By Brendon Dever
Good evening. On behalf of my mother, Nancy, my brothers Brian, Garrett, Scott, Brad, Kurt, my grandfather Kline and the entire Dever family I wish to express our absolute gratitude for the outpouring of support, love and kindness that has been shown to our family since the passing of my father. We appreciate the respect and quiet support over this past week. As you may know, he was laid to rest this weekend in his hometown of St. David, at he same time as his mother Annie who we lost 4 days before. As evidenced by the wonderful tribute tonight, many across this county and country respected, admired, and loved my dad. We feel privileged to have been able to share with you this memorial of him at his passing as we shared him in life.
Better words could not have been offered than those you have heard tonight about Sheriff Dever – the man whose entire adult life was dedicated to a career of public service as a law enforcement officer. He was and is that man – always genuine and an effective public figure because he came as advertised. But please allow me for a moment to share with you a little more of what lay behind the public figure. The husband, father, grandfather, and often deeply private man who preferred digging in a garden or cooking a Dutch oven thanksgiving dinner at elk camp for his family to the national spotlight, though he’d happily step up when it was required of him.
Those who had a conversation of any length with my father can attest that he had a list of expressions and sayings that would put Confucius to shame. Now we’ve all met people who like to overuse quotes and the impact of clever sayings is often lost on the listener. Interestingly for me, though I heard my father use some of these hundreds of times, somehow they always seem to reach me. You see, it never was about the saying. It was the life lesson tied to it.
My dad raised his boys and continued raising his grandchildren the way he learned from his father – a firm but surprisingly compassionate hand – always without preaching but quick to speak up when he saw a moment to teach. These times, generally in the outdoors somewhere, were the times my dad liked best, and if truth be told, they were when he was at his best. Please allow me to share four brief life lessons that he shared with us over the years that I think capture a little of who he truly was.
Lesson 1: There is no such thing as a fair fight.
This is a big enough auditorium that it may not be as clear to you as it is to me that, unlike my brothers, I inherited my father’s stature. As a kid, when I used to ask him how tall he was he would respond, “about 5’10“. I looked at his law enforcement credentials and it lists him as 5’9”. Now I know I stand not much above 5’8” and I think I had my dad by a hair…..yet many of you can attest that he was always the biggest guy in the room.
Wanting to support our budding basketball careers, my father and grandfather worked tirelessly to build a basketball court (my brother swears to this day his shots were always off in high school because it had an 11 foot rim)
Many evenings, we would be out with the neighborhood kids under the lights playing a pickup game. You could always count on my dad joining in at some point. Now I can tell you only two things about my dad’s basketball playing. One, he never lost. Two, the reason he never lost was because he was the dirtiest basketball player I ever met. Pinching, grabbing, pulling shorts, an elbow in the eye on the way up for a layup- whatever it took.
My dad would tell us frequently that there was no such thing as a fair fight. What he figured we might lack in stature, he knew could be overcome by toughness and if necessary, a 2×4. We knew he had better never hear that we started a fight, but if we ever found ourselves on the receiving end – he reminded us we had better pick up the biggest stick we could wield and even the odds. I don’t recall that my father ever started a fight. But when there was a fight to be had on behalf of his family, or the citizens of Cochise county, or the nation, he would pick up a 2×4 and wade in.
Lesson 2: Life is full of difficult paths and journeys, but you only have 400 yards to go.
From the time I was about 10 years old, we took an annual backpack trip up above a series of waterfalls on Cave Creek in the Chiracahua Mountains. This was a difficult hike for an adult to make, but my dad wanted to share one of his favorite places on earth with those he loved best. So year after year he loaded a pack with enough gear to outfit an light infantry squad, and hauled us all – sons, cousins, or a friend who may not have had a father around – on a grueling trek up the mountain. On one trip after a long day of stumbling along on tired legs, long off the trail falling over deadfall and shrubs, someone asked the inevitable question – how much farther? We didn’t know it at the time, but my dad’s response would become an inside family joke and response to that age-old question of “how much farther?” for years to come – “oh, just about 400 yards”. Well this is reasonable we must have all thought. But after much more than 400 yards of continued stumbling, the question was asked again……..same answer. Miles and about 7-8 “400 yard” responses later, we stumbled in to camp. Tired, bruised, and cursing my dad I’m sure, but we all made it. To this day I don’t know for sure if my Dad was simply off in his initial estimation, or if he supposed that if we truly knew how far we had left we might sit down and quit (and he didn‘t want to carry us). Either way – this unplanned lesson has carried me, and I know many of us, through many grueling life journeys over the years.
