Eulogies

Carol Pendleton (half sister)
Fred was my older brother being 12 years old when I was born. He had a very difficult younger life growing up in the 1930s living in many different places because our mother was separated from his dad (later divorced) and she was a working mother. In Big Bear City, when he was just 14 or 15, my sister almost died from whooping cough and was driven to LA County Hosp. as we still had an El Monte address and had just moved to Big Bear City. Our mother decided to live in San Bernardino and my dad went along with it. Fred attended Arrowview Junior High school for a short time. In El Monte, Fred had a horse -- it was out in the country and that is hard to believe because it is all city now. He almost died when he was about 12 in El Monte. He was going to the store on his bicycle when he was hit by an auto and suffered a concussion then. He also played football in Jr. High and received a knee injury that after being drafted into the Army enabled him to be discharged. He lived in Big Bear Valley off and on and finally settled down there after he was married, although he didn't move to the property where he is/was living now until our mother gave approval in the early 1960s. It was her property until she died in 1999. He was a very good brother, even though our lives went separate ways and we did not see each other often, sometimes for years. The last time I visited him was in May and June of this year. I am shocked to learn of his tragic death. There were so many questions I still wanted to ask him about times passed, like if he still played the guitar. Yes, he was very mechanically minded and as a young teenager (11, 12 or 13) he learned construction from my father who was a building contractor. He learned quickly. And to this day, I do not know if he graduated from high school. Carol Pendleton San Bernardino CA

Carol Pendleton (half sister)

Fred was my older brother being 12 years old when I was born. He had a very difficult younger life growing up in the 1930s living in many different places because our mother was separated from his dad (later divorced) and she was a working mother. In Big Bear City, when he was just 14 or 15, my sister almost died from whooping cough and was driven to LA County Hosp. as we still had an El Monte address and had just moved to Big Bear City. Our mother decided to live in San Bernardino and my dad went along with it. Fred attended Arrowview Junior High school for a short time. In El Monte, Fred had a horse -- it was out in the country and that is hard to believe because it is all city now. He almost died when he was about 12 in El Monte. He was going to the store on his bicycle when he was hit by an auto and suffered a concussion then. He also played football in Jr. High and received a knee injury that after being drafted into the Army enabled him to be discharged. He lived in Big Bear Valley off and on and finally settled down there after he was married, although he didn't move to the property where he is/was living now until our mother gave approval in the early 1960s. It was her property until she died in 1999. He was a very good brother, even though our lives went separate ways and we did not see each other often, sometimes for years. The last time I visited him was in May and June of this year. I am shocked to learn of his tragic death. There were so many questions I still wanted to ask him about times passed, like if he still played the guitar. Yes, he was very mechanically minded and as a young teenager (11, 12 or 13) he learned construction from my father who was a building contractor. He learned quickly. And to this day, I do not know if he graduated from high school.

Carol Pendleton
San Bernardino CA

Ray M. Ransom (son)
My father never aspired to become a legend. That would have been too abstract a concept to fit into his simple view of life. No, the legend arose, not because of who he was or what he did, as should have been the case, but after his having been judged by his steadfast choice to be a real man in a time when that could no longer be understood or condoned by a culture enamored with the fake and the instant. But this isn't about the legend. It's about the man behind it and what he meant to me. My father was a man of principle. While I rarely agreed with the tenets, I had to respect the consistency. He never wavered with the whims of pop culture. He never felt any need to experience the comforts of conformity. His ideas, though not unique or revolutionary, and often generated by the pure power of raw, uncontrolled emotion, were set in stone forever. You couldn't change his mind, not so much because he wouldn't allow it, but because once you stopped to consider the simplistic logic behind his beliefs, the spirit of argument faded. I have nothing but admiration for a man who could be so content in being so wrong about so many things, while never once feeling it was his duty to convince you he was right. Through this, his inadvertent teaching that each person has the unfettered right to believe anything has been a true gift. Despite popular perception to the contrary, my father was never a radical or iconoclast. He never wanted to overturn the system, even as he watched it fill up with ever increasing numbers of bureaucrats and bean counters, each creating or enforcing his or her little domain kingdom within the myriad of more laws against everything. As his comfort zone shrank; as the forces of corrupt county government descended in a blatant and bizarre attempt to steal his property, he never demanded vengeance or retribution. He wanted only to be left alone to continue doing what he had been doing. This, in my mind, is a trait to be envied -- and a viable lesson to all of us. Why waste your time plotting revenge when you could be doing what you want? My father was blessed with supreme self-confidence. If it was possible, he could do it. He knew he could do it. If it was impossible, he could still do it. He knew he could do it, only it might take a bit longer. He would take on any job, no matter how impossible, with no trace of fear or notion of failure. Obvious as it seems, the basic premise that confidence builds success, is neither teachable nor learnable without real context. I was fortunate to have had that real context. It was sometimes a brutal learning experience, but I will be eternally grateful that my father was able to provide it. When it came to optimism, my father existed in his own universe. No hospitalization or painful experience could make him give up or give in. The hypothetical was never an option. Confined to the bed by debilitating pain due to pressure on the spinal cord, the present and its unpleasant realities were thrust into the background by plans for the future, delivered with the presumptuousness of a time traveler. With all the accidents, all the hospital stays, all the surgeries and all the procedures, I expected him to crack many times, but he never did. On account of that, he will always be my anchor of hope and inspiration. The intertwined voices of fate and finality have spoken. What is cannot be undone. We are left to continue on without him, and, as I trudge down that unexplored path, I will always remember the real man when confronted with the nebulous bounds of his legacy. I don't see it as my place to take the time and expend the effort to set the facts straight. I would rather do what I choose to do. He would have wanted it that way.

