Terry Lee Dill

As one Doug's sculpture students some 35 years ago, I
thought about and remembered a hundred stories of the
times we spent together. I don't think that Doug ever
knew how important he was to me. He was my teacher, my
friend, and one my greatest mentors. He was the
approving father of my career in the arts.

I cried when I first hear the news of his passing. I
still quote him from time to time. He always passed on
his lessons in life.

I owe him a lot because he always gave me the freedom
to do my work and trusted in my talent to execute it
in my own creative way. I would stay up for 2 or 3
days at time working on my sculpture because he was
such a great inspiration. He somehow made you want to
please him and work hard even when he knew that you
would be the one that gained from the experience. You
could always trust that down deep he would be honest
with you.

There was the time I was worked on a kinetic sculpture
with two or three electric motors. It was very complex
piece and I had little experience with such things.
After six months, Doug finally offered to buy the
piece from me - I said "what for? I didn't even think
you liked it". "I don't" he said," I want take a
hammer to it and destroy it. It's a bad piece Terry,
please, please get rid this piece of crap!" I stopped
working on the piece two weeks later. It took a huge
load off my mind. He knew he was doing it for my
benefit. Doug had a great sense of humor, he use to
make me laugh so hard that tears would come to my
eyes.

He was always taking care of me. He once saved my ass
in bar fight. I got myself in trouble with some locals
on one of our motorcycle trips and he pulled me out
before half the bar came after me.

Doug taught me so many things. He was so generous with
his time. My goal has been to be the best artist I
could be and make him proud of me.

I spent a lot time with Doug, Bonnie, and Mike. They
were all so supportive and were like a second family.
When I was told I only had six months to live because
of my heart condition, Doug was the only person aside
from my mother who showed up in my hospital room at
the Mayo Clinic (by the way I'm still ticking 35 years
later).

He was great man, great person, great friend and he
will never be gone from my heart. I will get misty
eyed when I think about him in the future. He will
continue to live in my thoughts until I die.

Daniel Jordan

I met Doug some years ago. I was a student in an
iron class he gave at Penland built around the idea
of the circle. That concept typified Doug's orientation
as a teacher. He loved teaching. He abhored
dogmatism. He encouraged each of us to
expand our horizons and experiment.

I was quite a bit older than Doug and that
allowed for a little different relation than
is usual between teacher and student. Doug
was delighted when he learned that
I had started out as a union organizer and
was working at the time of the class
as a union lawyer. My background appealed
to his working class sensibilities and
he and my wife ( who is also a union person)
got together both at that class and
at other ABANA conferences and other events
where we happened to be and sang
union songs, working songs, and folk songs
accompanied by beer and good fellowship.
Frequently Bonnie was in on these events.
We were terribly saddened to learn of Doug's
illness when we arrived at the ABANA conference
in Seattle in 2006. Now we are further
saddened by Doug's death and can only convey
to Bonnie our profound sadness and
offer our condolence at the passing of this lovely man.

Chet Ross

I first met Doug in 1975 while interviewing for my first teaching position
at Drake University. I had little experience as a designer and absolutely
no experience as a teacher other than one semester as a teaching
assistant doing an intro course in foundation design. I remember very
little about the interview except for my encounter with Doug. He essentially
said he liked me for the job I was interviewing for — teaching interior
design in the Art Department. When I asked Doug why he thought I would
fit the position his answer has always stayed with me: “It’s obvious.
Anyone who could drive a tank and lead an infantry platoon in Vietnam
can certainly do well at this job despite having no teaching experience”.
When I mentioned that I failed to see the connection between my military
experiences and teaching in the Fine Arts College, he said, “You have
done many different and demanding things for such a young person
(I was 26), and you seem to continually demonstrate that you not only
can survive, but you also do very well at whatever you manage to get
yourself involved with, so teaching should be a snap for you”.

For me it was a simple yet a profound reply – an answer based on
seeing things in terms of black and white rather than in gray scale.
His answer had always been in my head and played a significant
role in my growth as an educator and designer. Quite simply, I have
never been afraid to tackle new challenges. On several occasions
when I had been confronted with making decisions that would
potentially cause major changes in my life, I simply thought of Doug’s
comments and moved forward to the next endeavor. I am certain
Doug never realized it, but he opened a big door for me – a door to
self-confidence that enabled me to accept varying tasks with little
knowledge of how I would manage – but I always did.

I also remember well the gathering at Doug’s house shortly before
Doug and Lee’s departure from Des Moines – Randy Long mentioned
this gathering in her thoughts. We drank good beer, smoked the funny
weed and did “finger dips” in very hot Thai hot sauce to see who could
take the heat and who could do the most finger dips. We laughed so
hard we cried – Doug and I both commented that the muscles behind
our heads were hurting as the tears from laughter rolled down our
cheeks (or was it from the hot sauce).

Doug was a great human being with a lot of common sense. He had
a wonderful sense of humor and was a gifted craftsman and artist.
I also found Doug to be a humble and shy person. Despite the fact
that our paths rarely crossed since my departure from Drake University,
I often thought of he and Bonnie and will continue to do so. I also cherish
the piece of his art work he gave me as a fair well gift. It has always
commanded a special place in my home, and will always provoke
memories of Doug and his sense of humor, his wisdoms, his craft
and the many ways our brief encounter influenced my life forever.

Drake University

Here is a link to an obit on Drake's web site.

Sue and Lloyd Crawford

What a wonderful tribute for a wonderful man. I will never forget
the first time Lloyd and I met the four of you. Your arrival in
Lesterville brighten everyone lives. You all became such an
important part of our world and I think that was one of the things
I missed the most when we moved. I will never forget the
hayrides to the forge and pottery shop, the nights at Wilderness
Lodge with all the Music. The float trips and the trail rides AND
the night Doug and Lloyd broke in the new sauna at Riversedge.
Here is picture of the way I will always remember Doug. He was
one of a kind and We will never forget him.

Tom and Lori Brickler

Doug and Bonnie, August 20, 2005

Sandy Johanson

The news of Doug¹s passing was a real shock for
Erik and I.   We were fortunate to reconnect
with Doug and Bonnie a couple of years ago after
seeing some of Doug¹s ironwork at the 
American Craft Museum.  They stopped by to visit
us in NJ on the way from Peter¹s Valley to Penland. 
They stayed a couple days and it was as if we
had never lost touch.  He cooked for us and we
stayed up late laughing and drinking beer.  We
reminisced a lot but also talked about what was
going on for each of us artistically. Bonnie was
making some beautiful jewelry and Doug was so
proud of her.  The smile and the wink, the teasing. 
His phenomenal curiosity about things and how they
worked.  He and Bon were great inspiration to Erik
and I. The first couple we knew who really seemed
to  "get" each other.  I can¹t imagine how hard it
must be for Bonnie to have lost her best friend.
Please give her our sympathy and love.  

Tim Smith

I can say up front that I certainly didn’t know Doug
as well as most of those posting their recollections
here, but I did want to take a moment to say that he
was a person who had a very large and very positive
impact on my life. Over the years since graduation,
I’d occasionally check to see what some of the people
that had really made a difference as artists and
teachers in my life were up to, and it was always
interesting to see what Doug was making. It was
with great sadness that I read about his passing.

I was a student at Drake in the late seventies.
Coming from a working class background where
art was considered a nice hobby, that time at Drake
was my first exposure to people that knew it to be
much more than that. It was at that time that I
had the good fortune to encounter Doug as an
instructor. His way of looking at things (including
his way of looking at how I was already looking at
things) opened up my view of what art was and
how it fit into the world. He was encouraging,
honest, insightful and immensely talented, as
well as gifted with an ability to deliver criticism
without crushing the ego of the recipient. I think
at some point in the process of my life, that
integration of art and life somehow all came
together, and I know for a fact that Doug was
greatly responsible for providing the guidance
that made that happen for me. Doug’s influence
on how I draw and probably, more importantly,
on why, lasts to this day.

