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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 Prebyterians, 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.
On 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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