Lesson 3: “It’s not enough that we do our best; sometimes we have to do what’s required”
Some of you may recognized this quote by Winston Churchill as one my father incorporated into the Cochise County Sheriff’s Department mission statement when he was first elected in 1996. Now I am proud to say that I actually shared that with my dad while he was running that year, though I am certain he wouldn’t quite remember it that way. In fact, if he hadn’t seen Churchill’s name next to it, he probably would have remembered coming up with it himself.
On it’s face, it is both inspiring and perhaps a little deflating and harsh. How can anyone be asked to give more than his very best? Over time, I came to realize that my dad understood what I think Prime Minister Churchill knew as well…..that our minds quit long before our actual ability to accomplish the task at hand. We could go 400 more yards certainly, in fact we have miles left in the tank. But we may think we are spent long before we truly are. The high bar of what is required gives us what we need to reach for – and when we know we must accomplish the task without fail, our ability to do so is magnified.
Lesson 4: Quiet strength, compassion and love
This was my father’s most powerful lesson, and sadly for me one I know I didn’t adequately thank him for in life.
On his final trip he took with him a book that he and my mom were reading (and fighting over who’s turn it was). He told my mom he planned to get a copy for each of his sons.
The book is The Heart and the Fist by Eric Greitens. It is the story of a humanitarian turned Navy Seal. Here is a brief passage from the preface he shared with my mom:
…..As warriors, as humanitarians, they’ve taught me that without courage, compassion falters, and that without compassion, courage has no direction. They’ve shown me that it is within our power, and that the world requires of us – of every one of us – that we be both good and strong.
The song you heard – Consider the Lilies – was one of my Dad’s favorites in recent weeks as he helped care for his mother who was dying of cancer. He had ordered a CD with that being performed by the Mormon Tabernacle Choir and listened to it frequently. Right after his mom had passed and just days before he left us, he shared the scripture from the Bible that song comes from and a short devotional at home with my mom and his granddaughter Savannah. He shared the author’s account of its writing, gave a copy of the words to each of them and reminded them that whether a lily or raven, the Lord knows, loves, and cares for us.
I wish you could have seen my dad as he held a crying grandchild out on the front porch as the stars came out and sang a quiet comforting lullaby. Or dancing around the kitchen floor to the Paint your wagon soundtrack with grand kids on his feet – shouting for joy “out the window go the beans!”
Or passing on an important political engagement to go on a promised fishing trip, sitting in elk camp next to the fire with admiring grand kids listening to him tell a tall tale, or carefully helping a grandson put on “sheriff clothes” boots, hat and all and taking him to his office for an entire day.
Many years ago, my dad was asked as part of an assignment for a son to write a letter – counsel of a father who would no longer be there to give it. My mom and brothers found it while going through some boxes the other day – having not seen it for over 10 years:
He begins quoting Tolkien: “The road goes ever on and on. Down from the door from where it began. Now far ahead the road has gone. And I must follow if I can. Pursuing it with eager feet. Until it joins some larger way. Where many paths and errands meet. And wither then? I cannot say.”
He then goes on to write:
I always thought, watching you grow from childhood into manhood, that I would always be nearby to put you on the right road as we journey through life. Now as I sit and contemplate my own mortality, wondering if this the last chance to counsel together, I feel strongly the need to reinforce a couple of things that we have learned along the way.
You have some tough choices and difficult journeys ahead. When the road seems too long and your legs very weary, remember our pack trips “above the falls.” How much further Dad? Just 400 yards son. How much further now? Just 400 yards. And remember the old Indian saying “If the deer don’t go that way, there’s a reason.”
Many have gone before you and have carved out the trails that will take you where you need to go. If you stray too far off the trail, you will suffer. The deer trail isn’t always easy, but its final destination is sure.
Finally, I would have you regularly contemplate the Savior’s question to His twelve disciples. “What manner of men ought ye to be?” Then, answering his own question, He said, “Verily I say unto you, even as I am.” And what manner is that?
Study His life, His qualities. Be true to your faith, be diligent in your work.
Be Kind.
See you down the road.
Love, Dad
Dad, if you are still listening and didn’t sneak out the back door because this is taking too long. You’ve made it to camp, rest well. You have done your best, and it is enough – more than was required. We’ll take it from here. But if you don’t mind, throw another log on the fire. We’ll be along shortly, just another 400 yards to go.
By Bradley Dever
Today, I have the honor to tell you a little about my Dad, Larry Albert Dever. Dad was born in Benson Arizona on Halloween night, October 31st, 1951. Born to his loving parents, Kline Price Dever, and our sweet Grandma, Annie Mae Dever, in Pomerene Arizona. He has two brothers, older brother Jim, and younger brother Danny. Grandma Dever described Larry as a kind hearted, thoughtful little boy, who loved to wear caps, shorts, and bow ties. She said that he always wanted to help her with whatever she was doing, especially gardening and canning. He was tagging a long with his dad and brothers on hunting trips, even before he could carry a gun. Grandpa would shoot the quail, and his boys were his retrievers. Grandma tells a story of a time when Larry was holding a wounded quail, saying “poor little quail, why didn’t you fly so my Daddy wouldn’t shoot you”?