Somewhere along the line, making art loses its
pretension and becomes part of your life. That’s
the greatest lesson I could take away from the
many things Doug taught me. Twenty some
years later, it’s still something I’m thankful for
every day. So thanks Doug. I’m still making stuff,
and wherever you may be right now, I’d like to
think that would make you happy.

Erik Johanson

Some of the fondest memories and milestones of my
life revolve around a brief few years of time in Des
Moines in the 70s. Great times as a student with
Doug and Bonnie and the crew at the Drake Art
department where I met and married my wife,
Sandy. Doug used to carry a slip of paper in his
wallet that purportedly was from Bonnie, it said
Doug was not allow to give any other women rides
on his motorcycle, thus avoiding hurting the feelings
of many an inquiring female student. In a twist on
that idea, many years latter I persuaded my wife
(in a weakened moment) to write me a note for my
wallet that gave me permission to pick up "art"
materials form roadside trash piles, this I would
take out to quell her objections when a choice item
presented itself. It was just a small homage to a
man who's influence on my life in the few years
I had the privilege to be around him, was profound.
His humorous spirit, creative energy and generosity
was unlike any person that had ever met up until
then nor since. I was truly blessed to have known
him. Sandy and I both regard Doug and Bonnie's
friendship during our time in Des Moines as an
inspiration for our relationship as a couple and in
creative pursuits. Working hard and playing harder
with a sustaining sense of integrity and kindness
are the attributes that he has inspired me to try
to emulate. Thank you Doug.

Old Photo

Tom Worthen sent this photo of Doug and Bonnie
working on a lost wax investment during the
summer of 1983. Doug had to finish this job before
he and Bonnie could move to Lesterville.

Mark E. Williams

I just learned of Doug's passing from the ABANA
website Sunday. I will miss his sense of humor and
his ability to see good in the works of others, even
when the others see no good work on their own.
I met Doug at the Campbell School during a warm
week in August. He was teaching Kitchen Smithing
and I was one of his students. Later, he was a guest
of mine while demostrating one weekend. Our
friendship grew over the years. It was a joy to
see him at conferences and in our infrequent
notes. As for teaching and ironwork, he was
able to look at a piece of ironwork and pick
out some part that was well done or looked
like it set the piece apart from others. His
comments always made the work go a little
faster. I will greatly miss having him within reach.

Michael Bondi

I got news about of Brother Doug’s passing from Jim Wallace.
We of course spoke briefly of the deja vu quality of it in
remembering the death of Russell Jaqua of the same disease
less than a year ago. For me it brought back that deep sense
of lose of not only a friend but of a great life force that has
been part of the close knit group that banded together in
the re-discovery of art and craft of blacksmithing in America
over 30 years ago.

I first really got to know Doug in the early 80’s when we both
served on the ABANA board of directors. It was a difficult
time for ABANA then and I remember clearly during one of
our late night board meetings in the cabins at Emmerett
Studebakers . Doug broke the tension of the night bye
saying “ I think its time for a White Tower Run “ I knew
then he was a man who had his priorities straight . One
of those was to enjoy life and not let the negative rule the
day. He was also a tireless teacher and supporter of younger
smiths. Doug was also one of early smiths who while admiring
and respecting traditional blacksmithing always pursued his
own contemporary designs. It was a great pleasure for me
to see such a large body of his work shown at the ABAN
a conference in Seattle. It gave people an opportunity to
understand how long Doug had been working at what
people today call the leading edge of the field.

I spent a great deal of time with Russell in the last year of
his fight with ALS and I spoke with Doug several times .
It is a more difficult struggle than one can imagine, Doug
and Bonnie dealt with it in the same courage’s and humorous
way they had lived their life together . My thoughts and
prayers are with you Bonnie. I don’t need to tell you
what a wonderful man Doug was. It is a profound
statement about ones life when you see the line of friends
at the door, it will be a long one for Doug.

"Gathering of Friends"

It was standing room only at the funeral home for
the "Gathering of Friends". I expect well over 250
people. Family, friends, blacksmiths, whitewater
friends, and locals. I made it through my talk
without crying, which is something I really wanted
to do for Doug. I talked about our 38 years together
and the people that had changed our history by their
actions during those 38 years. When Doug taught
drawing at Drake he loved to use the phrase,
"Fuzzy Lines Suck". By this he meant that the
student should be committed when placing a line
in a drawing. What I saw in the audience was a
group of people that were not Fuzzy Friends, they
were all committed to Doug as friends and he to them.

Following lunch, we all retreated to Peola Valley for
more food and beer, Doug wanted to buy all his friends
one last drink. We raise a glass to you, ol' friend.

Ben Grahan (#2)

I think that is a beautiful act of friendship
to render Doug's ashes to the waters.  You
are a kind, gentle and loyal friend to the
Hendrickson's.  I've always wondered if Doug
and Bonnie would have moved there without you
and Pam and it is that sort of comraderie that
made the transition from Drake so successful. 
Maybe I'm wrong, but without that collaboration
it always seemed the move would have been too
isolating for Doug and Bonnie alone.

When my mother passed away in '91 I went on a
retreat in Rhode Island and then ventured on
with her ashes to Merconi Beach on Cape Cod. I
ran with her ashes into the green pounding surf
and tossed them into the receding foam and then
returned to the beach, cried hard for a long time
and you know, the other night on the walk with
Teresa was the first time I've cried like
that since then. It is otherwise something that
can't be expressed- that great emptiness....

On one of the several trips I made south with
Doug to Peola we talked about that huge change
in community and networking. With coffee dripping
from his mustache and driving the new Ford van
in the morning sun, I can still see him nodding
affirmatively about the plans you all had- what
it meant to him to see you and Pam joining him
and Bonnie.  He loved you and looked to you,
respected you so much, Lee. Your presence and vision
made that next chapter the success that it has
been.  It was a huge deal for all of you to uproot
yourselves from the comfort of the Drake community and
to some extent reinvent yourselves.  Jason was still
young and the site was not completed but that was the
excitement, challenge  and adventure of it all.

When Doug and I installed the footings for the house,
we scratched in the concrete, "We will remain and pass". 
We'd been talking about the D.T. Suzuki books and
trying think to explore the zen process of creation,
energy and what it meant to do "one thing" purely with
all the implications for the future and there it is
and still remains, still supporting life though an
element has passed on... it continues for the sake
of what exists and is beautiful in so many ways.

Losing Doug must be an enormous blow to all of you
and you all are constantly on my mind. My best wishes
to you,Pam, Jason and his wife on this mother's day.

My sincerest desire is that you all will find an
easing of the pain and away to move forward with
remembrance and renewal.

-in sympathy and friendship,

Eileen and John Sherwood

When I think about Doug, there are two times that spring to

my mind and which seem to “capture his essence”.

The first is the first time I met Doug. I had just started
dating my husband and he had talked about his grandfather’s
cabin near the Black River. I had moved to St. Louis more
than 10 years before, but had never gotten out of St. Louis
County. I was eager to see what else there was of Missouri.
John and I started out early in the morning in his little red
pick up for what was to be a 5 hour excursion. We got to
Lesterville via every two-lane dirt road and low water bridge
that John knew. We had a soda and a sandwich, walked
around the property and down to the creek-after 30 minutes
we had seen it all. Then John casually said “Hey, let’s go see
if Bonnie and Doug are home. He’s the local blacksmith.” The
next thing I knew we pulled up in their yard, Doug came out
and we all began that male-bonding exercise of holding down
a pick up while staring into its empty bed. After brief
introductions Doug’s first question was “Are you serious about
this guy?” Leave the chit chat to somebody else-Doug’s going
for the bottom line. I must have held my own, because time
slipped away, wine was opened and dinner in Farmington was
arranged. I totally missed my “curfew” at home but when
Doug’s having a party—and it’s always a party—nobody
wants to leave.

