I received some requests for a copy of the eulogy so I wanted to share it with you all here. On behalf of Eileen, Luke, myself, Bishop and Nora we wanted to share our sincerest THANK YOU. Thanks for everyone who came to share stories and offer love and support, thank you to those that sent flowers, provided meals and to all that continue to keep us in your thoughts and prayers. We are eternally grateful and appreciate you all. 

Good morning, my name is Carla Froehle and I am Rich’s daughter in law. Luke wrote this eulogy and I will be sharing it from his perspective.

My dad has always made a lasting impression on those he has come across.  It was no exception one day back in the mid-seventies when his good friend, Tom (future presidential speech writer) and his pal helped him on an epic day in the woods which was a dawn to dusk kind of ordeal, typical for Rich.  Years later when Tom was in town, he took Rich and Eileen to dinner and asked Rich if he remembered that day and who his friend was.  Long story short it was the hall of fame NBA coach Phil Jackson, which Rich responded with a shrug and “Oh”.  Years later in the mid-2000s, John Gagliardi was speaking at an event in Cleveland where Phil Jackson was also a speaker.  Phil and John were chatting, and Phil asked if John knew a man that went to Saint Johns named Rich Froehle.  John a bit shocked said, yes very well.  Phil went on to explain the day he had spent with Rich some 30 some years ago.  He then explained speaking commonly of that day as a core part of his speeches when travelling the country, specifically of how one man is capable of far more than one would ever dream of and explaining the way they were able to move logs and timber with the use of leverage, fulcrums, positioning, strength and determination.  Some of those logs transformed into beams that are now part of the house Rich built with his two hands along with help from many dear friends, which was made up of wood he cut and milled by himself. Anyone that has had the privilege of visiting the house cannot help but be in awe by the beauty and craftmanship of a labor of love.

Rich was like a real-life Forest Gump.  He didn’t speak much as a kid as his brother Art did most of that.  He had numerous ailments when he was younger and he broke his neck in high school.  However, he preserved and became an All-American football player at St John’s and was an integral part of their first national championship, playing fullback, linebacker and all special teams.  A few years ago he stumbled upon a trophy in his closet and  was reminded that he was the 1964 MIAC most valuable player, something he had forgotten.  That was Rich-a hard working, humble man.  He was also all conference in hockey and held the pole vault record for quite some time.  After being invited to the Denver Broncos training camp he was told at one point he would be starting at fullback.  I think he wanted to get back to his bride and love of his life Eileen, so he hung up his spikes and headed home.   He hitch-hiked home just as he had hitch hiked out to Denver.  He had to help a couple get “hitched” and help another guy move a piano as payment on those rides home.  Over the years he worked on water towers, helped reconnect the transcontinental railroad, was a master snow slide builder, lumberjack, social worker, carpenter, grounds worker, and never-ending builder. Additionally, he had a firewood delivery business on the side for over  30-years--bringing wood in his big red truck and 17-foot trailer to the Twin Cities.  This became a beloved fall tradition that many of us looked forward to helping with every Saturday including Eileen, Art, myself, Carla, Bishop, Nora, Jeff and many others.  Oh yeah and he also helped start hockey in Cold Spring as a first-year coach for the program while coaching his son Jake.

I was approached by Ron Clark one day in eighth grade and he asked me what was wrong with my dad.  Ron couldn’t understand how Rich could work a full day on the grounds crew at Saint Johns and then fill his three quarter ton truck with snow to take home every night. He would get home, dump the snow on the hill by the house and work until it was time to turn in for the night-he did this for a month and the result was a 13 curve, 300 foot long bobsled/luge run with some banks as high as twenty feet.  He would then blow up inner tubes with his air compressor and delight in having a stream of kids enjoying the slide all winter long.

Many people speak of the perpetual glimmer in his eyes and his kid like zeal.  That was evident in his building of the slide, shoveling a rink in the pond behind the house with endless trails for the neighborhood kids, and many night rides on the ski sled with Dave and Ben.  That zeal was also evident when we would haul our bikes to the Rocky Mountains on our 2-week summer trips and scream down the mountain passes.  Rich took me out West to go downhill skiing my senior year- we skied together from the first lift through the last lift of night skiing—I have no idea how he did that at the age of 48, my age now.  Our skiing adventures continued with our spring break trips out west with my brother Jake and my cousin Jake.  In the last year his fun and fight didn’t quit as he continued to attend boxing every week in St. Cloud as recently as 2 months ago.

Rich was concerned for others well-being, but certainly not too concerned with what people thought of him.  One great memory is when Jake and I were in grade school and enjoying a dreamlike day at Teens lake with our friends.  The beach was packed.  Jake was down the beach in the water with his friends and I remember hearing this faint yell that continued to build in volume.  Jake and I locked eyes in horror.  Without hesitation Jake thrashed out of the water and ran down the beach.  That yell was Rich at the top of the hill yelling, “Jake, Luke, time to go”.  Not a big deal, except he was wearing a blue shirt that looked like it had been spray painted on him and a pair of bell bottom jeans that I had never seen before.  We were horrified and ran down the beach and up the hill and dove into the awaiting van with him chasing behind, yelling the whole way.  As mentioned, he cared deeply for others.  I remember him saving a drowning girl  in a river stuck under trees in dangerous waters.  I saw him pull the shirt right off his back to cover Jake during a hailstorm.  I know of many stories of him dropping off a load of firewood, plowing people’s driveways and helping pitch in whenever a helping hand was needed without ever accepting anything in return.  In high school after every sporting event, win or lose, he was the first parent on the court/field to console or congratulate everyone.  I’ve heard many, many stories of how he has made an impact on peoples lives in times of need.

Rich was a great and dear friend to many, but the love of his life without question was Eileen.  They were married for 53 wonderful years and had quite the adventure together. Of course there were good and bad days, but their love never faltered.  I don’t ever recall my dad raising his voice at my mom nor them ever really fighting.  It was always evident that they loved each other unconditionally up to the very end, sneaking kisses even in his final days.  A good reminder came along not that long ago.  Rich had been writing down stories of his life and had shared with me he had some regrets of sorts, one of those being he had never had a chance to get Eileen an engagement ring.  He asked me if Carla could help make that happen.  Carla and Nora picked out a ring for him this past June as Parkinson’s had slowed him down too much to go shopping himself.  Nonetheless he took Eileen’s hand and asked her if she would marry him.  With much concentration he slid the ring on her finger, and it fit.  Low and behold she said yes!

Dad, your battle with Parkinson’s is now over.  Yes, you are in fact healed and with God.  Thank you for always hugging me and for always saying you love me.  Your one ask was to, “make me proud”, not always easy, but always in the back of my mind.  Thanks for showing me how to be a friend.  Thanks for showing me how to be a husband and father.  Thanks for lighting up at the sound or sight of your grandchildren, Bishop and Nora, whom you loved so much. Thanks for showing me the love of family, exemplified through your siblings and my cousins who I hold so dear to my heart.   Thanks for being my role model who I looked up to more than anyone.  I hope you’re having a skate with Jake, building a cabin, milling some lumber, biking down a mountain pass, or skiing through some trees.  Or maybe more fitting, sitting on the porch with Jake and a cup of coffee watching over all of us and smiling.  I love you as big as the sky.