Even though he was never the biggest guy on the field, Dad was a heck of a ball player, in baseball, football, and even basketball. He held nothing back out on the field, as his right knee was a testament to up until his last days. Whether it was point guard in basketball, or quarterback in football he excelled in any sport he played. His passion though, was always baseball. He was a great infielder on the baseball field. He was always proud to play hard and field well. Grandpa taught his boys about baseball, and was their coach much of the time while they were growing up. I can still hear Dad today, telling us boys to get our butts down while fielding a ball, and don’t be afraid of getting hit. He always said, “It will stop hurting when the pain goes away.” A story that grandma told me, several times, was a time when Dad got hit intentionally by a pitcher while he was batting. Jim immediately came out of the dugout and pointed at the pitcher, letting him know that his time up to bat against him was coming. Though always an excellent ball player, he kept his priorities in line. He worked hard during the summers and every Saturday building a very large home for Grant Bowen. One Saturday, Brother Bowen had a cement shipment coming in, as the boys were not supposed to be playing ball that day. They didn’t know that Coach had scheduled a ball game for them that day as well. He was torn, but finally made the decision that he could not let Brother Bowen down, so he missed the game and poured cement all day instead.
We all know Larry of being dressed up in his cinch shirt, wranglers, boots, and ALWAYS a cowboy hat. In high school, no one would have ever dreamed of seeing him dressed up like a cowboy. Always wearing pressed shirts, slacks, and penny loafers, his classmates described him as the “California Surfer Boy” Type. After high school, he went on up to Tucson, and attended the University of Arizona. After a short time at the U of A, Dad decided it was time to do what he always did best, and that was to serve. He received a call to serve the Lord to the Central American Mission. He faithfully served the people of Panama, Nicaragua, Costa Rica, and Honduras, for two years. During this time, he learned the true meaning of service. He always told many stories of his mission, and always spoke fondly of his time there. I was reading through his mission journal, and would like to share something that I read, that I will forever cherish and remember of my father. He writes “ I love what I am doing now more than ever, and my life even more. Because I am walking in the footsteps of Angels. I love my Lord, My God. I go to sleep with only one regret- that I cannot share this feeling and knowledge and pure inner peace with those that I love. May God grant it to them, Good night.
My father wasn’t one to always express his more tender, sacred feelings. Reading through his mission journal, gave me a whole new insight on the strength and depth of Dad’s testimony, and his personal relationship with His Savior.
After his mission, Dad came home to his loving family. Grandpa, was not yet a member of the church, though as my dad always put it, grandpa knew more about the gospel than most of us ever will. One night, Grandpa and my Dad were sitting and chatting, and Larry asked “Dad, when are we going to get you baptized?” Grandpa said, “Well, I guess it is about that time isn’t it” Dad baptized grandpa soon after. Grandma said that it was one of the happiest days of her life.
He then went on up to BYU to continue his college education, pursuing a degree as an English major, and a Spanish Minor. Those of you who know about Dad’s maintenance skills, will laugh here, but mom swears that Dad worked as a maintenance man, while attending BYU. That is how my dad first met his sweetheart, Nancy Jean Meister. The two hit it off right away, but at first just as best friends. As their relationship grew, my mom tells the story that one night, after being best friends for quite some time, they shared a kiss. They both looked at each other, and said, well, now I guess we are going to have to get married. They got engaged shortly after their kiss, on their first “official date,” watching Fiddler on the Roof. They were sealed for time and all eternity on December 29th, 1973, in the Los Angeles California temple. True to his surfer boy roots, and wanting to have his bride closer to her family, they moved to National City, California. For cheap rent, they lived in a mortuary, and drove the hearse for the funeral home. They had their first son, Brendon, in June of ‘75. They soon decided that it was time to return to Larry’s roots. As Mom puts it, they wanted to raise their boys in the dirt, not in the city filth. They upgraded from the funeral home apartment, to a trailer with a lean-to in Pomerene. Dad started his law enforcement career as a Deputy Sheriff in March, of 1976. Their second boy Brian, was born soon after Dad started, in September of 1976. Mom and Dad then had their home built, in 1978, the same home that all of us boys were raised in. Garrett came next, in 1978, just as they were moving in to their new home in St. David. Scott was next, in 1981. I was supposed to be the girl, and maybe am the closest they ever got, in 1984. Finally we got our Kurty, in 1987. Dad continued to raise through the ranks at the Sheriff’s Department. True to his hard working nature, Dad did some impressive things within the department. From developing the SWAT team, a drug interdiction team, and building the Search and Rescue Team from the ground up. There are many things to be said about Dad’s professional life as a dedicated public servant, that will be said at a later time. But his first priority was always and forever, up until the day he left us, his family. He had So much to do for work, so many that needed his time and talents. But work never kept him too busy to teach his boys how to hunt, how to throw a ball, or to sit us down and teach us an important life lesson. He was always teaching us, always looking for opportunities to help us understand an important eternal principle. He taught us to never give up, no matter how hard the task. One year, while hunting with his two young boys, Brendon and Brian, Dad shot a very heavy bodied mule deer buck up on “the bench” in the Dos Cabezas. He had two boys, a gun, a pack, and a giant dead deer, and was a long ways from the truck. Well, Dad sucked it up and put that deer on his back and hiked it out with his boys. In telling the story later, he always says the only reason he made it out of there a live, was his sheer stubbornness to show his boys that their Dad could handle anything, and wasn’t willing to ever give up.
