Charles "Chuck" Wrobel passed away on July 11, 2008 in Stillwater. Chuck was born on November 21, 1932 in St. Paul. He grew up with his parents Joseph and Dorothy Wrobel in Newport, Minnesota, and left when he was 17 to join the Air Force and serve for four years in Moses Lake, Washington and Bentwaters, England.
Chuck was the first in his family to earn a college degree, first, a B.S. in Industrial Arts from Stout State University, and then he earned his Masters in Educational Psychology from The University of Minnesota. In Washington State, he worked in Special Education and Industrial Arts, and in Minnesota, Chuck worked as a college administrator for many years, spearheading the creation of the SERVE Center at 916 AVTI in White Bear Lake. Another of his significant contributions was his efforts to help create the federal Vocational Education Act of 1975. He left state employment in 1980 and became his own boss for the rest of his life as a vocational rehabilitation counselor and career software developer.
He was known for his verbal eloquence and lightning-speed wit and wicked, professional-brand humor. If he had decided to, he could have outperformed the world’s top comics. His comedic styling and timing was a cross between Jonathan Winters and Benny Hill, only Chuck was funnier. Seriously. He knew how to work a crowd. He could have been a professional photographer, too, or a graphic designer.
In his free time, he loved to boat, fish, hunt, and build things. Chuck loved hammers and nails and socket sets and gadgets. In one day, he could make a tractor from a paperclip, and then destroy the tractor. The next day, he’d build something else. Most importantly, he was a loving, affectionate father to his three children, Wendy, Pam and Scott, all three of whom are better for having him as a dad.
In lieu of flowers, family welcomes memorials to People’s Congregational Church Labyrinth Garden.
In the early days of this website, I once had to say to Chuck Wrobel "I'm sorry, I can't do that for you, it's too much work; how about you get up off your *** and do something yourself."
You know how he responded, he decided to give something back to the air force, and the people he had the honour to serve with, through the 81st FWA. He collected and built a huge archive of photos from people's lives in the 81st.
Another part of what he gave back was INITIATING, NAMING, WRITING, and COMPILING 'Talewinds' - sometimes against the odds of his continuing suffering. And sometimes he might have been a little behind on getting his Talewinds into print, as a result. But he soldiered on.
Take a minute to reflect, and bow your head in respect for the cheerful giant of a man that was Chuck Wrobel.
Chuck was a great fighter for what he thought was right and fair. Can't ask much more of a man than that. Except to be a great dad, and it seems he was that, too!
It is rather strange how someone I never met could become such really close friend.
I will miss his angry humourous emails greatly.
Linn Barringer
Very sad news indeed.
He kindly sent me photos of wood carvings (and of his son fishing) of a the Chief Crazy Horse memorial that was being constructed. It was going to be like Mount Rushmore, but a native American on a horse.
My condolences to his wife and family.
Jill Barringer
Dear Linn,
For several years now I have been aware that odd bits and pieces could be found on the Internet concerning RAF Woodbridge. On Saturday evening, my son forwarded a bit of material that he had found Googling. It took me back to those years 1953-8 when “Sutton Heath” had the center of my attention.
I will start this story by cutting the time period by half and taking you to a day in July 1977. It was two days after I took an early retirement as an investigator with the Minnesota Department of Public Safety, and moved to a technical college in the St. Paul, Minnesota suburbs to head its Law Enforcement Program.
By early afternoon I found myself calling on various department heads as I located such important places as the Cafeteria and the men’s room. I soon found myself in a department involved with counseling, testing, education financing, special needs, whatever. I was soon seated in the office of its director, a man about my age leaning back in a plush chair on the verge of tipping over.
He had coffee cups going on either side of him. I introduced myself and he came out of his chair with a great smile and asked, “Where in hell do I know you from?” He had never been in law enforcement, so we could go back farther than that. “The Air Force? Were you ever at Moses Lake?” Nope. “England!!!! Were you ever at Shepherds Grove?” A couple of times to umpire baseball, another to pick up all their football gear before they moved to Bentwaters. Once it was established that I had been at Woodbridge the orientation was over and we settled down to such important questions as, “Did you know . .?”
