This Bud was something else

I'm writing this morning on a sad note. Bill came home last night and told me Bud Moon had died earlier in the day. I saw Bud just ten days ago at Slate's Restaurant. He and Susan had just finished lunch and were headed out the door, so I walked over to visit.

I knew he had lung cancer but waited for him to introduce the subject. He did so in the way you'd expect this gracious, self-deprecating man to do. He pulled off his hat and showed me his shiny, bald head.

Then, we talked about his cancer. What struck me with the conversation Bud's philosophical, at peace take on his latest illness. I think I used the term Energizer Bunny in our conversation in suggesting that he could certainly pull off one more miracle in facing daunting medical odds, much like he's done over the past several years with a heart condition.

Bud didn't seem too concerned about that idea. He wanted me to know that he had enjoyed a good life and that he was satisfied.

A good life, for sure. I've liked Bud ever since the first day I met him, which had to be way back when. I feel like the Moon family is like family to me. I've taught kids and grandkids, have encouraged them as a drill team adviser, have worked alongside them in various roles as a teacher, most specifically dear Pete, who preceded his dad in death from cancer.

I'll never forget how Pete---the big imposing, blond teddy bear who didn't mind hanging out with some of the tough kids in the parking lot----was so proud to don that top hat and tails as Drill Team Variety Show emcee back in the seventies. What great nights those were for all of us who were blown away by Pete's sophisticated poise and obvious enjoyment of being up there on the stage!

Of course, it came naturally. Pete's dad Bud was a natural born, sincere charmer who treated everyone like they were extra special. Bud was one of Sandpoint's best-known businessmen, but he was also everyone's friend. We were honored to attend his 80th birthday party roast at the Sandpoint Elks Club a year or two ago.

I wouldn't have missed that party for the world because I've yet to mention my most treasured connection, thanks to Bud. His daughter Chris and I have been close friends for years. In fact, the two of us could both collaborate on a book about our many zany experiences together, our hours of laughter and talk and adventures spent inside a "rig" as Forest Service workers and later as just plain friends headed out on a twelve-hour road trip to catch up on mutual news.

Of course, during all those wonderful gab sessions, I was privy to almost an insider's view of the Moon family, each of whom I dearly love for their unique contributions to the world and to my own life's tapestry. They're an integral part of the Sandpoint community and definitely a major influence on its history.

Speaking of history, I cannot leave out Bud's sister K.T. Littlefield who gave me my first job ironing family clothes. Later, she asked me to work out at the Moon's cabins at Bottle Bay, and that's how I got to know all those wonderful Darling boys, sons of Bud's and K.T.'s sister Charlotte. K.T. served for years with the Bonner County Museum and could tell anyone a thing or two about Sandpoint's history; after all, the Moon family lived it for generations.

There is so much that has been, can, and will be said about Bud Moon over the next few days. After all, his hand and vision played a part in many of the established cogs that made this community live and die. Schweitzer, Panhandle State Bank, Westwood, the museum, Hope community politics and, of course, the long-established Moon Funeral Home, now Coffelt's.

Bud has died, peacefully, I've heard. I shall always cherish that brief conversation with him a week ago Monday in Slate's Restaurant because I had the opportunity to learn directly from his lips that he has died a proud and satisfied man. Rightly so. RIP Bud Moon.

My sincere condolences to the much beloved Moon family.