Obituary: Glen Hantelman

Glen was a man of service. Service to his country. To his community. To his family. After graduating from Fenton’s Sentral Senior High School, where he played football, he enlisted and served in the U.S. Army, including duty with the 3rd Battalion, 81st Artillery Regiment in Korea, and the 3rd Battalion, 38th Artillery Regiment at Fort Sill, Oklahoma, with a temporary duty assignment at White Sands Missile Range, New Mexico, where he was trained to arm nuclear missiles during the Cold War.

He later worked in Wyoming and Colorado as a lineman for Bell, refusing any promotion that would have put him behind a desk — he preferred to be outdoors, in nature, and as far away from any corporate oversight as he could get. (Those who knew Glen knew that he was a man of great independence.) 

He shopped locally, he supported local restaurants — Zim's, Holstein’s, Petite Provence, and Momma Jane's — and he refused to buy things online when his money could be spent investing in his own city — his home.

For more than 20years after his retirement, that home was The Dalles, Oregon.

He was also a man of great intellect. When he’d take visitors to the top of Rowena Crest, he’d gaze out at the ancient scenery and point out the geological features — where the floods came, what the rock colors and stratifications could tell you about the region’s history. He knew everything about the Oregon Trail, which terminated a few blocks from his home, and about the local growing seasons for cherries, apples, corn, and lavender — he was from a small farming town, after all. 

He knew the names and details of Hungarian orchestra conductors, Canadian Prime Ministers, American songbirds, UK naval battles, and could tell you exactly what the rail cars were carrying — lumber, coal, grain — as they rumbled by his house alongside the banks of the Columbia River. He found great peace in sitting out on his back deck, with a panoramic view of the gorge, the river, and sky.

In Oregon, he felt, he had found his true home.

He had a massive vinyl collection — mostly classical but he loved folk music, Peter, Paul and Mary, and the Beach Boys. He played the guitar at family gatherings. He loved the Rocky Mountains. He loved roadside diners and long drives along America’s greatest, most historic roads. He loved chef Alice Waters, Estes Park, the opera, and books about U.S. history.

He had a great love for his country, and always sought to make it better. He was a union man, through and through. And he believed decent and honest men and women were the backbone of American society. He believed in second chances. He was a mentor to many. 

He rented a room in his house but refused to charge market rate. “No one should be paying 70% of their salary just to have a roof over their head,” he’d say. He believed in fairness. In decency. In doing unto others as you’d do unto them. 

He was kind, understanding, non-judgmental and a great listener.

He was also a modest, quiet man, so you may not have known all these things about him, unless you took the time to ask. 

He will be missed. In lieu of flowers, buy a book at Klindt’s, his favorite bookstore, or go take a walk in nature, and think of him. And remember to call the ones you love, as often as you can.

Finally, in the words of my Uncle Glen, as he signed off every phone call:

Take care of each other.