It turned out that my office was directly across the hall from Chuck and the phones could be heard from either one of them. We could keep in touch about 40 times a day. His friends became my friends, and I learned to help manipulate those few who were not his friends. He knew the system and all its shortcuts. He had connections to the state and federal departments of education as well as the State Legislature and the United States Congress.
He was responsible for the school’s Chemical Dependency Program and I was aware that he was talking tough to more than one of the faculty members as well as countless students. He had undergone treatment himself and he was not surprised that so many of my tales reflected the hard drinking practiced in the 79th Fighter Bomber Squadron. After all, the Woodbridge Officer’s Club was well established as the only place in the Air Force where you get off your barstool and sail your empty glass across the dancefloor into the fireplace. Woodbridge had a reputation for its behavior and those of us who lived it feel very comfortable with watching reruns of MASH.
While we were busy with each other on campus, our social lives took different directions as Chuck’s evenings were filled with AA meetings and speaking before professional and industrial groups on chemical dependency. I, in turn, continued to make the party circuit which was familiar territory to me. There came a day when Chuck leaned back in his chair and looked me square in the eye and said, “Tom, when are you going to straighten your life out?” He floored me! “What it the hell are you talking about? You have never seen me drunk, not even seen me take a drink. What brought this on?” “Hell, Tom, I can tell by your sober behavior!” I went back to my office very hurt. Heck, I had not been engaged in throwing glasses a fireplace in twenty years. Crazy!
The next day Chuck took me out and introduced me to an evaluator. Two days later I entered a treatment program and I can claim 29+ years of sobriety today! Chuck Wrobel has changed my life.
Chuck and I then shared a common social life (he even introduced me to President Gerald Ford). In time we both made moves out of Minnesota. I had the pleasure of visiting him in Everett, Washington where he ran a consulting firm. We eventually moved back into common ground when Chuck returned to his home in Stillwater, Minnesota and I lived across the St. Croix River in Hudson, Wisconsin. Moves separated us again and only telephone calls kept us updated on our many years of sobriety.
So it was no local obituary that alerted me to Chuck’s death, rather I learned of it through the Bentwaters-Woodbridge web site. Was it the Lord who guided my son to this web page? Perhaps, He has guided my life quite a bit since those years at Sutton Heath. I am delighted that those of your list have been gifted by sharing the humor and the faith of Chuck Wrobel as I have been.
Sincerely,
Tom Cairns
My condolences to Chuck Wrobel's family (and close friends).
Memories Of Chuck: A few years ago he and I -- we never knew each other before -- exchanged some e-mails re my questions about the airmen's dining hall ('chow hall', mess) at the RAF Station Shepherds Grove USAF base I was stationed at in the 1950s. Chuck had some pertinent info and was very responsive and helpful and communicated in a casual, friendly, pleasant, and likeable way with me, a stranger.
Phil Chavin (now in Europe)
I just read the message from Mr. Cairns. Oh my! I can visualize my dad leaning so far back in his chair that you would think he’d tip - or bust the legs! Whenever he spoke, he made sure that his body language reflected that he was the confident man in charge. It made my mother crazy when he did it at the dinner table… Yes, he could be a complete pain in the ***… no doubt – anyone who knew him can appreciate that.
He didn’t tell me until he got really sick, that one of his biggest regrets was not being there and providing his children and grandchildren what they needed (emotionally). He seemed to be feeling as if he did things for so many others, but not his family. It hurts my heart that he felt that way. He always supported us and accepted us for who we are. (With his personal opinions thrown in!!!!)
He realized there was repercussion, and possible retribution for being who you are. He worried about me, as I am a bit like him! I had the opportunity to tell him, in one of his few moments of clarity, at the end, that “Your children and grandchildren are all just fine. You did good Dad, and we love you! No worries…” As we hugged, he patted the back of my head with a weak hand, and said “I love you Babe”. What a gift I received that morning.
I had to leave MN and come back to TX – my home now. I will gratefully check your site daily and make sure that my mother see’s any messages. She is a bit afraid of the computer, so I, my sister and brother are making sure that she sees the messages.
Gratefully,
Pamela Wrobel
