There was a remarkable amount of teaching packed into those too-few years, however. Much of it was imparted in the classroom and as an administrator for the LDS Church Educational System and member of the Granite Board of Education. Standing before pupils or behind the podium, he was a master. His grasp of curricula, of what motivated students and instructors, was superb. But it was his spirit, his persona, more than his refined techniques that made his lessons live. Most impressive was that Bob taught as much through practice as precept by countless acts of service and goodness. Looking around an overflowing LDS stake center and down crowded corridors at his memorial, it was obvious that numerous others shared the sentiment that Bob was a teacher's teacher and a man's man.

A remarkable mixture of candor — he pulled few punches — mixed with kindness, he could find meaning and messages in simple things that most others would overlook. A son of his related the experience of observing mud pots near Shoshone Lake in Yellowstone National Park. His father used the occasion to remind him that some people are like mud pots while others are clear springs — and challenged him to be the latter.

He was always teaching and always storing life's lessons for future reference. Bob lived and loved to teach. His gift of mentorship went beyond imparting powerful principles and included basic skills that bolstered self-esteem: teaching family and friends to fish, play baseball, hunt pheasants and repair most anything.

Observing him filling a church assignment on one occasion, it was instructive to see him not only petition heaven for help before his presentation to several hundred people — but also to quickly find a quiet spot and offer thanks after things went well. He always had a keen sense of mission and a clear understanding of whose errand he was on, whether his tasks were spiritual or secular.

Granite school board President Lynn Davidson praised Bob as a "great teacher who has had a profound righteous influence on thousands of people." He told of a new and positive direction in reading instruction adopted by the district at Bob's insistence, which grew out of the late teacher's concern for an illiterate 9-year-old boy in his neighborhood. He not only worked with the youngster but encouraged changing the entire system for everyone's benefit.

Most who learned from Bob in the classroom or behind the pulpit at one time or another witnessed his memorable object lesson taught with three pieces of steel: an old truck leaf spring, a rough-cut blade and a finely finished knife. His point was simple enough but powerfully illustrated: A master craftsman can make and mold lives into something meaningful, even when using the rawest of materials. He compared the steps of refining rough steel — repeated heating and cooling, forging, finishing touches and shine — with the same possibilities for people of all stations and standards.

That was always Bob's ultimate goal as a teacher, whatever the assigned subject: to shape and sharpen and hone and polish those with whom he rubbed shoulders. He did that well and with tireless effort. His ever-flowing lessons will be missed. But they will never be forgotten.