The second occasion was a BAM meeting at Doug’s shop.
He always wanted to host in the summer, and every meeting
would end up at the river. At the end of the day, everybody
was hot and/or grimy from the forge, (and just being in
Lesterville in July). We all piled coolers onto the back of
his flat bed truck, climbed aboard and bounced down to
the river. We waded in, beers in hand, to watch the
end-of-the-day tourists floating by. I don’t know if the
discussion had started as an art lesson at the forge or
if the “usual suspects” were just enjoying themselves,
but there we all were, chest deep in the river, having a
passionate conversation about transmogrification as
religious precept and its applications to the art of
blacksmithing. I vividly remember looking around:
I saw grey beards, ponytails, bald heads, bandanas,
overalls and beers. I thought to myself “Is this a great
organization, or what!”

There will never be another Doug, but he’ll live on in
the stories we tell each other and our children.

We’ll miss you terribly, Doug!

Jeff Crawford

It has been a while since I got to see Doug. The times I made
it back to Lesterville he seemed to be out putting up some iron
somewhere. The last time I had a chance to visit with him he
was doing a gate for someplace in Tenn. I think. Yea that long ago.

I had the pleasure of meeting Doug and Bonnie in late 84 I believe
at Wilderness Lodge where I was working. I remember in the
winter months we would meet at the lodge and Doug and Bonnie
would play the Banjo and guitar for those of us there. Doug was
trying to get me to play the bass with them, I could not play or
hold a note if I had a bucket to put it in.

After meeting them I stopped by on many occasions at the forge
to watch Doug work or keep him from working I should say. He
always had something to show me. On one occasion he had
made some throwing axes for a few of us to play with. He had
a log outside of the forge that we would use as a target. I never
could out throw him, close but not quite. He seemed to be good
at whatever he was doing.

I went on a few canoe trips on the Black River with him. On
one trip it was Doug, Dad, Steve Apted and myself going down
middle fork during hi water. We put in behind Ronnie's house
and went across Chicks bridge with no problems and continued
on to the low water bridge behind town. As always it was a great
trip seemed so whenever Doug was around. As we was coming
up to the bridge we had taken on a little water due to doing things
most would not have been doing, as we was shooting across the
bridge we started rocking back and forth. With each rock the
side of the canoe would go under allowing more water in. We
never tipped over but the canoe was sinking under us as we
paddled, Doug was telling me to just keep paddling, which we
did until we was standing in the canoe with water up to our necks,
still padding. As I said trips with Doug was always great.

I learned a lot form Doug, more then I had realized at the time.
Hard to believe that when I make it back to Lesterville to visit
a pillar in a lot of lives it will not be in place.

Amy Worthen

May is morel season in Iowa. No one ever tells you
where they find their morels, you just have to wait
for the hunters to be generous. I first ate morels at
a party at Doug and Bonnie’s house in Johnston,
Iowa, probably thirty-five years ago. They had found
masses of them in the woods, and cooked them up
in butter, with just salt and pepper. They may have
been the best thing I have ever eaten in my life, and
I have never had them served better.

In about 1973 we were all in Europe for the summer.
The Hendricksons had a new motorcycle (a BMW?)
and we arranged to meet in Koln, where my sculptor
friend Victoria Bell and her husband Paul lived. We
all went out to a bar with a garden for a beer. None
of us will ever recall exactly what happened or what
I said, but somehow I, who spoke a fragment of
German thanks to 2 years of language classes
(free for Drake Dames), managed to enrage the
waiter who pulled the chair out from under me
and evicted us. I’ve spent the past 34 years living
that down. It seems to come up every time we are
with Doug.

Even after the ALS diagnosis, before things got
impossible, he talked about a trip to Venice. It
would have been hard – wheelchairs over bridges –
and in the end we all gave up on the idea.

Once, shortly after Doug and Bonnie built the
house in Lesterville, we spent a couple of nights
there on the way to Arkansas. It was the time
when xxx-rated movies were becoming mainstream.
Doug insisted that Tom and I sleep in their bedroom
in the loft and watch a porno video first. Doug and
Bonnie cleared out of the house, and Tom and I got
to watch Harry Reams, thanks to Doug.

Tom and I have a fine assortment of things he made,
including his eagle skull sculpture in wood…an odd
wooden box with cast rubber with tiny nipples…
the bronze container he and Ferber made together…
lithographs…and the veggie choppers, hooks, ladles,
a fireplace broom. Shana’s ladle and Maria’s iron snake.

I have some of his iron things – hooks and choppers
in Venice. Maybe the best gift he ever gave me was
the restaurant hamburger griddle (well, sold it to
me for $15 in about 1977) that became my studio
hotplate for inking my plates. It is almost as important
to me as my printing press.

It was a sad task to add Doug’s death date on our
permanent collections records at the Des Moines
Art Center.

There are too many stories. But I have to say that
he was a steady, deeply-caring friend who took the
time to be there for me when I really needed his
presence and understanding. His presence now is
so strong inside of me that I feel I will carry his
spirit with me for my whole life.

Amy Worthen

Dale Ferber

Doug from the time we went to the Taylor Reservoir
campground in Colorado.  Not a great picture of
Doug, but it has all a man needs ... picnic
table, good wine and food, all in a campground.

Reta Setzer

I AM SO PREVILIGED TO HAVE MET DOUG & BONNIE.
(THEIR NAMES JUST ALWAYS COME OUT TOGETHER)
WE MET AT THE ALS SUPPORT GROUP MEETING. THE
FIRST DAY WAS SO HARD FOR HIM AND HE HAD A LOT
OF US IN TEARS. AFTER THAT FIRST MEETING HE
ALWAYS HAD A JOKE FOR US.

NONE OF US KNEW ABOUT HIS PAST HISTORY AS
A PROF. HE TOLD US HE WAS A BLACKSMITH.

WE LAUGHED WHEN HE SHOWED US THE WAY HE
RIGGED UP HIS WENCH TO GET IN HIS VAN. I WAS SO
GLAD WHEN HE GOT A NEW DRIVE-INTO VAN.

IF HIS ARMS HAD LASTED NO TELLING WHAT HE WOULD
HAVE INVENTED

AT THE MEETING IN APRIL DOUG TOLD ME HE WAS READY
TO GO. WE HAD TALKED ABOUT THIS BEFORE AND HE HAD
WONDERED HOW HE WOULD GO AND WAS AFRAID.
I AM SO GLAD THAT HE WAS AT PEACE WITH IT.

BONNIE HAS BEEN AN EXAMPLE OF THE CARETAKER
WE WOULD LIKE TO HAVE. HER LOVE WAS EVIDENT
EVEN WHEN HE TOLD BAD JOKES.

I'LL MISS YOU DOUG. I AM SAD BUT GLAD THAT YOUR
FIGHT WITH THE MONSTER ALS IS OVER.

YOUR FELLOW ALS FIGHTER,

RETA SETZER

Tom Worthen

Doug is about the only person I remember when
I was interviewed by Drake's Art Department
in 1970. In part it was because of his
personality, which was as opposite of mine as
a personality could be, but also because of a
question he asked: What art excites you? What
I said hardly mattered (at that time it happened
to have been South German Rococo), but the
question said a lot about Doug. He was interested
in a colleague who was as truly involved in art
as he was, and as delighted by it. (It's been
a good question to ask other candidates, and it's
remarkable how many seem never to have felt much
passion for anything.) Doug's presence here was
one of the things that kept me at Drake.

