I don't know how Uncle Chester got to be Uncle Buck, but that's what he's always been to me. I think my Grandmother had a preference for one-syllable names for everyday use. My Mother, Catherine, was forever called "Kit" by her family members, and Chester became "Buck". My Uncle Clyde came with a one-syllable name already attached. My first memorable exposure to my Uncle Buck was during an extended visit with my parents to his and Aunt Joan's home in Longview in 1950. Uncle Buck took us on a tour of the LeTourneau plant, and showed us some of the mammoth earth-moving and construction equipment he had designed. I was really impressed. At my age (14 or so), I had given very little thought as to the process by which some of man's major engineering achievements had come into being. It was a real eye-opener to see how scribbled numbers and sketches turned into huge machines capable of moving mountains. I know that Uncle Buck introduced me to my future engineering career, for which I am more than thankful to him. Visiting with Uncle Buck was always pure joy, partly because he was the most amusing person in the family. His sly witticisms were consistently a part of his conversation, slipped into the context of discussion seamlessly, and always good naturedly. His observations on people and the world around him were sometimes off-the-wall, and often thought-provoking. He could send you into a fit of giggles with a simple comment. An example: we were driving through a nearby town in California, when he pointed to a building and said, "Did you know we were related to royalty? That's where they live!" At that moment we were passing a Church of the Jehovah's Witnesses; above the door were inscribed the words "KINGDOM HALL". I almost went off the road. In 1985, I joined my Mother, Uncle Buck and Aunt Joan in an extended tour of Jordan and Israel. Uncle Buck had grown a bit deaf by then, and frequently didn't hear much of the conversations around him. It didn't seem to hamper his enjoyment of the trip, and he particularly relished visiting places which figured importantly in the life of Jesus. One afternoon, in Jerusalem, I was conducting our group on a tour of the Tomb of the Virgin Mary. I had studied the particulars of the site the previous evening, and we spent over a half hour in the subterranean grotto examining and discussing the artifacts and art works that adorned the Tomb over the centuries. A beautiful and impressive sight it was. As we were climbing the steps out of the grotto, Uncle Buck voiced his impression: "Boy, that was really beautiful! Whoever's buried there must have been really important!" A couple of days later, we were visiting the Church of St. Anne, one of the oldest in Christendom. One of its notable features is the unusual quality of the acoustics, allowing a whisper to be heard nearly a hundred feet away. A docent was describing this feature in a very low voice, and then moved toward just in front of the altar, where she lowered her voice to a very audible whisper. At that moment, the interior of the church was filled with the roar of what sounded like a giant garbage grinder, with clashing gears and intermittent whooshing and clicking. We all looked about wildly, trying to find the source sonic invasion. And then we saw Uncle Buck, sitting on a bench in the back of the Church; his camera had shot its last shot and had loudly gone into automatic rewind mode. The Church was filled with the sound of laughter. I could continue my reminisences for many pages, talk about my admiration for his breathtaking engineering achievements which he accomplished with a basic high school education. I could extol his virtues has a husband and father, roles that he excelled in. I had best just close by saying that my Uncle Buck was not just a good man, though he was. In my eyes, he was a very great man, in his professional achievements, in his love of his fellow man, his love and nurturing of his family, and his love of God. I shall always cherish his memory. Don Yokum Ventura, CA