Rick died in the summer of 1966 on a Mission to the Midwest. I believe Kansas or Nebraska. I believe he had been run over by a tractor on a farm. I was saddened when I heard this from an Olympus classmate I ran into at UofU. I can't remember who that was. Rick was always a cheery fellow. He was not eager to be drafted and not ready for college so he chose to do his service to his church.
Rick, Fred Glover and I were in the school's production of "Arsenic and old lace."
Rick played a dead body in the window seat that I had to carry down into the basement to bury.
Rick was always cheerful as was Fred. I remember hearing that Rick had been driving a tractor for somebody during his mission, helping them, and the tractor got away from him and he was pinned between the tractor and the fence and that's how he died. Yes, It was very sad. He was young, kind and an all-around good person.
Rick & I were locker partners all through OHS. We met in Third Grade (Mrs. Stark, Morningside Elementary) and were best friends from then on. Besides being classmates we went to Church together from Primary on, 'til he left for his LDS Mission in April 1967.
When we were sophomores, Rick's mother died from complications following surgery (gangrene). And Rick became obsessed with knowing about death, and especially what happens after death. He read everything he could find on the subjec. He wondered where his mother was, and what she might be doing.
In April 1967 I went to the airport to see him off on his mission; he went to Wisconsin & Minnesota. I was leaving two months later for the Great Lakes Mission (Indiana & Michigan). Before he walked out to the plane we stepped aside from his family to say goodbye. After visiting a bit I said, "Well, I'll see you in a couple of years." And he got serious and said, "No, I don't think I'll see you until the Millenium." That startled me; I said, "What do you mean? Why not?" And he said, "I just have the feeling I'm not going to come home alive." That left me pondering, as he flew away.
Two months later, the second week of June '67, I was sitting in the dumpy little cottage in my first area of my mission, in Jackson, Michigan, studying my discussions while my companion made lunch. A yellow cab pulled up to curb and the driver walked up to the open screen door with a yellow envelope in his hand. A telegram! Western Union! (Bad news!) It was addressed to me!!! As I signed for it I wondered, "Who died? Mom? Dad? Grandma?" I opened it up (I still have it) and the words "Rick Lenroot" "killed last night" "in Menomonie, Wisconsin" jumped off the pasted strips on the yellow sheet. Wow! Rick was right!
When I got home a couple years later I talked with my neighbor, Pat Cardwell (Olympus '65), who was in the same mission as Rick. He said he spoke with Rick's companion about what happened. Apparently Rick and his companion were helping a farmer/member of the local branch get his hay in before a rain storm came. The farmer's five-yr-old daughter climbed on the idling tractor and bumped it into gear. Rick ran and pulled her off the tractor, set her out of the way, then chased the tractor and tried to climb on to stop it. He slipped and the big wheel rolled over him. Crushed him.
The farmer and Rick's companion put him in the farmer's car and rushed into town to the hospital. But Rick kept telling them they didn't need to hurry; he said he knew he wasn't going to make it. He was DOA.
* * * * *
I remember when we were sophomores Rick told me he was going to get a guitar for Christmas. (Peter, Paul & Mary and the Kingston Trio were big, as you recall). I laughed and told him he wasn't a guitar player; and, besides, he was too old to learn. When he got the guitar I taunted him, "So play me something." He thumped around trying to make a chord and then change it. I laughed and mocked him. But he just kept a-thumpin' - and a month later he said, "Listen to this!" And, DANG! but he sounded GOOD! ("Tie Me Kangaroo Down, Sport" just like Rolf Harris! Accent and all.)
So I got guitar and went to practicing. And so did Ed Pratt (OHS '70) (Charmaine's little bro), Craig Omer and Mark Perschon (both OHS '67). Rick didn't enjoying sharing the limelight at Mutual. So he bought a beautiful, expensive Vega banjo, with Scruggs tuning pegs. He started out picking it slow as a snail. And again, I laughed. But in a few months he was frailing "Foggy Mtn Breakdown" just like Earl Scruggs (or Harry Miller).
Besides being "Mr Spinoza" and other assorted bodies in the window seat in "Arsenic & Old Lace" as Scott Bevan / Ford recalled, Rick was also a photographer on the yearbook staff with Mr Folland. I remember hanging out in the darkroom watching him develop & print photos. Dave Burnett,* OHS '64, was his hero! He probably wouldn't have matched Dave's stellar carreer, but he would've made something of his life, if he'd have had one. He was just that kind of guy.
I miss Rick. He was a fun guy!
Tom Green
*I knew Dave Burnett had made it when I opened a magazine one day and saw a full page Kodak advertisement bragging, "Dave Burnett uses Kodak film!" Wow! (beats anything Karl Rove, OHS '69 did.)
