Don grew up across the street from my dad in Nashwauk on the iron range and he was part of so many of the stories my dad shared with me over the years. When my dads younger brother Tom was born, my dad spent the day with the Popovich family because back then babies were not delivered in hospitals but rather at home. And if they were, my dads family was too poor to afford it. Ive heard that story so many times. And then there was the time all the boys, after a night of drinking uptown, parked their cars in front of Oiva Latfalas gas station, effectively blocking entrance to his business. I dont know about Don, but my dad was awoken early by an angry mother. There were so many of these colorful stories. Fast forward twenty-some years and Don and Carol move to Southbrook, a neighborhood in Bloomington where my parents were among the first to build a home. They lived maybe twelve houses away from one another. My dad could be a bit volatile and any time he and my mom had a spat you knew you could find him just down the block with Don, probably sitting in the backyard drinking a Hamms beer and licking his wounds. My semi-annual dentist visits to Don began when I was a young child and he still had an office in Minneapolis and ended when he retired. I refused to go to a dentist in Texas and would go see Don during my visits home to Minnesota. As I got older, in addition to cleanings and xrays, my visits to Don also included a free therapy session. Don would always make a grand entrance and begin with a booming, Stevo! Falla! Which in Serbian I believe means, Steve! How are you? But then he would sit down on his rolling dentist chair, get really close to me, quietly put his hand on my arm and ask with the utmost sincerity, How are you? How is your dad? How are things with your dad? Then typically end with, Hes too hard on you. Chin up. Those chats only lasted maybe three or four minutes. But in that brief time Don made me feel like I was the only person in the world and I knew he cared deeply about me. Many years later when my father passed away, Don and Judy made a really hard situation a little bit easier by graciously inviting my family to stay with them. I cannot express how staying with family and I consider them family eased our grief and the burden of my dads funeral. And a year later they did the same thing for us when my grandmother passed away. I always received a phone call from Don around Christmas time. Just like the therapy sessions I received free of charge as a teenager, these calls did not last long. Don was always on the move and had lots of people to call. But during those brief conversations I felt deeply connected and I felt his love. I did not receive a call this year and should have known something was wrong. I will miss those brief but very meaningful chats a great deal. Don was a caring, insightful and funny man and he was also one of the last connections to my deceased father for me. Sadly, there are not many of the old iron rangers left. Don was part of the depression-era, no nonsense, hard-working, larger-than-life group of characters that I feel privileged to have known. I will miss him dearly, but I know he is in a better place and probably laughing loudly.