Roy Curtis Pilkington, of The Villages, FL, reveled in being a “Frog.” Tuesday morning, he croaked.
As a tadpole, in Hamilton, Illinois, Curt (everybody calls him Curt) grew up on the farm with his sister Connie. To the end, he showed no adverse effects from the time she hit him in the head with a baseball bat. He graduated from Hamilton High School in 1962 and joined the army reserves. He loved farming with his Dad.
Some time after high school, he found a strange girl’s sweater in his car (she left it there on purpose). She came to pick it up and after that, he pretty much had no say in the matter. Dolores Luder , Dee (nobody calls her Dolores and DO NOT call her Dee Dee), grabbed hold of him and didn’t let go for over 50 years. By all accounts, he was fine with it.
Dee and Curt were married on the first Saturday after duck season, 1967. (You did not interrupt duck season.) And not long after, Stephanie was born (he called her “Daughter”) and then Mary (“Pumpkin”).
These three women were his world. In 1972, Dee made him a tuna casserole. He politely asked her never to do it again. As of Tuesday, she still hadn’t.
Curt left the plows and chickens and pigs behind (Dee did not like the pigs one bit) and having worked as a meat cutter, eventually landed in the corrugated box industry where he quickly worked his way up the ladder…and across the country. The family moved to Virginia, Missouri, Indiana, Ohio and eventually, Kansas City (technically Liberty), Missouri.
Every payday, Dee would drop by work to pick up the check and deposit it. The bank would never have recognized his actual signature. Curt’s deadpan sense of humor could catch you off guard, like the time Dee showed up to collect his check the receptionist called his office and he asked her, “Who’s here? My wife or my girlfriend?” (Receptionist horrified.) Dee looked at her expression and said, “He just asked of it’s his wife or girlfriend, didn’t he? Tell him it’s both.”
He was a connoisseur of Apple Pie, determining early on that at its best, it should be cut into only 4 pieces. HIS four pieces. (But he would always share without putting up too much fight.)
Curt was a 50 year Mason and Eastern Star, a member of the Scottish Rite Valley of Indianapolis and Fairway Christian Church. He could strike up a conversation with a deaf/mute and get them to talk.
He ate, V e r y. S l o w l y.
NASCAR races were a family affair. Dee would make and pack the sandwiches. Curt would eat them in the cab of the pick-up with Stephanie and Mary, his race day crew, before climbing to their seats at Kansas Speedway.
Dee and Curt were big into square dancing. Years ago, they “cliqued” with a small group of fellow dancers and today, most of them have traded in cowboy boots and do-si-do’s for golf carts and warm winters.
Sometimes it was hard to tell if Curt was happier on the golf course or riding in the golf cart. He built a shrine to his hole-in-one golf ball. He enjoyed playing with Stephanie. He tolerated playing with Dee (she makes up her own rules). Mary? They never made it past the driving range. In fact, after 15 minutes, he asked her to wait for him in the car.
Curt was a good, kind man. (Actually, that’s all you really need to know.)
He had tremendous patience. He needed it. His 2 daughters gave him 6 grandsons ranging in age from 22 years to 9 months: John, Ben, Jerad, Brad, Henry and Little E.J. And one great grandson, Deklin. Sons-in-law, (great) nieces and nephews and too many friends count.
Don’t bother with flowers. Curt wouldn’t like the fuss. He DID like the Fruitland Park Lion’s Club so you could always make a donation there.
Friends and family will send him off to one last tee box at 2 p.m. Monday, December 11, 2017 at Fairway Christian Church.
