David Barak Gibson

Dave Gibson; born March 26, 1946, in Seattle, to Douglas and Geraldine, and raised in White Center alongside Sharon, his twin sister Dianne, and later Mike and Linda. A neighborhood kid on a bicycle, back when the neighborhood was the whole world. He went to Sealth High School.

With Patricia, his first wife, he had Tina and Bruce, and for a good stretch of those years there were horses. They raised them, and Dave competed, Patricia too; in rodeos, the local barrel races. That marriage lasted eighteen years. His life was also linked with General Electric. He was a test mechanic there, and he stayed until he retired. He was proud of that work. Not showy about it — proud. Steady work, done well, for a long time. GE gave him Carol, too. Different jobs, same place, both of them starting over. She’d been married eighteen years in her first marriage as well, with a son and daughter the exact same ages as his: Marcy and Rick lining up with Tina and Bruce, right down the row. You could call that a coincidence. Dave and Carol got forty years out of it. They settled in North Bend and stayed. Forty years in one place, because Dave was old school that way. You find a beautiful spot and you don’t move around.

He was a man who could do anything with his hands. Plumbing, electrical; he built the deck. He didn’t call somebody; he figured it out himself.

He loved fishing and crabbing enough to hand his son a big boat, and enough that a grandson took it up too. Camping. Road trips. A cruise to Alaska, with another one planned that illness got in the way of. He loved country music, Waylon and the Oak Ridge Boys; the real stuff. He and Carol drove to Branson, Missouri to see the Oak Ridge Boys live, and made it a proper road trip, swinging through Iowa to see her family on the way. He was old school country. In a way that matched his “Steak, mashed potatoes, gravy” self.

Dave shot in the leagues around North Bend, and if you played him you found out fairly quickly what kind of man he was. Competitive. A shark, if we’re being honest, but the truest picture of him may be simpler: Dave in the garage, door up, watching the world go by. Friendly. Glad to see you. He collected friends the way some men collect tools, and kept them just as long.

Eight grandchildren. Two great-grandsons. He loved being a grandfather… it may have been the role he wore most easily.

Asked what he was proudest of, the answer came back plain: his kids, and the work. Bruce. All of them. And all those years of showing up.

That’s a good life.

That’s a man who knew what he wanted and then went and lived it; right here, in a beautiful place, with people who loved him.

Rest easy, Dave. You’ll be with us in our hearts, forever.

All are welcome to sign the online guestbook below and add any messages or stories for the family.