Even with an MFA degree he felt slightly
intimidated by intellectuals, but that didn't hold
him back much. A lot of us faculty members took
ourselves way too seriously. He was fine at
undercutting our pretensions. We needed someone
like Doug. When he left Drake, the Art
Department lost a fair amount of its vitality.

Amy and I loved the parties at his and Bonnie's
idiosyncratic and friendly home in Johnston,
overlooking a broad prairie that now, alas,
is filled with newer and much less interesting
houses. Visiting them in Lesterville has been a
real joy, one that we didn't experience nearly
as often as we'd have liked. He was always
entertaining, but he was also a Good Man. It
was a pleasure and a delight to have known him.
I missed him when he left Drake.
I'll be missing him much more now.

Video Of Doug

Here are links to two videos of Doug. If you have
dial-up like me it may take a while.

Doug Hendrickson Blacksmith

Doug Hendrickson NO FEMA

Obituary

Here is a link to Doug's obit.

John Poole

Doug was the guy who lead me through Drake and
sent me to you. One less Flat Lander. I was really
lucky to have had him as a teacher and a friend.
He not only taught me how to take my thoughts
and start making Art out of them but also took a
rock and roller and taught him how to play Old
Timmy music. He always challenged me to expand
my mind and play with life.
During my Junior year at Drake I had done a lot of
Art that everyone loved and when I presented it I
got so good at Art speak that no student would
challenge me. Doug let me drill holes in his floor, glue
things to his walls, gave me his welding room and
then taught me the most important lesson in life.
He said right in front of the class that I could no longer
talk about my Art. I would only be able to listen to
how people responded to the Art.
Doug was a great spirit and I am so happy that this
man took interest in me, shared his time with me
and prepared me to be an Artist .
I also know by spending lots of time with Doug and
Bonnie that she was the force behind him and let
him play with his great idea's and his down to earth
personally.
Doug could light up any space he was in because
he was not only smart, Doug was fun and taught.

Walt Hull

Everybody dies, but when some people die they leave
a hole in the world.

I met Doug at my first BAM meeting, sometime in the
early 80's. I have never been the sort of person who
just joins a bunch of things, and when I went with Steve
Austin to Bob Patrick's old shop in Bethel I was hopeful,
but skeptical. The agenda for the day was a bench we
were to sell to raise a little money for the association.
I was working with Doug, who I think must have latched
on to me for my obvious newness, at a hand-crank forge
in the back portion of the shop, and there was a weld to
be made. Doug decided I could do it, though he had no
reason to think so. I had never even seen it done, let
alone done it myself. With the work in the forge, Doug
shaped the fire while I cranked to his orders: "Warp
speed, Scottie!" But no matter how hard or how gently
I cranked, we couldn't get heat. Doug was in with the
poker, looking for an offending clinker, and raked the
bottom right out of the old, cracked firepot, which Bob
had patched with clay to get us through the day.
Needless to say, we didn't get much work done.
Needless to say, I went ahead and joined the organization.

Doug was a man with no governor on his mouth. If he
thought it, he said it. The generosity that made him
trust a raw beginner with a difficult part of the job was
coupled to a wit that could be vicious in the criticism of
the pretentious, the insincere, the imitative. If that was
the side of him you happened to see first, it could take
a while to see that if he gave you grief it was a compliment:
it meant he knew you could do better.

While he was passionate about art ("There's art, and
there's everything else"), a piece of work didn't have to be
Art for him to value it. The important thing was not
whether it was a sculpture or a knife or a horseshoe,
but whether it was honest, appropriate, well made,
and above all, your own.

It also needs to be said that Doug didn't exist, and
probably couldn't have, without Bonnie, who for the
last yay-many years has held down the job of Center
of the Universe. Their ability to make very smart
long term decisions together, culminating in their
amazing handling of Doug's illness and its challenges,
has been as much an inspiration to me as Doug's teaching.

Doug was more responsible than any other individual
for making me a blacksmith, and the one who gave me
permission to be an artist. Every time I bring something
out of the fire I will look into the new hole in the world,
and see if I don't find something there to bring to the anvil.

See ya soon, Bonnie. Doug, see ya when I see ya.

Ben Graham

I just wanted to say hello and tell you it has
been too long, too much has happened and I never
knew Doug was ill.....  I am miserable at the
thought of him gone and not knowing or hearing
anything from anyone about the illness until
yesterday. He meant much to me as a friend,
advisor, teacher and big brother.

He inspired me to learn a trade, to understand
the  beauty of  tools and the pleasure of their
use and now, 36 years later his message and advice
remain a guidepost.

I deeply appreciate how Doug and Bonnie brought
me into their Johnston home. I remember the late
nights in the basement observing and learning the
nature of an artist.  Doug understood what line,
space and form were to one another and he could
convey what worked visually, what had character
and why those elements out of context might fail.
He honored both primitive and sensible approaches
to problems and encouraged us to be direct and
focused and to follow through and make the process
of creation as much a pleasure as the end product.

I am deeply saddened by him gone, and have always
and will always look at the world differently having
known him.

Editors Note: Ben as a former student came to
Lesterville on more than one occasion to help
us pour the footings of Doug's home and to pour
the first floor of my home.  One thing I will
always remember is Ben telling Doug and I that
it did not matter how much dirt was on the shovel
as long as the shovel kept moving.

Karen Donner

-going thru the airport concourse on one of our trips.
Bonnie tells Doug to pull-up his shorts. He, of course,
pulls them way down. ---- going thru the screening gate
to board the plane and once again Doug is caught with
a knife. He tells the airline attendant that he hopes her
son enjoys his knife. ----out to dinner in St Louis.
Doug is in wheelchair. Jim and I get to restaurant first
and secure a table. Doug and Bonnie arrive and Bonnie
and Jim suddenly take off. Bonnie is taking the
van to get serviced while we dine and Jim is following to
bring her back. Doug calls the server over and tells her our
spouses have run off together so bring us a bottle of Chanti
while we can drink and hopefully wait for their return. A
laugh a minute when out with Doug and Bonnie! The
wonderful memories of our trips to Costa Rica, Belize
and the Mayan Riviera. The kayaking trip to the Yough---
We stop for a meal and walk up to the order window.
Doug states he would like the barbeque chicken. Bonnie,
next in line says " Douglas" and he says " I really don't
want barbequed chicken. It would be an ugly sight if I
ate that." Something about an exploding chicken dinner
a few days ago that ruined his clothes.

Just a few of the crazy minutes we loved and will always
remember. Then I remember the many super days of
floating down the Black or another ozark rivers, always on
a weekday when the river was ours, and each time avowing
to each other that this was surely the most beautiful day in
the world! The great 2006 northern fishing trip to Minnesota.
Doug and Bonnie, Carl and Elaine, Jim and I in the mobile
home, with trailer hauling his ranger attached. The guys
drove and Bonnie, Elaine and I served snacks and beverages
while we played cards all the way to Minnesota. Word of warning !
Elaine always wins! Dave and Shirley join us at a site on Lake
Marion We catch large amounts of sunfish, bluegill and Doug's
one walleye. Copious amounts of food, beverage and love are shared!

