Memories of Cinda (Stenger) de Vesci, May 2000:

I grew up with Bruce, both as a member of First Lutheran Church (every Sunday in Sunday School!) and living in the same Tacoma neighborhood of Brown's Point. I saw Bruce just about every day of my life, except maybe for an occasional Saturday.

Bruce was like the Rock of Gibraltar. Solid. Even. And always knowledgeable: when I would flail trying to bluff a question about some lost tribe in the Bible, he'd be right there with the correct answer. Never a mean word, not in all the years we were around each other did I ever hear him speak disparagingly of anyone. A kind soul. Here’s a story that shows who he was as a boy, and the man he became:

We must have been 9 or 10 years old, and a great snow had fallen. In our neighborhood, we had REALLY good sledding hills, steep streets that went on for blocks and required look-outs for cross traffic. My father had dug out a huge sled that his father had made, so my brother John and I headed out to the streets. The older neighborhood boys (the cool, tough ones) saw us coming with our new sled, but kept quiet, giving us "the eye." We were anxious in more than one way about trying the sled.

The chosen street had a very large curve half way down. We received the clearance to take off, and boy did we go fast. As we passed through the first street, we were flying, but ahead lay that curve. My brother pulled hard to steer, but too late--we flew right into the snow bank, straight as an arrow.

Only one boy came to our rescue. It was Bruce. As all the others howled with laughter and made grand fun of us, Bruce picked us up, dusted us off, and put an arm around my brother to help him up the street.

A kind soul; a glimpse of the man he would become.