Ray M. Ransom (son)

My father never aspired to become a legend. That would have been too abstract a concept to fit into his simple view of life. No, the legend arose, not because of who he was or what he did, as should have been the case, but after his having been judged by his steadfast choice to be a real man in a time when that could no longer be understood or condoned by a culture enamored with the fake and the instant.

But this isn't about the legend. It's about the man behind it and what he meant to me.

My father was a man of principle. While I rarely agreed with the tenets, I had to respect the consistency. He never wavered with the whims of pop culture. He never felt any need to experience the comforts of conformity. His ideas, though not unique or revolutionary, and often generated by the pure power of raw, uncontrolled emotion, were set in stone forever. You couldn't change his mind, not so much because he wouldn't allow it, but because once you stopped to consider the simplistic logic behind his beliefs, the spirit of argument faded. I have nothing but admiration for a man who could be so content in being so wrong about so many things, while never once feeling it was his duty to convince you he was right. Through this, his inadvertent teaching that each person has the unfettered right to believe anything has been a true gift.

Despite popular perception to the contrary, my father was never a radical or iconoclast. He never wanted to overturn the system, even as he watched it fill up with ever increasing numbers of bureaucrats and bean counters, each creating or enforcing his or her little domain kingdom within the myriad of more laws against everything. As his comfort zone shrank; as the forces of corrupt county government descended in a blatant and bizarre attempt to steal his property, he never demanded vengeance or retribution. He wanted only to be left alone to continue doing what he had been doing. This, in my mind, is a trait to be envied -- and a viable lesson to all of us. Why waste your time plotting revenge when you could be doing what you want?

My father was blessed with supreme self-confidence. If it was possible, he could do it. He knew he could do it. If it was impossible, he could still do it. He knew he could do it, only it might take a bit longer. He would take on any job, no matter how impossible, with no trace of fear or notion of failure. Obvious as it seems, the basic premise that confidence builds success, is neither teachable nor learnable without real context. I was fortunate to have had that real context. It was sometimes a brutal learning experience, but I will be eternally grateful that my father was able to provide it.

When it came to optimism, my father existed in his own universe. No hospitalization or painful experience could make him give up or give in. The hypothetical was never an option. Confined to the bed by debilitating pain due to pressure on the spinal cord, the present and its unpleasant realities were thrust into the background by plans for the future, delivered with the presumptuousness of a time traveler. With all the accidents, all the hospital stays, all the surgeries and all the procedures, I expected him to crack many times, but he never did. On account of that, he will always be my anchor of hope and inspiration.

The intertwined voices of fate and finality have spoken. What is cannot be undone. We are left to continue on without him, and, as I trudge down that unexplored path, I will always remember the real man when confronted with the nebulous bounds of his legacy. I don't see it as my place to take the time and expend the effort to set the facts straight. I would rather do what I choose to do. He would have wanted it that way.

Sherry Ransom (daughter-in-law)
My father-in-law was a superb story teller and he liked to make me laugh with his wonderful tales of adventure. Fred was good to the animals living on his property and enjoyed their company. My husband Ray and I liked to go visit him and he would show us whatever project he was working on at the time. He was always into something -- repairing, building and creating. The last time we were together Fred was working on his Model T. Fred was always kind to me. I really liked him. My husband said he could tell that Fred really liked me also because he always took the time to explain things to me. I hear he would not do that with most people. I am distraught to have had him ripped from us. It will be very quiet without him. As I said my last goodbyes, I told him in his ear to be good, behave and have fun up there, which I know he will. Fred was a strong spirit and will continue to be one, I do believe. I am thrilled to posses his walking cane which has a bit of him in it. It will always be treasured. I have nothing but fond memories of my father-in-law Fred. Love you Fred, Sherry

Sherry Ransom (daughter-in-law)

My father-in-law was a superb story teller and he liked to make me laugh with his wonderful tales of adventure.

Fred was good to the animals living on his property and enjoyed their company.

My husband Ray and I liked to go visit him and he would show us whatever project he was working on at the time. He was always into something -- repairing, building and creating. The last time we were together Fred was working on his Model T.