We certainly didn’t always make things easy for him. From three wheeler wrecks, to car surfing stunts gone bad, dad always had good reason to be worried about his boys. When he caught us red handed, he would always say, “ I was born in the night, but it wasn’t last night.“
He never let us give up on ourselves, and always made sure we took responsibility for our actions. Even though he had six of us, he was each one of his boys number one fan. I can still remember the look he gave me when, as a sophomore in high school I told him I wanted to play tennis instead of baseball. He asked me, “Now why in the world would you want to do that?” Regardless of his feelings, he was still there at my tennis meets, supportive as ever.
He was also a wonderful husband to our mom, and as he always put it, “She is the only one that would ever put up with me” It’s probably true dad. Every year for Christmas, he bought her a new coat. Not just any coat, but a very expensive, extravagant coat. Mom always laughs, because it gets cold enough about once a year to wear the coats he has bought her over the years. He always made sure we had plenty. Each Christmas there was always some type of special gift for each boy that neither Santa or Mom knew about. Usually it involved some type of firearm, or something that we could fight each other with. He was an excellent cook, especially at elk and deer camp. Dutch oven Thanksgiving dinner up at elk camp was his favorite meal to prepare. He had a wonderful singing voice, and had a song for any situation. The traditions that he started with us, will now live on in OUR families forever. The memories that he made with each and every one of his children, and grandchildren, are too many to talk about today. That is what our Dad and Pop, and Papa is so very special to each of us. He had a special, unique connection with each one of his children, daughters in law, and grandchildren. Each of us have so many precious memories that we can hold on to, and cherish forever, that will help us through the times that we miss him most. During the Primary Republican Campaign, Rick Santorum called my dad up and said he was headed down to the border and would like my dad to drive him around and give him a tour on a particular Saturday. My Dad looked at his calendar, and saw that he had a one day fishing trip planned with my boys and I up to Safford. One that we could have easily rescheduled. He didn’t hesitate when he told Santorum, I am sorry sir, but I have more important obligations that day. We only caught one fish that day, our limit, as it was a Gila Trout. My sons and I will remember that day forever. I share that story, because to me, it is a perfect example of the man that my father was, and still is to us. As important as his job was as a public servant, he never let it interfere with the fact that he was a husband, father, and a papa first. And he was the finest one of each of those that I have ever known.
I would like to close with something that my father wrote to his boys years ago. I was given an assignment in Seminary, to ask our dad to write what he might say to his children, knowing that it would be the last counsel that he could provide to us. He starts off with a song, from his favorite book, The Lord of The Rings.
The road goes ever on and on. Down from the door from where it began. Now far ahead the road has gone. And I must follow if I can. Pursuing it with eager feet. Until it joins some larger way. Where many paths and errands meet. And wither then? I cannot say.
My dad then writes,
I always thought, watching you grow from childhood into manhood, that I would always be nearby to put you on the right road as we journey through life. Now as I sit and contemplate my own mortality, wondering if this the last chance to counsel together, I feel strongly the need to reinforce a couple of things that we have learned along the way.
You have some tough choices and difficult journeys ahead. When the road seems too long and your legs very weary, remember our pack trips “above the falls.” How much further Dad? Just 400 yards son. How much further now? Just 400 yards. And remember the old Indian saying “If the deer don’t go that way, there’s a reason.
Many have gone before you and have carved out the trails that will take you where you need to go. If you stray too far off the trail, you will suffer. The deer trail isn’t always easy, but its final destination is sure.
Finally, I would have you regularly contemplate the Savior’s question to His twelve disciples. “What manner of men ought ye to be?” Then, answering his own question, He said, “Verily I say unto you, even as I am.” And what manner is that.
Study His life, His qualities. Be true to your faith, be diligent in your work.
Be Kind.
See you down the road.
Love, Dad.
We love you too Dad.
I say these things in the name of Jesus Christ, Amen.
