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Show ALL DUNN by Roy Dunn HOWDY FOLKS Frank Robertson is dead. He wanted to live just a little longer, even as you and I, but there comes a time for all of us to make this transition and we are gone. Whether we want to go or not we are gone. Now there is something missing miss-ing in my life for I counted Frank among my closest friends and I am positive that if I had ever needed help, Frank would have been ready and willing for this was his nature. I recognized and admired his talent for writing, his chosen profession, and I realize he is internationally known. Probably Prob-ably more so than some of you realize and his major works there were some who took advantage ad-vantage of his compassion for the oppressed. He always said that he believed everyone wns basically honest, and those few who weren't, had a sick mind, and were to be pitied. He always encouraged me in my efforts of writing and I learned many things from him about the literary arts, for which I am thankful. He has said, on more than one occasion, occa-sion, that he would like to live iong enough to see a book which I am writing, published. He never made it and the book probably won't either. But Frank believed it would he had faith in me, as he did in all mankind. He was very proud of his family and would tell, on the clighest opportunity, the virtues vir-tues of his son, Glen, and his wife, Vera, who live in Visa-lia, Visa-lia, California. He conceded there were many good, intelligent intelli-gent women in the world, but none could quite measure up to Vera. And it was a foregone conclusion that the same thing applied to Glen, as a man. I'm sure the feeling was mutual between these three, as it is with Kelly and Janet who operates op-erates the Robertson's acres in Mapleton. Who is there among us who doesn't have an enemy? Maybe Frank had one. I don't know I never met one. But there were many who did not agree with his views, but they always read his coumn. How else could they know they didn't agree with him ? But agree or not, Frank couldn't have cared less, for he always met everything every-thing head on right or wrong. Viaje con Dios, Frank! SEE YA'ALL LATER was asked for. and received, by Brigham Y o u ng University where they are on display for all to see. Quite an accomplishment accomplish-ment for a man who was a sheepherder in his ycuth and whose education was received in spurts and jerks, never having hav-ing completed the eighth grade. A man who wrote his own acceptance speech when he was made Honorary Governor of the state of Oklahoma, and whose name is registered in the Cowboy Cow-boy Hall of Fame in Oklahoma City. All of this and much more impresses me. But I am not as much impressed by all this, as I was by his character. His compassion for the down-trodden, the undei-dog, was so great it almost consumed him. And if his compassion consumed con-sumed him, his hatered for bigotry big-otry and do-gooders took over at times. He absolutely could not tolerate a holier-than-thou attitude in anyone. In driving along the road with him one time, I saw Frank shed tears of compassion at the sight of a deer in whose side an arrow protruded for half of its length and the wound was infected, obviously causing the animal great pain. And mixed in those tears of compassion for the deer, were tears of rage for the bowmai. who had injured this helpless animal, then abandoned it to a slow, horrible death. He blew his nose and muttered, "Sportsmen "Sports-men bah!" I saw Frank shed tears of grief when his wife, Winnie, died and I saw Frank shed tears of grief when his little dog, Ginger, died. Yes, Frank was a compassionate man and |