One more main set of memories to go. Sometimes I wonder
if my grandaughters will remember Jim and me. I know that
they will remember Doug. There was "Dougie Camp!" Doug, Jim,
Karen, Tyler, Cole and Tessa, our grandaughter, off on a wild float
on the Black. Camp on a gravel bar! Catch fish! Doug fully praising
the fish catching of the grandchildren, fries up the few 4 to 5 inch
fish they catch. The kids smack there lips on the tasty morsels
that are served.Next morning Bonnie joins us, bringing cereal and
cold milk for breakfast. Other times just hanging out at their land
on the Black as their grandchildren and ours kayaked and swam,
collected snakes, crawfish and other nature creatures. Doug naming
his cats Fluff Bob and Flat Bob and their dog as Beagle Bob. Our
grandchild Molly, naming her pets, Turtle Bob, Tree frog Bob, and her
fish as spotted Bob, blue Bob, Yellow Bob---you get it.

Jim Donner

Doug and I were paddling the St. Francis River. He had
completed the rapid called Rickidy Rack and was in an eddy.
I was still in the rapid when I realized he was trying to get my
attention. His helmet was off, he was pointing to the top of
his head and flapping his arms like wings. I immediately
knew what he was telling me. There was a bald eagle in
a tree adjacent to the river. My thought was, "have I been
around this person too much?"

Just one of a million memories.
I miss you Buddy!

Jen Hendrickson

I haven’t known Doug for as long as many of you, or nearly as
well as many of you. I met Doug in the winter of 2000. I still
remember the night because it was the first family event that I

went to with Rob (now my husband), Doug’s nephew. Doug
teased me right off the bat, but I quickly learned to give it right
back to him – I instantly felt at home – and he gave me the wink
and smile he was famous for. I was fortunate enough to get
many more of those winks and smiles over the last 6 years.
My fondest memory of Doug will always be the Thanksgiving
when the family traveled to Missouri to visit Doug and Bonnie
a couple years ago. One evening we all gathered on the back
porch and Doug played his banjo as we all sat and told stories
and laughed. I am not even sure Doug knew this but I have
been a huge Grateful Dead and Jerry Garcia fan since college.
For some reason Doug always reminded me of Jerry Garcia
– the artist, free spirit. I was never lucky enough to see
Jerry Garcia play his banjo before he passed on but I liken it
to what I experienced that night on the back porch. Doug was
my Jerry Garcia. He was that guy that you want to know and
want to be near – even if just for a little while. I will miss Doug
very much but will always cherish the moments I did get.
And every time I hang up a pot or light a candle I will think of
him with love and fondness. I look forward to learning more
about Doug and hearing more stories about him as the years
go by. I am going to close with an excerpt of a Grateful Dead
song that’s always been one of my favorites and that as of late
has conjured memories of Doug.

Fare you well,

Fare you well,

I love you more than words can tell,

Listen to the river sing sweet songs to rock my soul.

Dana Hendrickson

My uncle Doug. He told good stories, he inspired,
and his laugh made you laugh. I learned a lot from
Doug and my Dad. There were always adventures
and always projects. During a visit to Peola Valley,
I learned how to drive a truck long before I was of
driving age, not just to drive the truck, but to pull
spruce trees out of the ground with the truck and
a chain. If I wanted to know how to catch fish the
easy way, Doug would probably say, "dynamite".
My dad was cleaning fish with Doug a few summers
ago, and his back was hurting because the cleaning
table was too low, Doug said lets dig a hole. He had
a gift of making you see things from a different angle.
I have always looked up to Doug and have admired
him greatly. So when I married my wife Pam, and
I received a letter about married life from him, I
was thrilled. It held great advise, like if you want
your wife to feel good when she walks in the door,
have some onions frying. It works.

I'm glad I am Doug's nephew, he means a lot to me.
Doug will always be in my mind, sparking creativity
and possibility.

I love you Doug.

Tim Underwood

I first met Doug at a BAM meeting early in 1992.
He was demonstrating some twisting variations,
and since my total forging experience was a
three month,one night a week continuing education
class, I paid very close attention. After his
demo I approached him and asked a question. His
answer started, then resumed after lunch with a
hands on demonstration at the forge for about
another hour.   Now, I didn’t know him, he didn’t
know me; but I wanted to learn and he wanted to
teach me. By the end of the day he had introduced
me to some of the endless possibilities of the
simplest operations in this art called hand
forging. He had also introduced me to everyone
he knew that came near the forge and made me feel
welcome.

That welcome feeling extended to my too infrequent
visits with Bonnie and Doug. Teaching and learning
went hand in hand with Doug, either one could get
him revved up and ready to try something completely
different. One Sunday afternoon I was at Lou
Mueller’s shop, workin at his forge, when in
comes Doug, on his way home from John C. Campbell.
Doug was wound up because he had finished a course
on lockmaking with (if I remember correctly) Tom
Latane, and spent an hour or so telling just how
much he learned and how he could use some of the
new technique in other works.

Then there were the discussions about art or Art
and where do you draw the line if there is a line
to be drawn between the two. Or the long talk about
selecting the proper font and whether the font
selection affected the work being typed or vice
versa. Or the latest story featuring Ole and Lena.
While finishing this I heard a corporate sponsor
message on KWMU that I’ll paraphrase:
Dougs mind was a green field where ideas frolicked
like new lambs on a warm Spring day.
I’ll miss him. 

John Tansil

We knew this time would come but that doesn’t make
it any easier. When Doug complained of muscle
weakness three years ago, he grabbed my arm
and squeezed it to prove his point. I protested
and said he was as strong as an ox. But the medical
experts knew better and thus began a new and
different challenge for Doug and Bonnie. They
met the challenge with the same unique perspective
that Doug gave to his craft. If an incurable disease
were only a lump of iron, Doug would have created a
cure, a magnificent sculpture, long ago.

We had some great river trips together on the St.
Francis River and the Black River. The whitewater
of the St. Francis was also a challenge for Doug, but
unlike ALS, it was by choice and not by chance. The
river shuttles with Doug’s flatbed truck were
memorable – how many boats did we have on there
at one time? I think the number was 16 or 17. Doug
made a lot of friends in the whitewater community
and, in true Dr. Iron fashion, he reciprocated in many
ways. One example was the “Wavey Davey” sculptures
that he created and presented to Wahoo Award
recipients. I still cherish mine.

Doug was not only a renowned blacksmith but the
consummate teacher as well. It was always impressive
to hear his explanations about how a piece of sculpture
was crafted and why it was done a particular way.
When I suggested bringing my SEMO physics students
to watch him in action, he jumped at the chance. He
unselfishly gave a full day of his time to show them
what it’s like to create art in the blacksmith shop.

When Linda, Michelle, and I went to the fountain
dedication for Doug at the National Ornamental
Metal Museum in Memphis, I was not surprised
to witness how many friends Doug had in his
professional field. Nor was I surprised at the high
esteem he was held by his peers – Doug was like that –
real good at what he did and a genuine likable person.

Doug and Bonnie’s hospitality was legendary. Any
time I was in the area and would call unannounced,
the response would be “Come on over. We’ve got
plenty of food. Don’t bring a thing except yourself.”
Although they were always right about the food,
I secretly believe they really did appreciate the
gifts of Bailey’s Irish Crème and Margaritas. There
was never a dull moment at Doug and Bonnie’s
house – good food, good liquor, lively conversation,
a new piece of artwork to look at, etc. There were
also entertaining pets, all of which were named “Bob,”
a reflection of Doug’s good sense of humor and his
love of animals. As husband and wife, Doug and
Bonnie complemented each other, and it was always
a pleasure to visit them.

Doug enriched my life in many ways. However,
if there were one thing that I could single out, it
would be that he taught me to be more tolerant.
Thank you, Doug, for being who you were and
for letting me know you as a friend.

