Stan Boyer, one of the key members of Grandmas' Boyfriends Quartet and of the King's Men Chorus, passed into immortality on December 30, 2023. We are still singing, but we miss him sadly.
Born during the depths of the Depression, Stan's love for God and his fellow-men gave him a natural empathy that inspired the countless acts of kindness for which he was known. He loved talking to people. He loved to engage an audience...to have them sing along. And they loved him in return. When we would call to arrange a gig, the first question anyone would ask was always "How is Stan doing?"
After his childhood in Oregon, his military service and a brand-new accounting degree, he married the girl of his dreams (the beatiful blonde at the piano) and came to work for Shell Oil in Northern California. He was assigned to a strange new technology...computers...when they still ran on punch cards and paper tapes. When I met him, I asked "So, you were a computer geek?". He stiffened slightly and said "I prefer to be introduced as a Senior Systems Analyst". But even then he was smiling.
Shell moved Stan and his family to Houston in the mid-seventies...by now there were four daughters, the pride of his life...and there were many happy years together. And then cancer intervened. Stan resigned his job to become a caregiver for the Love of his Life. But the sacrifice was in vain. When his wife died, Stan was in his fifties, without a spouse and without a career.
It was then that his life exploded into a starburst of unselfish volunteer activities that would continue for the next 35 years. He visited patients in hospital, he drove seniors to their doctor appointments, he organized front-yard concerts for his neighbors, he quietly did all the leg-work for the quartet and the chorus. And he was always there for his children and grandchildren of whom he would boast shamelessly.
At the end of every practice with the King's Men Chorus, Stan would finish with a signature song: "Keep the whole world singing". There is no better way to honor his memory than to keep singing the music that he taught us. We'll miss his unbridled critique. But the music will get better and better and our memories of him will get even sweeter. They just don't make them like that anymore.
Born during the depths of the Depression, Stan's love for God and his fellow-men gave him a natural empathy that inspired the countless acts of kindness for which he was known. He loved talking to people. He loved to engage an audience...to have them sing along. And they loved him in return. When we would call to arrange a gig, the first question anyone would ask was always "How is Stan doing?"
After his childhood in Oregon, his military service and a brand-new accounting degree, he married the girl of his dreams (the beatiful blonde at the piano) and came to work for Shell Oil in Northern California. He was assigned to a strange new technology...computers...when they still ran on punch cards and paper tapes. When I met him, I asked "So, you were a computer geek?". He stiffened slightly and said "I prefer to be introduced as a Senior Systems Analyst". But even then he was smiling.
Shell moved Stan and his family to Houston in the mid-seventies...by now there were four daughters, the pride of his life...and there were many happy years together. And then cancer intervened. Stan resigned his job to become a caregiver for the Love of his Life. But the sacrifice was in vain. When his wife died, Stan was in his fifties, without a spouse and without a career.
It was then that his life exploded into a starburst of unselfish volunteer activities that would continue for the next 35 years. He visited patients in hospital, he drove seniors to their doctor appointments, he organized front-yard concerts for his neighbors, he quietly did all the leg-work for the quartet and the chorus. And he was always there for his children and grandchildren of whom he would boast shamelessly.
At the end of every practice with the King's Men Chorus, Stan would finish with a signature song: "Keep the whole world singing". There is no better way to honor his memory than to keep singing the music that he taught us. We'll miss his unbridled critique. But the music will get better and better and our memories of him will get even sweeter. They just don't make them like that anymore.