William Rammel

William "Bill" Rammel, age 17 1/2 (70 according to his driver's license), went out with a bang on July 4, 2026, in his home. Born on the exclusive date February 29, 1956, Bill spent a lifetime reminding everyone that he only had a birthday every four years making him a perfectly reasonable 17 1/2 years old. The son of Carl and Eleanor (Meyer) Rammel, Bill proudly called Miamisburg his home and never missed an opportunity to give you a history lesson on local landmarks.

Bill brought joy to everyday life with his goofy sense of humor and a smile that rarely left your face after being around him. His dad jokes were so legendary they were actually saved in a dad-a-base because one hard drive simply wasn't enough to contain that many groan worthy puns. He measured success not by how many people laughed but by how many rolled their eyes and said, "Oh Bill".

Bill never officially earned the title of historian, but don't tell him that. Whether it was world wars, American presidents, ancient civilizations, or baseball statistics, he always had a story to tell. Watching documentaries with Bill was less about entertainment and more about attending a live fact checking session complete with running commentary and the occasional eye roll when Hollywood "got it wrong". His curiosity, sharp memory, and genuine love of history made him the unofficial historian of the family.

When he wasn't spreading questionable humor, Bill could be found playing or watching baseball, playing Stratomatic Baseball like it was game 7 of the World Series, or battling friends at Wednesday night cards. Whether he won or lost he always left with a story, a joke, and at least a few opinions about how Ron cheated. In those simple moments, Bill found exactly what mattered most: good company, good laughs, and just enough friendly competition to keep everyone honest. While doing all of these things, there was most certainlky a sotck pile of Pepsi somewhere near by.

A proud graduate of Alter High School, Bill attended The Ohio State University before settling into what can only be described as a suspiciously long 25 + year career at Reynold's & Reynolds. Whether it was unwavering loyalty or simply an inability to remember where he left his resume remains a mystery. He showed up, got the job done, mastered the art of looking busy, and collected just enough wisdom over the years to give advice nobody asked for but everyone probably should have taken.

Bill spent his later years serving as an unwilling- but highly dedicated - accomplice to his wonderfully unhinged daughter and her never ending mission to rescue every stray cat that looked at her "the right way". Together they spent countless evenings listening to the thunderous stampede of cats racing up and down the hallway at full speed sounding less like house pets and more like a herd of buffalo. He would shake his head and laugh and wonder how so much noise could come from such little creatures. But deep down, he wouldn't have traded those chaotic moments for anything. He may have complained loudly, rolled his eyes, and questioned his daughter's sanity on a daily basis, but everyone knew he had a soft spot for each one of those babies, often complaining when the time between litters was too long and he needed a new set of painfully playful kittens. In the end, he simply became their unpaid landlord and secretly their favorite human.

William is survived by his children, Angela Rammel and William Rammel; grandchildren, Joseph and Ellie Belvo; his great grandchildren, whom he said made his heart happy, Seidi Robert, Weston, Emery, and Meredith Belvo; siblings, Richard (Joan) Rammel and Karyl Rammel; and nephew and nieces, Ian Bailey, Aileen Schoech, and Elizabeth Rammel. Bill also leaves behind his legendary rock collection - a carefully curated assortment gathered from family vacations across the country throughout his childhood. While most kids brought home postcards, Bill hauled back enough geological specimens to make the family car noticeably heavier. For years, he jokingly insisted his priceless "fortune" would one day become the family's inheritance. Much to everyone's surprise (and slight disappointment) the collection remains exactly what it has always been...a few bookcases and several boxes full of sentimental rocks that are somehow now everyone's responsibility.

He was preceded in death by his parents; his nephew, Curt Rammel. While most people lose their keys, Bill had a habit of loosing entire body parts. His teeth, which wisely decided to retire before he did after years of faithfully chewing, smiling, and occasionally disappearing at inconvenient times. Then Bill's spleen...while we are still not entirely sure what it did, but it showed up every day and apparently was important enough that doctors kept talking about it. It officially clocked out and ceased to filter, store, or whatever mysterious spleen things it was doing. Bill's right eye lived a blurry but adventurous life, it faithfully rolled at nonsense, spotted snacks from across the room, and occasionally minded it owns business. Rumore has it that it left because it couldn't watch one more dad joke. It was preceded in death by its once perfect vison and left his left eye working mandatory overtime. They're undoubtedly reunited with him now, probably asking him to please stop with the puns.

A gathering of family & friends will be held from 4–6 PM on Monday, July 13, 2026, at GEBHART-SCHMIDT-PARRAMORE Funeral Home, Miamisburg. Funeral services will follow at 6 PM with Deacon Terry Martin. Private burial will take place at Our Lady of Good Hope Cemetery, Miamisburg.

Condolences may be expressed to the family at www.gebhartschmidtparramore.com.