Buddy G. Blosser

Buddy Gene Blosser was born March 2, 1930 on his great grandparents' (Weeden) homestead in Beaver County, Oklahoma. He was delivered by his grandmother Sylvia (Weeden) Blosser. The only son of L. D. (Bud) and Gertrude (Wedge) Blosser who precede him in death. He is also preceded in death by five sisters, Lenore Hinkle, Doris Winston, Janis Kimbrough Carnahan, Verda Hill, and Joan Kisner. His high school sweetheart and wife of 65 years Glenda (Price) passed away in 2011.

Buddy died from bladder cancer which had metastasized throughout his body. Mike was by his side as he was every morning for the last year. In the summer of 2020, his doctor thought he would have about 6 months to live if he refused treatments. Dad refused treatments and showed them by living another 1 ½ years. He managed to enjoy his 90th birthday celebration before COVID quarantine and the birth of his great, great-grandson this fall before the pain incapacitated him.

He is survived by his sister Donna (husband Dave) Singh, his 6 children, Larry (wife Patty) Blosser, Glenda L. Blosser, Michael Blosser (eternal fiancé Lucia), Patricia (husband Dallas) Ross, Debbie (husband Jim) Neergaard, and Susan (husband Chris) Jabin, 11 grandchildren and spouses, 25 great-grandchildren and spouses, and one great, great-grandson (3 months old), as well as many nieces and nephews.

Buddy grew up in the dirty thirties, in the area known as the dust bowl. The book by Tom Brokow describes his life, The Worst Hard Times. His father and grandfather had bought a gas station-mechanic's shop and moved to Liberal, KS only to lose it when they were unable to pay the property taxes in those difficult times. His father worked wherever he could to feed his family including farming for others in the area and on railroad crews in a government work program. His parents did everything they could to keep their family together. Buddy kept his sisters close after their parents' passing with annual, group trips. The result was a very close knit family which continues to this day among the cousins.

Although the depression was a difficult time, our grandparents did not talk about it, he enjoyed recounting tales from those days. I'll share some here.

His great-grandmother Sarah (Ma) Blosser lived in a sod home, which still stands, on Clear Creek near where he was born. The children loved to swim in the creek. Once a number of boys got in a stock tank to float in the creek. However, the creek was swollen with spring rains and a little too much floating was taking place. One of the older boys managed to grab a tree branch and hold the tank in place while the others climbed out onto the bank. Dad felt his life had been saved.

On Black Sunday in Liberal the dust came in so thick no one could see even with head lights on when driving. He remembered it for a different reason though. Beginning as a beautiful day, his older sisters and a friend walked to the park. He was not permitted along, being angry, he went into the girls' room and cut the friend's lovely, new dress from hem to top with scissors. The young lady pleaded for him not to be whipped but he got a whipping. He often said he got a whipping every day of his life. His mother denied this but added, "He probably deserved one."

In 1936, the family began a migratory life accompanied by their grandparents and his uncle's family moving between eastern Oklahoma and southwest Kansas picking fruit and raising what livestock they could for meat. They were mistaken for gypsies and ran out of town when the girls were washing their hair in a river by the town park where they were camping. His memories included watching his parents go without food so the children could eat and their mother turning down a charity Christmas basket of food because there were people who were in greater need.

Wherever they went, his mother enrolled the children in school. He was in the 6th grade before he attended the same school for an entire year. Repeatedly the new kid, he scrabbled his way to acceptance. He fought for his sister too who had a cleft lip and was often ridiculed. This is the reason he supported Smile Train and would ask you to do the same. Another sister was struck by a drunk driver while she was riding her bicycle changing her life forever and his, he was a life-long teetotaler.

While attending Jay, OK high school, he played on the basketball team. Watching the Nuggets and March Madness, filling out the tournament sheet to gamble on the winner were favorite winter pastimes.

While at Jay High, he met his future wife Glenda and a rival for her affections. A fight erupted and he landed a fist on the side of the fellow's head with Mom's class ring striking the temple. The boy hit the floor and Dad thought he had killed him. The following day he was called to the front of the class where the teacher said, "See this fellow here, don't mess with him." Years later the same fellow was on a traveling baseball team that showed up to play the local team which Dad was on. Dad stayed out of sight.

