Obituary of Robert Ernest Brownlee

BROWNLEE: Robert (Bob) Ernest Passed away on Wednesday March 9th 2016 in his 86th year. Beloved husband of Joan for 58 years. Loving father of Gregory of Calgary, and Wayne (Ann). Proud Grandfather of Matthew and Taylor. Dear Brother of Dorothy Walker (Donald), Laura King (Raymond), Linda Zibens (Peter), Gail Hickman (the late Robert), and brother Kenneth (Sharon) Predeceased by his brother William John (Phyllis). Robert will be lovingly remembered by his many nieces, nephews, American and Irish cousins, his black lab Beau, and all that knew him. Robert is the former owner of UAP stores in Ajax, Pickering, Whitby, Port Perry, and Uxbridge. Visitation will be held at the DeStefano Funeral Home, 1289 Keith Ross Drive, Oshawa (south side of Taunton Road, east of Thornton Road by the Oshawa Airport)905-440-3595 on Monday March 14th from 2:00-4:00 & 7:00-9:00pm, and on Tuesday, March 15th from 12:00 – 1:00pm. A Service to Celebrate Robert’s Life will be held in the DeStefano Chapel on Tuesday, March 15th at 1:00pm. In lieu of flowers, donations may be made to the Lung Association, Heart and Stroke Foundation or to a charity of choice. Memories may be shared at www.destefanofuneralhomes.ca . . . Wolfram Leibbrandt has written the following: I had the pleasure of meeting Bob through his sister, Linda Zibens, many years ago. And although we were in a different line of work, we hit it off instantly. In fact, he was such a decent guy to be chumming around with, that I didn’t have the heart to tell him that I hadn’t yet bought a single auto part from him. That was a serious concern. Only after he and Joan had retired did I have the chance to fish with him in some of those pristine lakes in the Haliburton Highlands. He caught the fish; I didn’t. But that didn’t matter to me because it was his company that I enjoyed. In recent years, however, he had to let the younger generation - those who were in their 60's and 70's, me being among them - tramp through the bush to their favourite fishing holes. And so, whenever I made the long trip from Ottawa to again try my luck, my first stop wasn’t a glistening trout lake but a stopover to see Bob and Joan. And it wasn’t to quench my hunger and thirst. Still, they would insist that I have a beer. But refusing one, I figured, wouldn’t be polite. Nor a second one. Would you like a sandwich, too, they’d ask? How could I refuse. Bob and Joan were a most gracious couple! Had I asked for a steak, Bob would have whipped one up in no time. It’s no wonder then that he has left me with a host of wonderful memories - ones of unfailing wit and humour, of courtesy and respect. I also knew him as a straight talker. To illustrate my point, for example, a few years ago I had knocked on their door in stormy and rain-soaked weather. I was giddy with excitement, since I was coming unannounced. The front door swung open. “Surprise!” I shouted. Bob stared at me, mouth open. “You scoundrel, you,” he exclaimed. I knew that he was happy to see me. “What,” he wheezed, “are you doing out in this weather?” All of a sudden, he doubled over and erupted in a fit of coughing. “I wanted to say hello,” I cried out, “before heading to Laura’s cottage.” “Keep your voice down,” he demanded. “Joan’s gone for a sleep.” He squinted at me. “You’re dripping wet. Get in here so I can close the door. It’s a good thing you’re not going fishing.” “Actually, Pete and Mel are waiting for me at Laura’s.” “Scoundrels, they are,” he blurted. “I wouldn’t be going in this weather . . . Must admit, though, that it never seems to bother them.” “Maybe if I don’t show up,” I said, “then they won’t go, and we’ll have longer to chat. Anyway, how have you been doing?” “My asthma’s doing fine, thanks. Morning’s are my best times - that’s when I’m gagging and croaking like a frog that’s stuck in my throat.” “Sounds worse than the last time I saw you,” I said with a grimace. “Worse, you say?” He looked at me closely. “You look like you haven’t eaten in a week.” “But I’ve always been on the thinner side.” “Then it’s time you fatten up. Let me rustle up some bacon and eggs. You want sausages? Of course you do, what am I thinking? You always like sausages.” “Every time you cook,” I said, my mouth dripping with anticipation, “it’s so delicious.” “Lies, Wolfram. That’s all lies,” and he left for the kitchen. “Let me help you as soon as I get my coat off,” I said. “No, no. Don’t want another accident!” Then, amidst the clanking of a frying pan, “Pull up a chair; I want to hear what you’ve been up to. Just make sure to take off your boots so Joan won’t throw another fit.” “You're always reminding me, trying to keep me out of trouble.” And so, we talked and talked, mostly of the great outdoors that we both loved. He chuckled over the time when we had cast into a quiet lake, our eyes bulging and our hearts and minds tensed on who would draw the first strike. One time, on our way to fish at a solitary lake, we had to muscle our way through a dense forest. Branches whacked us in the face, and logs tripped us up. But those were not the episodes I recorded on film. The language we used out of frustration wouldn’t make for good listening to sensitive ears. He loved riding his ATV and didn’t mind taking it into the bush. We once were on a trail that led under old-forest trees where he splashed through a series of puddles like a kid on a bike. Mud flew everywhere. He had laughed at that, while I cleaned myself up. Our chatting of those times had flown by all too quickly. Bob, I’ll miss you, very much!!