William L. Gerner

Born with a furrowed brow and a talent for creative grumbling, Bill was a man of habits: strong coffee, stronger opinions, and taking his family out to breakfast every single Saturday morning for decades. He called everyone on the phone before dawn every week and said one word, “Breakfast,” and they all knew to hurry up, get dressed, and report to the local diner ASAP. If you were late, you got the look. If you were early, you probably rode in his truck, which had the A/C cranked to “North Pole” even in December.

Though he wasn’t a man of many words (unless those words were about politics, guns, or why everyone was an idiot), Bill served in the US Army in his youth and faithfully attended Kent State University as an adult, earning a degree in electrical engineering. After stints at Coors, Pepsi, and Coca-Cola, he pretended to dislike all of his coworkers at Square D until he retired at the ripe old age of 70. He most unwillingly gave up his cigarettes after winning a battle with a ventilator in 2016 and still occasionally grumped about needing one after a meal.

Bill was a die-hard fan of John Deere tractors, truck stop breakfasts, and the NRA. His idea of fine dining was a diner with unlimited refills and a waitress who called him “hon.” He could fix just about anything with a screwdriver, WD-40, or a strongly worded lecture, and he was convinced that target shooting in the living room was an appropriate hobby.

Grumpy was married to his wife, Janis, for nearly forty years, until her passing in 2013. After that, he carried on the only way he knew how: with sarcasm, grit, and a whole lot of chocolate covered cherries.

He is survived by his daughters, Tara Gerner, Amanda Gerner, and Virginia Weygandt, who all inherited his side-eye and ability to spot nonsense from a mile away. Also carrying on the Grumpy legacy are his granddaughters, Grace and Allison Ziegmont and Devin Leamer, who always came back to visit despite his parting words, “Come back when you can’t stay so long!” His sister, Judy Moser, also survives him.

Bill didn’t believe in fancy funerals, long speeches, wearing his dentures, or anything labeled “liberal.” He did believe in family, strong coffee, being proud of his kids and grandkids, and sleeping with a loaded pistol under his pillow.

In lieu of flowers, please enjoy a hot breakfast with someone you love, argue about something ridiculous, and raise a cold can of Pepsi to the grumpiest, funniest, most fiercely loyal man we knew.

We’ll miss you, Pappy. And yes, we remembered to turn off the lights.