By George Stahl
Special to the Sun
This past weekend I heard that a friend of mine passed away. Most of you, if not all of you, have heard of him. His name is Ernie Anderson. He and his wife, Vera live in Kernville, and that’s about all I am going to say about their personal life, that’s why it’s personal, right?
Instead, what I am going to do is simple, I think. I am going to use short phrases, even single words to describe Ernie. From that, I think you will get an idea of the man he was, and the friendship we had. Yours undoubtedly will be different, but this was ours.
Ernie was a scientist. Geologist. He was not the ordinary kind; he didn’t just chisel stones to look inside of a rock. He looked at why that particular rock was where it was when he found it. Everything had a reason, a purpose, and a story.
He was an adventurer, explorer, inquisitive and he could be mischievous when he wanted to be. Most of the time. He had a feeling that there was a lot of unknown out there, and he wanted to see it. Water, sun, and earth, everything outdoors.
Ernie was a dog owner, and a companion. He was humorous, affectionate, and at times sensitive. He had no ill will for anyone, and at the same time he could be discerning when he needed to be.
Ernie was bold, straight forward, and often times he shot from the hip. There was a plan, although sometimes not a complete one, but it usually came together in the end. His heart was always willing to see both sides of something, but he had his own convictions and ideas of how things were and where they were going. Other people were on his mind a lot, and he was willing to put his wants aside for a little while when he felt he had to.
Robin Williams look alike. That’s all I am saying about that.
Ernie was the sort of guy other guys wanted to be. He was a man, a faithful father, a loving husband and a man not afraid to show his vulnerable side, although it wasn’t his favorite.
Ernie was an author, a successful human being, and a great, ever there, sort of friend, and he had a dump truck. He didn’t really need a dump truck, but by golly, he had a dump truck!
I will miss your smile, your voice, and your wisdom. Oh, and that laugh. I have to stop now, it’s getting harder to see the