Mary Hendrickson

I’m the daughter-in-law who won the prize of joining this family
after Doug told Mike, “Ya, do it.” But that was not before he
served me Squirrel Stew. Doug was a teacher to us all. But
he was also a student. He learned that a city girl raised by
Miss Manners could sleep in the back of a pick-up truck until
ousted by the Fuzz. He learned that she could eat the worm
at the bottom of the tequila bottle, only after having had a lot
of tequila. He learned that she could be comfortable floating
on the Black River as long as her children weren’t in jeopardy.
He learned that a grammar junkie tells a dog to “lie down”, not
“lay down.” And he learned that we’ll do anything for our children
to help them learn, be better people, and give them experiences
out of the ordinary….even our children by marriage.
How lucky I am to have won that prize.

Judy Blythe

I first met Dr. Iron on the river. He was always a joy to be around.
He would shuttle record numbers of boats to the put-in on his
flatbed truck with the coolest forged headache rack. Doug and
Bonnie graciously hosted some mid winter float trips and shared
their home with river rats. I remember touring the forge and their
place and thinking, “What a great lifestyle maybe someday I
can make that work for me.”

Then I met Jim Butler, who has an interest in blacksmithing,
and we went to a meeting of BAM at Tom Clark’s school in
Potosi. Always looking to encourage creativity and an interest
in blacksmithing, Dr. Iron patiently helped me to forge a link
for the chain project and a beautiful “S” hook. Of course, he
made it seem easy.

Doug and Bonnie stopped by our place in Buena Vista, Colorado
on their BMW on the way to the Rocky Mountain Smiths
conference in Carbondale. Dr. Iron was a presenter there a
ew years ago and even invited us to attend his presentation.
What an honor. He introduced us to a bunch of folks and let
us know the Rocky Mountain Smiths existed making our
transition to Colorado just that much easier.

So I guess this is a way of saying tell your friends you respect
them, they inspire you and in the words of fellow banjo picker,
John Hartford, “you’re proud to be part of their history.”

Diane Thornton

I just got word that Doug died Saturday of ALS. When I l
ast saw him, I think it was October. He was in a full wheel
chair and drinking whiskey from a quart Mason jar with a
big straw. His friends just kept it coming. He was a big
guy, but I was amazed at how much he could hold. He
was sweet and shared with me. We watched as a
fountain he had designed was unveiled. He talked
of his design; a head atop a long tall box. ALS was
stealing his body and soon his very breath, but his
mind was full of ideas. How sad that between the
two of us we couldn't at least share, he, my body
and I, his brain. We spoke about the irony of it all
in hushed tones as the crowd about us drew for Iron
in the Hat. Only he and I, and now you, know of
this moment. It stands out so clearly in my failing
memory. But our diseases march to their own tune
and Doug left. I only hope he had no pain at the
end. I know, however, that he was aware of his
plight. I am aware of mine, but remain hopeful
that I will live to beat this illness. Other days I hold
no such illusion and only hope to leave this world
with some dignity and those I love with wonderful
memories. I will not be able to gather in MO to
celebrate his most excellent life. I will think of him
when I am working at what may be my last trail
build next week. I do not know if my hands will
allow me to build hiking trail any longer, but I
am going to try…because I am not dead yet.

Jay Johnson

I'm starting backwards by saying that we found out about Doug's
illness not too long ago, since we've been splitting our time living
between Iowa and Washington, we just lost touch. When informed,
I wanted to call but didn't. Every time I thought of picking up the
phone, I just couldn't. My silence wasn't about not thinking of him.
My silence was about thinking of him every day and not being
able to accept the news. How could I not think of him. I hang
my pans on the iron hooks that he made for us, his pan included.
The chopper, cheese grater, the fireplace tools, from his hands
to ours, touching....everyday. The sculpture he made from wood.
The sculptures I made in his class. Everywhere Doug. A household
word, like Kleenex.

Years ago, twenty five or so, he imparted humor, critique, example,
as I worked in his sculpture class.I loved that when he sat at his
desk to talk, his hands would always be busy rearranging the rulers,
pencils, rocks, to be in perfect balance. Always seeing. One of the
most profound and humorous statements he made that I recall, was
when he was ready to quit Drake for his new life that he had forged
long before he got into iron. "I've worked all my life to live poor." I
don't know how many times I've quoted him. That quote told me that
quality of life had less to do about money and more to do with
following your bliss.

He lived close to the earth and close to the heart. We visited he
and Bonnie years ago, and the funny thing; he wasn't poor. A new
truck, a horse, a kayak. Tourists finding his place in the Boonies
and buying him out. We joked about his arms being A-symmetrical.
We followed his successes through occasional mail and marveled
at what he was accomplishing.

I wish I had a summary but I would like to leave this open for
other things about Doug that may come to mind . All I can say
for now is sorry and miss........the planet doesn't feel the same
with such a voice, hands and heart silenced.

Lori O'Toole

t was with a sad heart that I read Lee's email that Doug had
passed on Saturday May 5th. I am thinking he went to go
share his love and laughter and party with Heaven.

I have been a guest at Black River Lodge since I was born.
I do not remember our first trip to the pottery and forge, but
I do know, every year during vacation and at other random
times when we would visit the piece of heaven that is Black
River, that we would always visit Peola Valley.

Some of my best memories of Doug are visiting at the Peola
Valley with other BRLers and Bonnie and Lee and Pam and
sharing stories and laughter. When I was younger, we would
see Doug floating down the river in his kayak. It seemed every
day he could find the time from his work and projects to kayak
for just a bit. If we could all manage to find that balance in our
lives, we might be half as lucky as Doug. Watching him work
in the forge and the magical art he could create was priceless.
My son was lucky enough to help Doug while we visited one
year and how patient this awesome man could be with such
a little boy who was only 6 or so at the time. The past few
years at the river we would all rejoice when Bonnie and Doug
would come to the river to sit with us. We knew these were
special times, where Doug could visit with friends and Bonnie
could sit and relax a bit.

I was terribly saddened when I heard Doug had passed away.
I was sad for myself and my family because we will miss
those visits so much. I was more sad for Bonnie and Lee
and Pam who have lost their best friend. It takes awhile for
us all to understand, but I know Doug is the one in the best place!

Our prayers and thoughts and warm love from St. Louis are
with you during these very difficult times. We will be with
you in spirit at Doug's gathering of friends.

Missouri Whitewater Association

Here is a link to the MWA site where all of Doug's whitewater friends are talking.

Bill Vaughn

My first memory of Doug was when Mike brought
me to the house in Johnston. It was about fifth or
sixth grade when we started “hanging out” and
became the best of friends. Anyway, on my first
of thousands of visits, Mike said, "This is my Dad".
And with no further ceremony, Doug said "Hi" and
then kicked me in the chin with his clogs. I jumped
back, as you can imagine, and he said something
like, "So, your hanging around with my boy!" he
may have even growled. But, there was that twinkle
in his eye that gave him away, then he smiled a bit
and I knew he was alright.

I have many great memories of being at the house
with Doug, Bonnie and Mike and watching Doug work
in the basement shop making a guitar, or working on a
sculpture, or fixing a motorcycle….. I was struck by
how creative Doug was and I was always a bit jealous
that my parents weren’t as cool as Bonnie and Doug.

Doug let me tag along on some pretty cool stuff, like
setting up an art gallery. Re-Casting some monuments
that had been damaged and even going to the Fair to
hear some of his many performances. One summer
when Mike and I went down to Missouri and worked
on the house, we helped to mill timbers for siding, then
pulling rocks from the riverbed. Doug worked us a bit,
but there was always time for something fun like
canoeing, swimming or just hanging out. Doug knew
how to celebrate and live life, and he knew how to
throw a party and have the best time.

I just want to say thank you to Doug and Bonnie
for all the great times, and thanks for raising a great
kid, and grandkids. I’m sure the party in heaven
just got a whole lot more interesting. (Do they have
Tequila with worms up there? - If not then it must
not be heaven).