Fred was always kind to me. I really liked him. My husband said he could tell that Fred really liked me also because he always took the time to explain things to me. I hear he would not do that with most people.

I am distraught to have had him ripped from us. It will be very quiet without him.

As I said my last goodbyes, I told him in his ear to be good, behave and have fun up there, which I know he will.

Fred was a strong spirit and will continue to be one, I do believe.

I am thrilled to posses his walking cane which has a bit of him in it. It will always be treasured.

I have nothing but fond memories of my father-in-law Fred.

Love you Fred,

Sherry

Jerry Bennett (long-time family friend)
Ransom Engineering -- from building ski lifts, installing the airport beacon lights, cutting in roads around the valley -- the man did it all. Others may claim they did it, but the truth is, it was Fred that would do the actual work and got it done. Big Bear's Paul Bunyan has passed. Jerry Bennett

Andrea Burton (close friend)
DO NOT STAND AT MY GRAVE AND WEEP I AM NOT THERE, I DO NOT SLEEP I AM A THOUSAND WINDS THAT BLOW I AM THE DIAMOND GLINT ON A FLAKE OF SNOW I AM THE SUNLIGHT ON RIPENED GRAIN WHEN YOU WAKE IN THE MORNING HUSH OF QUIET BIRDS IN CIRCLING FLIGHT I AM THE SOFT STARLIGHT AT NIGHT DO NOT STAND AT MY GRAVE AND WEEP I AM NOT THERE, I DO NOT SLEEP DO NOT STAND AT MY GRAVE AND CRY FOR I DID NOT DIE GOD BLESS YOU MY FRIEND FRED

Andrea Burton (close friend)

DO NOT STAND AT MY GRAVE AND WEEP
I AM NOT THERE, I DO NOT SLEEP
I AM A THOUSAND WINDS THAT BLOW
I AM THE DIAMOND GLINT ON A FLAKE OF SNOW

I AM THE SUNLIGHT ON RIPENED GRAIN
WHEN YOU WAKE IN THE MORNING HUSH
OF QUIET BIRDS IN CIRCLING FLIGHT
I AM THE SOFT STARLIGHT AT NIGHT

DO NOT STAND AT MY GRAVE AND WEEP
I AM NOT THERE, I DO NOT SLEEP
DO NOT STAND AT MY GRAVE AND CRY
FOR I DID NOT DIE

GOD BLESS YOU MY FRIEND FRED

Ede LeMaster
Winston Churchill once said, "I am ready to meet my Maker. Whether my Maker is prepared for the great ordeal of meeting me is another matter." I can't help but smile thinking Fred gave "her" guff over not fixing his belly after he ate all those green apples, when he asked, as a little boy. But, then, everybody loves all those Fred stories! I wonder, if everyone knew just how much he loved hearing their stories. From the waitress at the Teddy Bear to the Hollywood producer, he knew your stories, too. Fred knew your talents and your troubles. From the workplace to the billiard table, local or tourist; he wanted to know what you were doing and he loved it when it was interesting. It might be the only time he ever talked to you and who knew what he'd say, but, he was always probing, always learning or trying to teach you! Fred did a lot for those who would come to Big Bear Valley, his home. A place he loved. Each of us, whom, would call him, friend, will truly miss Fred Ransom. As our hearts and deepest sympathies go out to his loved ones, I would like to give a little food for thought with this poem by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow. Tell me not, in mournful numbers, Life is but an empty dream! For the soul is dead that slumbers, And things are not what they seem. Life is real! Life is earnest! And the grave is not it's goal; Dust thou art; To dust returnest Was not spoken of the soul.

Ede LeMaster

Winston Churchill once said, "I am ready to meet my Maker. Whether my Maker is prepared for the great ordeal of meeting me is another matter."

I can't help but smile thinking Fred gave "her" guff over not fixing his belly after he ate all those green apples, when he asked, as a little boy.

But, then, everybody loves all those Fred stories!

I wonder, if everyone knew just how much he loved hearing their stories. From the waitress at the Teddy Bear to the Hollywood producer, he knew your stories, too. Fred knew your talents and your troubles. From the workplace to the billiard table, local or tourist; he wanted to know what you were doing and he loved it when it was interesting.

It might be the only time he ever talked to you and who knew what he'd say, but, he was always probing, always learning or trying to teach you! Fred did a lot for those who would come to Big Bear Valley, his home. A place he loved.

Each of us, whom, would call him, friend, will truly miss Fred Ransom. As our hearts and deepest sympathies go out to his loved ones, I would like to give a little food for thought with this poem by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow.

     Tell me not, in mournful numbers,
     Life is but an empty dream!
     For the soul is dead that slumbers,
     And things are not what they seem.
     Life is real!
     Life is earnest!
     And the grave is not it's goal;
     Dust thou art;
     To dust returnest
     Was not spoken of the soul.