Robert John “Griz” Smith

Robert John “Griz” Smith, 69, died unexpectedly May 20, 2012, after stopping for a rest while out on his Harley-Davidson riding with friends up to Willow. He was 69 going on 19, and to say he lived life to the fullest is an understatement.

Griz was born Robert John Smith in St. Paul, Minn., on May 12, 1943, to Melvin and Dorothy Smith. He graduated a second lieutenant from Cretin Catholic Military Academy in St. Paul in 1961. He was married in 1963 and divorced in 1974.

Surviving are a long list of friends; sisters, Marjorie and Gloria; four children; eight grandchildren; and six great-grandchildren.

Griz’s appetite for life was unquenchable. He often advised us to “stay alive” and wished not for you to retain a beating heart, but rather hoped you’d share the “wanderlust” that overflowed his life, always looking for what was around the bend and over the mountain. He was also driven by the need to fish every creek, pond and river just to see what could be caught, to meet new friends and revisit old friends. He was a lover. He was a fighter. Griz was a travelin’ man.

Had he been born in centuries past, Bering and Cook would have discovered Griz’s tracks when they got to Alaska and could have saved much time and life just asking him if the land bridge to Asia or the northwest passage existed (of course, he might have said otherwise just for the mischief of it). There might have been lesser mention of great men such as Carson, Joliet, Lewis and Clark in the history books, for Griz would not have left much undiscovered in the West and Northwest. When he did venture Outside, it was never long before he missed Alaska badly. In his words, “I need to fish, hunt and blow up some fireworks!”

He was a pyro by trade and loved his work. Griz was a man on fire and proved true the old saying, “If you find something you love to do, you’ll never work a day in your life.”

He worked hard, played harder and possessed the fortitude to get things done, especially when it came to building stuff. This includes the cabin he built on the shore of the lake they call Woody and has just woken up from a long winter’s nap. He was a honey-do-list destroyer and was the first to show up if a house needed building or wood needed splitting. He was always there.

Griz was a man of faith. He may have had an unconventional relationship with the Lord and may not have been much for religion or formalities, but he believed strongly in living right and doing right by everyone.

The man loved guns and hunting things that leave big footprints, the sort of species that hunts you back if you don’t kill it good enough.

Never one to be unnoticed, and one of the most stubborn people you’ll ever meet, he was a rock to those around him. Not the pillar type, but rather the round, rolling-thunder kind that gathered no moss. Griz knew no fear and was afraid of no one. If you ever saw him running, it was best to run quickly in the same direction, for an explosive boom would surely follow. His advice if things ever got real bad was to point the wheels North and come to the Land of the Midnight Sun.

Griz was a veteran Bush pilot who was awestruck by the mighty mountains there. Accordingly, he wished for his ashes to be dusted from a plane over the horizons of Alaska. That shall be done shortly by a dear friend.

“For we know that if our temporary, earthly dwelling is destroyed, we have a building from God, and eternal dwelling in the heavens, not made with hands,” 2 Corinthians 5:1.

“I have fought the good fight, I have finished the race, I have kept the faith,” 2 Timothy 4:7.

In lieu of flowers, the family respectfully asks that donations be sent to your local church, a favorite charity or to the campaign of anyone running against President Obama in 2012.

“Quando omni flunkus moritati;” when all else fails, play dead.