Dave Koenig

I first met Doug at the Penland School of Craft in 1998.
He taught the two-month long fall blacksmith concentration
class.
Doug's teaching and blacksmithing skills were in full view at
Penland. His teaching style was a bit different from other
teachers. A class or two started at midnight for example.
One project required the smiths to collaborate with another
student in the metals, fiber, clay, or glass classes to create
a 'cup'...a vessel to drink wine out of at Doug’s residence
prior to dinner one evening.
About Halloween, Doug suddenly interrupted the daily class
routine. The task was to build a pumpkin catapult from
what we could find around campus. A catapult was field
tested later in the day and then dismantled before it hurt
someone!
Then there was a “bones” project...a pickup sticks game
played with forged chicken bones dumped from an iron
cup. Bones was the most hotly contested game on campus!
Exercises like these augmented the long hours in the shop
working on individual projects. There also were the regular
class critiques of finished work and Doug's constant presence
in the shop for solicited and unsolicited guidance on design
and process problems.
Doug constantly promoted the craft through his production
line of iron products for the home, commissions,
demonstrations and volunteer work with BAM and
ABANA. As a result, he always knew what was going
on in the blacksmithing community. Doug managed to
give me and many others a new way of looking at all
things related to blacksmithing whether it had to do
with forging or organizing a smithing event.
Marilyn and I visited with Doug and Bonnie last July.
Doug used only his chair by then but you would never
know it unless you looked at him. He was Doug.
His disease was an issue he faced head-on and in a way
most of us can only hope to do when it is our turn.
The day before we arrived all of his work from the
ABANA Conference arrived in his basement. It was
sitting all over the place. We looked at it together and
he gave me permission to take some pictures. I said I
would do it in the morning when there would be a little
natural light.
The next morning I left the camper and went down to
the basement. I spent some time just looking at this body
of work I never saw before. Some elements I recognized
from his experimenting at Penland. It was not long after
I arrived in the basement when I heard Bonnie and Doug
stirring up stairs. A few minutes later I heard Doug at the
basement door and he scooted in.
When I got to one of his pieces for a picture, he said to wait
He had me put some rocks into a vessel first. A white stone
needed to rest on the top of the reddish ones. He told me
it was his favorite piece. I asked him why. His answer was:
“It’s so serine”. The way he said it, his answer was more
than a reply to my question.
Marilyn and I left Doug and Bonnie’s place in the woods
with very heavy hearts. Both of them were never far away
in our thoughts. We will cherish the memories and continue
to enjoy Doug’s art. I sure miss him.

Ron and Carole Russell

Carole and I want to offer you our thoughts and
prayers. As Doug's cousin on the Russell side, we
did not share much time together. OUR LOSS!!!
As the parent of artistic children and grand children,
one wonders where the genes originate. Doug
obviously played a part. I only wish we had
communicated more frequently. Please know
that we will be thinking of you and will be
celebrating Doug"s life on Saturday.

Maria Worthen

Stopping at Peola Valley on the way from Des Moines to Little Rock during summers as a kid were magical experiences with so much to explore and cool people. We slept at Dougandbonnie's (one word in my mind, as a child). Shana and I slept on a mattress on the lower level and Doug and Bonnie were up in the loft. Doug warned us that he snored like a bear and that we were to yell "Doug, roll over!" if he started. Sure enough, a thunderous noise started up in the middle of the night. We two little girls were initially unsure, but eventually summoned up the courage to yell up at him-- and sure enough, he rolled over and
stopped snoring. Doug and Bonnie's concern for me
getting a good night's sleep endured-- when Paolo and
I went to visit a couple years ago they had built new
annex to the house, where they now slept. Despite
our protests, they insisted on giving up their huge new
bed to us and went to camp out in the old loft.

Many have given accounts of Doug as a teacher.
During a childhood visit I expressed interest in
helping him out in his shop. After giving me some
very firm safety instructions, we set to work making
a snake. No doubt he actually did most of it, but I
really felt proud about the piece of blacksmithing
that we had made together. That snake remains
one of my most treasured objects.

Bonnie, the two of you made a great team. No words
can replace a loved one, but know that many people's
lives-- mine included-- were touched by a person
whose love for life and for people was really incredible.

Bob Bergman

Doug was an artist I could really relate to. I consider myself
more of a mechanic or craftsman and Doug really pushed me
towards a higher level. Two particular visits with him taught
me how.

One was a trip to Lesterville before a BAM conference.
Doug wanted to show Nana and myself his bit of heaven.
A tour of the Mark Twain Forest, the Shut-Ins, Elephant Rocks,
and finally a trip down the river. We were in a canoe and Doug
in a kayak. One of my treasured memories is of Doug doing
360 turns floating downstream, laughing and telling stupid jokes.

The second was being at the Seattle conference where he
gave a talk on his sculptures. He explained how a dried mudflat
inspired one, sunlight reflecting on the river bottom - another.
No heavy intellectual art talk but his love of nature and ability
to capture the essence of a scene in metal was very evident.
Very pure feelings flowed from his work. I hope I may be able
to follow his lead and move to the next level in my work.

Thanks Doug, you were one of my best friends. Bob

Shana Worthen

The following is from Shana's blog.

Once upon a time, there was a blacksmith. He decided
to leave his academic day job in Iowa to be a full-time
blacksmith and, along with a good friend of his, a potter,
and their capable, intelligent, and independently-interesting
wives, they moved to the wilds of Missouri to practice
their arts. In the wilds of Missouri, they built their own
homes and opened their own store.

They were sensible men. The wilds of Missouri they
chose weren't just any wilds, but a well-touristed
wilds where many visitors would come and, while
there, visit their shop. The river there is naturally
sculptural, full of rocks carved into nooks and
crannies and comfy places to sit and float, shallow
enough to safely float downstream on floats.
The star-watching was incredible.

The blacksmith was a tall, strong man with a lively
sense of humor and a great deal of kindness to him.
He took a visiting pair of sisters and helped them
forge their own creations out of iron, the younger
a slithery snake, the elder an elegant-if-slightly
-too-short-handled ladle.

As is the way of the world, the sisters grew up
and moved still further away, and the blacksmith
and the potter and their capable, intelligent, and
independently-interesting wives grew older, and
the once-new homes they had built themselves
settled in and were not so new any more, not
after twenty-three years.

Age is not always kind, and one day, that icon
of strength, the blacksmith, began to have
problems. It wasn't just age: it was ALS. His
body declined rapidly over the next few years,
as is the way of ALS.

I didn't make it back to see him. It had been
years since I last had, since I moved away
to one university and then another, no longer
accompanying my family on the drives between
Arkansas and Iowa which made the wilds of
Missouri a convenient stopping place. My
sister did - she lived in St. Louis for a while,
had a car, and went visiting. I may not have
seen him for years, but that doesn't mean I
don't mourn his passing.

He passed away this weekend, and he is much missed.

Dave Hendrickson

I'm Dougs brother Dave. Doug is 4 years older than
me. I always looked up to Doug, he was my big
brother. Our Dad was a truck driver and we grew
up in south Minneapolis. When Doug graduated
from High School he joined the Marines with his
best friend Bruce. He was gone 2 years and was
a fighter mechanic. When he got out of the marines
he brought this cool young woman, (Bonnie) with
him and said they were getting married. A few
years later Mike came along. He was sort of like
my little brother. I used to bring him to the beach
at Lake Nokomis and he was a chick magnet.
Better than a puppy.

Doug and I both had a passion for motorcycles,
this lasted our entire lives. We both enjoyed pheasant
hunting and got to do this a little when he lived in
Iowa. Our Grandpa instilled a love of fishing in
both of us. I was lucky that we got to do a little
fishing with him these last few years.

