Faith, family and duty are what mattered to Douglas Swartz (in that order). Doug’s mother, Sally, signed for him to join the Navy at age seventeen, where he proudly served on the USS Lexington until his honorable discharge in 1958. The following year he married his only bride, Loree, after making an excuse to see her every day from their first meeting until their wedding, buying pencils and the like at the drugstore in which she worked. They shared several loving homes together, moving into their final house together in 1970.

Doug came from a tough midwestern clan turned classic Hanford story, escaping the aftermath of the dustbowl in Oklahoma 1943 for the promise of work at a new government facility on a river in the Pacific Northwest. While Doug’s father, Matt, spent days as a mill-wright for the likes of Dupont, a young Doug could be found freely wandering the expansive desert with shotgun and trusted spaniel by his side, looking for pheasant and chuckers. Doug’s love for animals remained constant throughout his life and was evident by not infrequent stops of the family car to point out quail in the underbrush and trips to Ice Harbor Dam to watch salmon running the fish ladder. Aside from being surrounded by his loved ones, his happy place seemed to be the quiet, icy Grande Ronde or Touchet Rivers, wading up to his knees in tennis shoes with fly rod in hand.

Despite his seemingly gruff exterior, Doug’s heart was especially soft for his four children (Kelly, Sue, Doug Jr., Heather), three grandchildren (Michelle, Matthew, Skyler) and one great grandchild (Titus), freely sharing stories with anyone in earshot about their accomplishments and wheel-barrowing little ones around the yard he so meticulously kept.

He lived by his devout Christian faith and was active in his congregations, having helped physically build church buildings as well as deep bonds through men’s breakfasts and prayer services. Doug’s generous soul would offer anything of his own to anyone he saw in need without hesitation.

Doug, Dad, Papa will be profoundly missed.