Jennifer Rice photo
Sen. Bob Mitchler walks the yard of his rural Oswego home. For years, his front yard has been home to an enormous American flag strung between two trees.
By Jennifer Rice
Managing Editor
Bob Mitchler was a people person. He loved working with people, veteran organizations and schools. He truly was a Renaissance man.
I first crossed paths with Mitchler in 2010. I was to spend a few hours with the then 89-year-old veteran, summing up his life for a feature story. In the end, I spent two days with him — an excessive amount of time for a story.
On the first day, we talked for so many hours, the sun had disappeared, making the possibility of outdoor pictures impossible. I would have to come back.
“Why don’t you come back tomorrow?” Mitchler asked. “At lunchtime. We’ll have lunch together.” It was more of a statement, than a question.
And that’s what I did. After lunch, we moved outside. A few days prior, a storm had blown through Kendall County, snapping several tree branches and scattering dead twigs and limbs in his yard.
Before I know it, I’m riding shotgun in his John Deere Gator 6×4 vehicle, zipping all over his yard, Mitchler talking my ear off. He suddenly hits the brakes and points to a pile of twigs. “Why don’t you throw them in the back?” I do as he says.
A few feet further, he stops again. “Why don’t you throw them in the back?” Again, I do as he says. Suddenly, I begin to see a pattern. I notice several piles of twigs. I realize I was here to help him pick them up. And I didn’t mind at all.
Listening to Mitchler speak was a reporter’s dream — he never stopped talking. He was so knowledgably, on everything. He had the best stories. He recounted his time running for state senator, how he loved to campaign — “nice, clean campaigning, no mudslinging. We campaigned on issues and platforms,” he remembered. Something they don’t do today, he remarked.
“Never get into a squirting contest with a skunk,” he told me, shaking his finger to the air for emphasis. “If you’re a public figure, you never get into an argument — even if you’re opponent’s wrong. Because the skunk will win, and you’ve got that splattered all over you, and you’ve got to live with it,” he said.
He had a political career he was very proud of. Over the years, he said politics changed. The General Assembly changed. “Today, I couldn’t stand doing what they’re doing down in Springfield.”
He served in both WWII and Korea. He was 21 when he enlisted in the Navy, just before Pearl Harbor. In September 1950, three months after marrying his wife Helen, he was called to active duty when North Korea invaded South Korea.
For Veterans Day, he’d talk to students. He wanted to stress to them to talk to their grandparents; ask them about their role in the war. Just thinking about the question made Mitchler get tears in his eyes. “I’d tell those young students, ‘Around the holidays, take your grandfather aside. Ask him, ‘Will you tell me what you did in the military?’”
He told me several times he’s really had a wonderful life, a good life. That summer and the next, he asked me to canoe alongside him during the Mid-American Canoe Race on the Fox River. That first summer, I tipped my canoe — twice. Before I knew it, Mitchler was long gone.
After the race, he held a 90th birthday party for himself at his house. That’s where I finally met up with him; smelling like river water, dirty with dried mud on my legs and a few bruises to boot.
“Well,” he said. “Maybe when you’re 90, you’ll be able to catch up to me,” which drew laughs from most of the partygoers.
I’m glad I had the honor and experience to know Mitchler. To know him is to love him. I consider him a friend and I’m sad that he’s gone. To the sea his spirit is now.
Jennifer Rice’s e-mail address is Jen@foxvalleylabornews.com.