Bonnie has been a angel these last years. She has
helped Doug through this illness every step of the
way. I have so much respect for her. Doug and
Bonnie raised a wonderful son in Mike and I know
Doug was very proud of him.

I hope to see him again some day.

My wife Shirley, and my family, Dana, Pam, Lucy
and Gus, Jason, Shanna, Jake and Hattie will miss
him so much.

We'll be planting a Ironwood tree in Doug's memory
on June 10 in Minneapolis, along the river road
where we used to play as kids. Everyone is welcome
to come and help us. Dougs family will all be there.

John Hicks

Doug was a shining light in the Drake University
Art Department during my 34 years.
"Shining Light" means: exciting, unique,
always interesting, tremendously supportive of
students, always fun and full of beans.
The world need many more Dougs.

The vacuum form is from 1969 and titled:
"Iowa"  (notice the motorcycle).

Larry Overton

I first met Doug, as a student, at Drake in 1969. He
was larger then life and an excellent instructor with
a craziness that you could not help but like. I
remember our after class art discussions, at
Peggy’s; the steak fry lunches done on the forge,
in old Iowa Hall and later at Farley’s. Doug made
learning a fun experience and you walked away
knowing STUFF sometimes without realizing it.
Doug learned to play the Banjo which he took to
many of the after hours outings…like “So Your
Mothers”, “Peggy’s”, “West end” and so on. I
even built my own banjo, with his guidance,
but never learned to play it.

Doug and Bonnie were always the perfect hosts
for the many students, faculty and friends that
seemed to show up at their home. After leaving
Drake to follow his own dreams I lost contact
with him. Recently I had the opportunity to
rekindle our friendship at his home, in Missouri.
As always Doug and Bonnie were the perfect
hosts and I really enjoyed my time with them.
Even though Doug’s mobility was not what he
would have liked; he still had the enthusiasm
and the drive that had you moving past it.
Besides what could be better then sitting on
his porch, sipping scotch, and talking about the
old times.

The time I recently spent with Doug and Bonnie;
is time I will always remember and think about
…it meant a lot to me. Doug was a person who liked
life and loved Bonnie; he will always be remembered.

I would like to leave Bonnie with this line by
Emily Dickinson…

Hope is the thing with feathers

That perches in the soul,

And sings the tune without the words,

And never stops at all.

Mike Hendrickson

Wow, what great stories! I too have known him for a long while
and what an impression he has had on my life. Surprisingly,
my story is not far from all the others. I don’t exactly remember
the day I met him but that big burly man held me as gently as
he held Deb’s daughter. I traveled thousands of miles with him
and saw many wonderful places like the Black River he saw with
Lee. I was immersed in the many Drake University happenings
about which so many of you have written, surfboards, Farley’s
(It Will Always Be) pouring bronze, aluminum and Duckalloy,
Ruby’s.

I moved to Philadelphia and he moved to Missouri where a whole
new group was allowed to participate in his experience, people
who I have only recently had the pleasure to meet. BAM, ABANA,
the whitewater community whose love, respect and admiration for
this man is unmistakable. That same connection is evident in the
community of friends who have given their time so completely to
support him during the course of his ALS, even when he did not
ask for the help.

The common thread appears to be that he was a teacher to us all
We learned practical lessons about wood, iron, cars, tools
(the right tool for the job). We learned life lessons, my personal
favorite is: “the right way to do something is rarely the easy way
to do something”. We learned moral lessons about how people
should be treated (all people). We learned to respect our
environment as evidenced by the “He once honked and waved
the car ahead of him to pull over then confronted the driver for
throwing trash out the window” story. These stories only
scratch the surface of the multitudes experiences we have
all shared with him. As a teacher he was beyond compare
and as a Father…. WOW, can you imagine trying to absorb
all he had to offer?

I love you Dad.

And before you go let’s not for get the engineer who spent
her life at the controls of this powerful locomotive, Bonnie.
The one who could harness the energy and put it to good use.
The one who always answered the call,”Hey Bon!” and
supplied us with as much Doug, Uncle Dougie, Dr. Iron
and Dad as we could handle.

I love you Mom.

Marty Hicks

My dad brought me along to Doug and Bonnie¹s place
out side Des Moines, IA when I was about nine ­
around 1969. They had a community garden there. I
remember Doug out in the yard in his speedos and
Bonnie in a bikini, and cool motorcycles, sculptures,
and a German Shepherd named Fritz. That scene
made quite an impression on a nine-year-old boy.
My Dad worked with Doug in the Art Department at
Drake so I was prepared, but it was all so funny
and cool that I was hooked and couldn¹t imagine a
better way to spend life.

A few years later I became interested in banjo music.
Scott Ross taught me how to play and I must have been
about 14 years old when Art Rosenbaum came to town.
Art was a painting professor at the University of Iowa
and a scholar in traditional American Folk Music. He
also did the soundtrack to the movie "Cool Hand Luke".
People got together to play music at Farley¹s in the
afternoon and that night Art was playing at "So¹s Your
Mother¹s" bar a few blocks from campus. "Mother¹s"
attracted a mix of students, earthy artsy types, and
bikers. We went, and they let me in since I was with
my Dad. Doug and the Farley¹s crowd gathered at a
table next to the stage. The place was packed it was
a wild scene. Doug got Art to ask me up onto the stage
to play a couple of songs with him. I¹ll never forget
that time and many others with Doug and Bonnie and
folks in the Drake Art Department.

I think that being able to capture someone¹s imagination
is a gift.

Thanks Doug and Bonnie for sharing your gift.

Julie Ann Grimm

To me, Doug was a fabulous, fearless, rule breaker.
He was the only person I know who was quite so silly,
yet so pointed, so creative. ...so Doug. I struggle to
find the right words. Perhaps if you’re reading this,
you already know what I am talking about.

Dr. Iron did what occured to him, whether it was
making a bronze casting of a Missouri horsefly or
someone’s severed thumb, or throwing puckey at
my sometimes stiff-backed mother and me, a
10-year-old suburban kid loving every second of
our summer visits to Lesterville. Don’t forget how
he labled miraculous water from the slack tub in
his blacksmith shop and bravely tasted the hottest
of hot sauce.

I have a lot to thank him for. I learned from him
that life is worth exploring -- and for Pete’s sake,
do it with a smile on your face. He took me on my
first cab ride. Turned me on to music from chanting
monks and crooning throaty broads. He valued my
childhood, and honored my growing up. He was a
mentor and a dear friend to my father, Al Stephens.

The road to their house is magic. You dive off the
pavement, follow the crooked and peeling signs for
this rafting enterprise or that. You turn here, then
there, slowly, don’t raise the dust. Wait at the end
of a long bridge over the Black River. Watch the
swimmers on the river shore below. There is only room
for one car, so when the people leaving (poor suckers!)
go by, you can make your way across. Then the driveway,
how fun I thought it was to splash across the creek. And
see that old pickup truck waiting by the shop, the only
one I knew of with custom, hand-forged bed racks –
squiqqly something or others and the infamous
dodecahedron.

(I remember how Doug mercilessly hacked off parts of
that truck adornment one February when he made his
annual trip to Philadelphia for the wholesale show. It was
too tall to fit in the parking garage, so “Vaya con
dios” and off with its head! That same trip, we all wore
necklaces and earrings Doug made from baby doll arms
and legs, and looked in every nook and cranny for silver
milagros that he thought might help his blacksmith’s
elbow.)

I’m sure I could write for hours about all the times
he made me laugh and what I will carry with me always:
Give your restaurant leftovers to homeless people. Ask
questions. Tell jokes.
Here’s one he told me:
What does a snail say riding on the back of a turtle?
Weeeee!

Thanks, Doug.