war. You and Max Shepard were at a small country air show. A pilot was giving rides for a few dollars. "Shep" paid for a ride and was about to get in the plane when you slipped the pilot another $5 saying "give him a ride". When Max got out of the plane he was greenish and sick. To you this was funny (har har). Another time a you told a story about rubber tires on tractors. One man boasted the tractor could run over his foot and the rubber tire would not faze him. So here came the tractor out went the foot and ..... nothing happened. The other gentleman took a turn and his foot was nearly broken in pain. In the first guys shoe was a wooden foot. This was roll on the floor funny to you.
I remember a road trip you and I shared driving from Tucson to Iowa. We made Dalhart, Tx. that first evening. It was long enough ago Hiway 54 thru New Mexico retained a lot of its small town charm. On that trip, I picked up a habit from you that I hold dear to this day. That is whenever one sets out on a long drive, wash the windshield of the car. This puts a beautiful glow on the day and brightens the view over the hood. It is a nice way to view the world.
You once told me a wonderful story when you were driving a load of cattle from Washington, Iowa sale barn to Chicago stockyards. Nothing unusual here, just farm commerce selling livestock. En route and in Illinois, toward Chicago you are probably averaging 40 mph, 50 on the flats when, in a flash a sporty looking car sped past you at about 80. A sign in the rear window proclaimed "you've been passed by a Tucker".
Father ahead you see that car at a roadside mom and pop truck stop. You being you, pulled over to take measure. Yes, it was a Tucker! Chronologically, it was that one week where the cars were on the road as advertising, for the day when Tucker began selling cars. Alas no such day ever materialized, the modern air cooled Tucker only drove into the history books. For you, here was real americana! Preston Tuckers dream on the hiway.
Of 51 Tuckers produced, 48 are still operational occasionally sell for millions and are all in museums or collections. For you, one was "sitting on gravel", engine and seat cushion still warm, and in life! Not many folks can say they had such an experience as "passed by a Tucker"! Good for you Moe. (jlb 10/9/2023)
I will never forget your pictures as a young man. Your physique was absolutely amazing. There never was a Hollywood Tarzan actor that had muscle form over you. At your death you were still your humorous self. I will say here you looked about 130 years old on your last day. Bone cancer does that. You refused chemo. I asked " Moe, how you feeling"? When you answered, "I've been better" I knew you were still you.
Rest in peace, Moe. Many, many friends remember you and remember you fondly. I met one when I visited the Pleasant Plain cemetery. He spoke very well of you. I could tell he was happy simply recalling that he knew you. Godspeed!
A little note, 2012. I was back in Iowa and Esther and I were driving the countryside. We went past the farm stead where the picture of you with the rifle was taken. That was 1936. In the 80s there was still a windmill and a barn foundation to remind one where you lived. Today there is NO TRACE. It is all plowed field, even the roads have a different location, the local bridge is gone. It doesn't matter, in very few years there wont be any one left who remembers these things.
Just to keep up with time it is 2017. 5 years gone by since Esther and I viewed the old Bleess Homestead on Soccum Road. I thought of a story, one of the few times you and I actually went out to do "field things" You set up 2 tin cans side by side, touching and shot once, hitting both cans from about 50 feet. Its a good stunt. You loved your Oliver tractor a 60 series in the 50s. You moved us to Arizona in 1960. This was the best possible move for me. Frankly it wasn't as good for you. You spent all your energy making annual trips back to Iowa to visit. Oh well, you're there now!
- billcarr
Moe, you are fondly remembered by many people. You had the ability to make lasting friends easily. I remember your story about shelling corn back when it was done by hand. Folks around Brighton wanted you to compete in the Iowa State Fair corn picking contest. Evidently they thought you were very fast. You told me to pick 100 bushels in a day, by hand, one started with first light and continued with "an ear in the air" all day. As the season grew colder early morning frost would set on the corn and ones hands would get badly chapped. This is where corn huskers lotion originated. Also you never did compete, as you said "why should I pick some one else's corn"? You were very practical. You loved cars and owned 70 vehicles in your lifetime. You made money on nearly every one, I'm still amazed when I think about it. My favorite was a 49' Lincoln, pearl white, convertible with a white top. You didn't succeed at farming, I don't know why. You were the hardest working man I knew and many people agreed with this.
Your sense of humor was somewhere between bent and odd. You told me a story from when you were in civilian pilot training after the war. You and Max Shepard were at a small country air show. A pilot was giving rides for a few dollars. "Shep" paid for a ride and was about to get in the plane when you slipped the pilot another $5 saying "give him a ride". When Max got out of the plane he was greenish and sick. To you this was funny (har har). Another time a you told a story about rubber tires on tractors. One man boasted the tractor could run over his foot and the rubber tire would not faze him. So here came the tractor out went the foot and ..... nothing happened. The other gentleman took a turn and his foot was nearly broken in pain. In the first guys shoe was a wooden foot. This was roll on the floor funny to you.
I remember a road trip you and I shared driving from Tucson to Iowa. We made Dalhart, Tx. that first evening. It was long enough ago Hiway 54 thru New Mexico retained a lot of its small town charm. On that trip, I picked up a habit from you that I hold dear to this day. That is whenever one sets out on a long drive, wash the windshield of the car. This puts a beautiful glow on the day and brightens the view over the hood. It is a nice way to view the world.
You once told me a wonderful story when you were driving a load of cattle from Washington, Iowa sale barn to Chicago stockyards. Nothing unusual here, just farm commerce selling livestock. En route and in Illinois, toward Chicago you are probably averaging 40 mph, 50 on the flats when, in a flash a sporty looking car sped past you at about 80. A sign in the rear window proclaimed "you've been passed by a Tucker".