Frederick Glover
Rick died in the summer of 1966 on a Mission to the Midwest. I believe Kansas or Nebraska. I believe he had been run over by a tractor on a farm. I was saddened when I heard this from an Olympus classmate I ran into at UofU. I can't remember who that was. Rick was always a cheery fellow. He was not eager to be drafted and not ready for college so he chose to do his service to his church.
Scott Bevan (Ford)
Rick, Fred Glover and I were in the school's production of "Arsenic and old lace."
Rick played a dead body in the window seat that I had to carry down into the basement to bury.
Rick was always cheerful as was Fred. I remember hearing that Rick had been driving a tractor for somebody during his mission, helping them, and the tractor got away from him and he was pinned between the tractor and the fence and that's how he died. Yes, It was very sad. He was young, kind and an all-around good person.
Tom Green
Rick & I were locker partners all through OHS. We met in Third Grade (Mrs. Stark, Morningside Elementary) and were best friends from then on. Besides being classmates we went to Church together from Primary on, 'til he left for his LDS Mission in April 1967.
When we were sophomores, Rick's mother died from complications following surgery (gangrene). And Rick became obsessed with knowing about death, and especially what happens after death. He read everything he could find on the subjec. He wondered where his mother was, and what she might be doing.
In April 1967 I went to the airport to see him off on his mission; he went to Wisconsin & Minnesota. I was leaving two months later for the Great Lakes Mission (Indiana & Michigan). Before he walked out to the plane we stepped aside from his family to say goodbye. After visiting a bit I said, "Well, I'll see you in a couple of years." And he got serious and said, "No, I don't think I'll see you until the Millenium." That startled me; I said, "What do you mean? Why not?" And he said, "I just have the feeling I'm not going to come home alive." That left me pondering, as he flew away.
Two months later, the second week of June '67, I was sitting in the dumpy little cottage in my first area of my mission, in Jackson, Michigan, studying my discussions while my companion made lunch. A yellow cab pulled up to curb and the driver walked up to the open screen door with a yellow envelope in his hand. A telegram! Western Union! (Bad news!) It was addressed to me!!! As I signed for it I wondered, "Who died? Mom? Dad? Grandma?" I opened it up (I still have it) and the words "Rick Lenroot" "killed last night" "in Menomonie, Wisconsin" jumped off the pasted strips on the yellow sheet. Wow! Rick was right!
When I got home a couple years later I talked with my neighbor, Pat Cardwell (Olympus '65), who was in the same mission as Rick. He said he spoke with Rick's companion about what happened. Apparently Rick and his companion were helping a farmer/member of the local branch get his hay in before a rain storm came. The farmer's five-yr-old daughter climbed on the idling tractor and bumped it into gear. Rick ran and pulled her off the tractor, set her out of the way, then chased the tractor and tried to climb on to stop it. He slipped and the big wheel rolled over him. Crushed him.
The farmer and Rick's companion put him in the farmer's car and rushed into town to the hospital. But Rick kept telling them they didn't need to hurry; he said he knew he wasn't going to make it. He was DOA.
* * * * *
I remember when we were sophomores Rick told me he was going to get a guitar for Christmas. (Peter, Paul & Mary and the Kingston Trio were big, as you recall). I laughed and told him he wasn't a guitar player; and, besides, he was too old to learn. When he got the guitar I taunted him, "So play me something." He thumped around trying to make a chord and then change it. I laughed and mocked him. But he just kept a-thumpin' - and a month later he said, "Listen to this!" And, DANG! but he sounded GOOD! ("Tie Me Kangaroo Down, Sport" just like Rolf Harris! Accent and all.)
So I got guitar and went to practicing. And so did Ed Pratt (OHS '70) (Charmaine's little bro), Craig Omer and Mark Perschon (both OHS '67). Rick didn't enjoying sharing the limelight at Mutual. So he bought a beautiful, expensive Vega banjo, with Scruggs tuning pegs. He started out picking it slow as a snail. And again, I laughed. But in a few months he was frailing "Foggy Mtn Breakdown" just like Earl Scruggs (or Harry Miller).
Besides being "Mr Spinoza" and other assorted bodies in the window seat in "Arsenic & Old Lace" as Scott Bevan / Ford recalled, Rick was also a photographer on the yearbook staff with Mr Folland. I remember hanging out in the darkroom watching him develop & print photos. Dave Burnett,* OHS '64, was his hero! He probably wouldn't have matched Dave's stellar carreer, but he would've made something of his life, if he'd have had one. He was just that kind of guy.
I miss Rick. He was a fun guy!
Tom Green
*I knew Dave Burnett had made it when I opened a magazine one day and saw a full page Kodak advertisement bragging, "Dave Burnett uses Kodak film!" Wow! (beats anything Karl Rove, OHS '69 did.)