Donald Bock Sr.

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He was a husband and father for the ages. As a manager for his son’s Ice Hockey team Don never missed a game even if it involved driving 5 hours. Referees would get an earful if he thought they weren’t being fair. Don was a member of the greatest generation. He interrupted college to fight for our freedoms. His collection of books about the Civil War, WWI and WWII rivaled most libraries and he knew just about everything about military aircraft. His favorite planes were the F-4U Corsair and the P-40 Warhawk. When the Colts abandoned his hometown of Baltimore he changed his allegiances to the Eagles. Family was most important to Don; he didn’t believe in in-laws. When Don Jr married, Kim became his daughter. His passion for his sons’ football and ice hockey were replaced by dance recitals and soccer when his granddaughters came along, but he enjoyed them with the same amount of passion. Earlier years found him doing sales for many companies and he later owned his own company selling stationary for banks and title companies.

A young Don met a girl named Virginia Upchurch. Though they both were involved with other people they never looked back. Their 59 year marriage was blessed by two sons, Donald (Kimberly) and Dann and 2 granddaughters, Samantha (Josh Cooper) and Allie (Oscar Rau); Pre-deceased by his parents Dr. C. Adam Bock, Sr. and Doris (nee Dickinson), he is survived by his brother C. Adam Bock Jr. and his sisters, Jean Kathryn Giles and a large extended family.

Come celebrate 87 great years Friday 6-8 p.m. at Daley Life Celebration Studio where there will be a Storytime service at 8. In lieu of flowers donations to woundedwarriorproject.org will be appreciated.

3 thoughts on “Donald Bock Sr.

  1. Virginia Giles

    Death leaves a heartache no one can heal, love leaves a memory no one can steal. Memories live forever and celebrate the lives of our loved ones. Like the Marvin Hamlish song “memories are the scattered pictures of the way we were.” Memories…where do I begin? Well, I remember my Father and Uncle Donald trying to trump each other in practical jokes; I remember my non-religious Uncle coming to my Confirmation because he was my GodFather, but I suspect mostly because he loved me; I remember Daddy asking my brother Don to make a chicken wire man for Donald and Ginny to put in their yard in Blackwood, so their’s wouldn’t be the only naked yard; I remember a summer night in Ocean City,MD. when my Father, Uncle Donald and Mr. Rivello had a contest to determine who had the best, manly, athletic looking legs; I remember the weekend that Chuck had his first piano recital and our parents were in England so Donald and Ginny came and Uncle Donald practically climbed over people to get the best photographs to record the event; I remember going to Cherry Hill to visit Donald and Ginny and getting up very early to drive to Asbury Park to watch Donny’s ice hockey team and sharing a motel room with the whole family while waiting for his next game; I remember sitting at my grandmother Nana’s gate leg kitchen table while my GrandFather “Pop” and Uncle Donald taught me how to eat a hard crab; and I remember learning all about football from these same two men. While my family was in Japan, Uncle Donald married Ginny the Grand Diva Of All Things Domestic. My life and memories are enriched by Donald and Ginny and Donny and Kim. Memories come and go so quickly. So…Donald was born; he blinked; and he was gone. No buildings have been named after him; no monuments erected in in his honor. But He DID have the chance to know and love each and every friend as well as all his family members. How much more blessed can a person be? I hope that everyone who knew and loved Uncle Donald can find comfort in their memories.

  2. Jean Kathryn Bock Giles

    I am, Jean Kathryn Bock Giles, Donald’s big sister, even though he always watched over me as though I were his little sister. We were born a little over a year apart I was born on November28th and Donald on October 31st. When we were growing up I use to tell him the Witches brought him but I was a Thanksgiving gift. There was a little boy inside the man who is my brother… Oh that little boy was contrary and a bother to my girlfriends and me, but how I loved him too. It was nice growing up with a brother like Donald — someone to lean on, someone to count on… someone to tell on!
    To the outside world we all grow old. But not to brothers and sisters. We know each other as we always were. We know each other’s hearts. We share private family jokes. We remember family feuds and secrets, family griefs and joys. Donald and Adam are the keepers of my childhood identity, they are the only people with the keys to my childhood memories.
    Since we were young Donald and I have been the kind of people who are indefatigable readers, more inclined to go off by ourselves with a book than do any of the dozens of things that children usually do to amuse themselves. And we never aged out of it, Donald with his military books and me with my mysteries. We read because we loved it more than any other activity on earth. When he wasn’t reading Donald could be found on the fields at Johns Hopkins playing Lacrosse. And if he wasn’t playing lacrosse he was either at his desk drawing airplanes or spying on or pestering my girlfriends and me.
    Life is made up of moments. The biggest mistake I made, as a sister, is the one most of us make. I did not live in the moment enough. This is particularly clear now that the moment is gone, captured only in photographs. There is one picture, taken on a summer day, of Donald holding my daughter standing with our parents in the shadow of the house, we grew up in. Looking at that photograph I wish I could remember what we talked about, and how they sounded, and how they looked when we had dinner that night. I wish I had not been in such a hurry to get on to the next thing.
    Donald, I love you, you were there for me, you protected me, and most of all, you loved me. We’d fight, scream, and argue, but, under it all, was love. You were a wonderful brother.
    Love, Jean

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