Father ahead you see that car at a roadside mom and pop truck stop. You being you, pulled over to take measure. Yes, it was a Tucker! Chronologically, it was that one week where the cars were on the road as advertising, for the day when Tucker began selling cars. Alas no such day ever materialized, the modern air cooled Tucker only drove into the history books. For you, here was real americana! Preston Tuckers dream on the hiway.
Of 51 Tuckers produced, 48 are still operational occasionally sell for millions and are all in museums or collections. For you, one was "sitting on gravel", engine and seat cushion still warm, and in life! Not many folks can say they had such an experience as "passed by a Tucker"! Good for you Moe. (jlb 10/9/2023)
I will never forget your pictures as a young man. Your physique was absolutely amazing. There never was a Hollywood Tarzan actor that had muscle form over you. At your death you were still your humorous self. I will say here you looked about 130 years old on your last day. Bone cancer does that. You refused chemo. I asked " Moe, how you feeling"? When you answered, "I've been better" I knew you were still you.
Rest in peace, Moe. Many, many friends remember you and remember you fondly. I met one when I visited the Pleasant Plain cemetery. He spoke very well of you. I could tell he was happy simply recalling that he knew you. Godspeed!
A little note, 2012. I was back in Iowa and Esther and I were driving the countryside. We went past the farm stead where the picture of you with the rifle was taken. That was 1936. In the 80s there was still a windmill and a barn foundation to remind one where you lived. Today there is NO TRACE. It is all plowed field, even the roads have a different location, the local bridge is gone. It doesn't matter, in very few years there wont be any one left who remembers these things.
Just to keep up with time it is 2017. 5 years gone by since Esther and I viewed the old Bleess Homestead on Soccum Road. I thought of a story, one of the few times you and I actually went out to do "field things" You set up 2 tin cans side by side, touching and shot once, hitting both cans from about 50 feet. Its a good stunt. You loved your Oliver tractor a 60 series in the 50s. You moved us to Arizona in 1960. This was the best possible move for me. Frankly it wasn't as good for you. You spent all your energy making annual trips back to Iowa to visit. Oh well, you're there now!
- billcarr
Your sense of humor was somewhere between bent and odd. You told me a story from when you were in civilian pilot training after the war. You and Max Shepard were at a small country air show. A pilot was giving rides for a few dollars. "Shep" paid for a ride and was about to get in the plane when you slipped the pilot another $5 saying "give him a ride". When Max got out of the plane he was greenish and sick. To you this was funny (har har). Another time a you told a story about rubber tires on tractors. One man boasted the tractor could run over his foot and the rubber tire would not faze him. So here came the tractor out went the foot and ..... nothing happened. The other gentleman took a turn and his foot was nearly broken in pain. In the first guys shoe was a wooden foot. This was roll on the floor funny to you.
I remember a road trip you and I shared driving from Tucson to Iowa. We made Dalhart, Tx. that first evening. It was long enough ago Hiway 54 thru New Mexico retained a lot of its small town charm. On that trip, I picked up a habit from you that I hold dear to this day. That is whenever one sets out on a long drive, wash the windshield of the car. This puts a beautiful glow on the day and brightens the view over the hood. It is a nice way to view the world.
You once told me a wonderful story when you were driving a load of cattle from Washington, Iowa sale barn to Chicago stockyards. Nothing unusual here, just farm commerce selling livestock. En route and in Illinois, toward Chicago you are probably averaging 40 mph, 50 on the flats when, in a flash a sporty looking car sped past you at about 80. A sign in the rear window proclaimed "you've been passed by a Tucker".
Father ahead you see that car at a roadside mom and pop truck stop. You being you, pulled over to take measure. Yes, it was a Tucker! Chronologically, it was that one week where the cars were on the road as advertising, for the day when Tucker began selling cars. Alas no such day ever materialized, the modern air cooled Tucker only drove into the history books. For you, here was real americana! Preston Tuckers dream on the hiway.
Of 51 Tuckers produced, 48 are still operational occasionally sell for millions and are all in museums or collections. For you, one was "sitting on gravel", engine and seat cushion still warm, and in life! Not many folks can say they had such an experience as "passed by a Tucker"! Good for you Moe. (jlb 10/9/2023)
I will never forget your pictures as a young man. Your physique was absolutely amazing. There never was a Hollywood Tarzan actor that had muscle form over you. At your death you were still your humorous self. I will say here you looked about 130 years old on your last day. Bone cancer does that. You refused chemo. I asked " Moe, how you feeling"? When you answered, "I've been better" I knew you were still you.
Rest in peace, Moe. Many, many friends remember you and remember you fondly. I met one when I visited the Pleasant Plain cemetery. He spoke very well of you. I could tell he was happy simply recalling that he knew you. Godspeed!
A little note, 2012. I was back in Iowa and Esther and I were driving the countryside. We went past the farm stead where the picture of you with the rifle was taken. That was 1936. In the 80s there was still a windmill and a barn foundation to remind one where you lived. Today there is NO TRACE. It is all plowed field, even the roads have a different location, the local bridge is gone. It doesn't matter, in very few years there wont be any one left who remembers these things.
Just to keep up with time it is 2017. 5 years gone by since Esther and I viewed the old Bleess Homestead on Soccum Road. I thought of a story, one of the few times you and I actually went out to do "field things" You set up 2 tin cans side by side, touching and shot once, hitting both cans from about 50 feet. Its a good stunt. You loved your Oliver tractor a 60 series in the 50s. You moved us to Arizona in 1960. This was the best possible move for me. Frankly it wasn't as good for you. You spent all your energy making annual trips back to Iowa to visit. Oh well, you're there now!
- billcarr
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