Dad and Mom were married in 1946 when he was only 16. They lived briefly in Ohio with Glenda's sister Gladys Paul and her family. 50 years later, he could still recall the names of farmers to whom he delivered coal. Soon, they moved to the farm north of Plains, KS where he farmed with his father until 1961. When the lease expired, the farm passed to the owner's daughter and her husband. So, he loaded up the family and moved to Colorado with the household items stacked in a grain truck and a pickup.

He entered business with his brother-in-law building homes in the fast growing Denver area. He found he would need that school yard scrabble mentality to fight his way through business failures and fears that come with loss of jobs. Eventually, he learned the method for framing subdivisions and succeeded as a framing contractor. His sons joined his business and headed up crews adding to the company's success.

Buddy loved to waterski having learned on a visit to Ohio in the '50s. He bought a boat as soon as possible when he got to Denver. Taking family, friends, and on one occasion the church to Jackson Reservoir to ski.

Church was a fixture in his life. On the farm, he took his family to the Mertilla country church (formerly the school house). One Christmas, he embarrassed his wife by having his young daughter Debbie, who did not pronounce words correctly yet, stand on stage and recite Simmy Pen a poem about a duck who eats soap and dies with a bubble in his throat. Debbie had some bawdy pronunciations. Dad and his friend laughed heartily, Mom, not so much.

In Denver, he took the family to Cloverdale Church of God. He served many years on the building committee. When Pastor Peterson began building his long dreamed of sanctuary, Dad pitched in. He and Mike built the wood, tongue and groove ceiling/roof with ridge more than 30 feet high. He and friend David Turner built the stepped choir loft which was used for about 40 years.

He and Glenda moved into their dream home in 1972 which he built in the country. The home had plenty of room for hosting picnics and yearly family reunions which always included volleyball games in the afternoon and card games in the evening. As the family grew with grandchildren and great-grandchildren to their delight, there was no trouble having the large family gatherings which could include thirty+ people.

Dad was a person who could laugh at himself. He often recounted the time he was playing cards in the superintendent's trailer. When someone spotted the super coming, he opened the desk drawer and all the cards went inside except his very good hand which he was holding when the super walked in.

Dad was a man of character as well as being a character. Both had lasting impacts on those he met. He attended the wedding of a worker when the young man's father gave him the compliment of his life. The father said, "I want to congratulate you. You did something for my son I've been trying to do for years. You made a man out of him." Alternatively, when he attended the funeral of his uncle he met a fellow who said, "You're Bud Blosser! I've been hearing stories of you ever since I can remember."

He had several wise saying he told us over dinner that were sure bets for us to live by. "You pay your own traffic tickets." "If you go to jail, don't call me to bail you out." "When you get married, stay home and solve your own problems." "When you're getting on the highway, look for a car that looks like it has good breaks and get in front of them."

In retirement, he was active in senior sports playing volleyball and softball for many years. He didn't like to travel but went to FL to visit relatives and race in the Malibu mini-car race tournament. Always a lead foot, his team won. He played volleyball until he was 89, 3 years ago, when he could no longer serve the ball over the net. Feeling he wasn't an asset to the team he moved from playing to spectating at Larry's games.

After Mom passed away, he surprised me with how well he did taking care of himself. He would cook his favorites, beans and cornbread (made from a box) and chocolate chip cookies. Except for the first batch which were a little salty because he didn't know the difference between a tablespoon and a teaspoon, his cookies were better than mine.

We have had many benefits from having him as a father. He helped us get started in life with educations, homes and business. He taught the great benefit of family and fun. Greater things than these he gave us too like enduring through difficulties, love and discipline, character, and so much more that words and memory fail.

We miss him but we are glad he is no longer in pain. Thanks, Dad, for not giving up, for sticking with us. We did our best to take care of you and we know you did your best to take care of us.


To share a memory of Buddy or leave a message of condolence for the family, please visit the guestbook below.