Roger E. Riley

Roger E. Riley, the son of Otto and Faye (DeNoyer) Riley, was born June 29, 1941, in Royal, IA. His childhood years were spent in Royal where he received his early education. He entered the military where he served with the National Guard Reserve. Roger was later drafted into the U. S. Army and served with the military until his Honorable Discharge in February of 1965. Roger married Georgia Brink on February 16, 1963, in Jackson, MN. Following their marriage, they lived on a farm near Spencer where he worked at Hy-Line International for 40 years, working as a Farm Manager at the time of his retirement. Roger farmed and raised cattle during his entire adult life and continued farming until the day of his death. He loved spending time with his family and friends at their place at Lake Okoboji. He enjoyed many years of boating and fishing with his family and grandchildren. He was a member of Grace United Methodist Church in Spencer. Roger passed away at St. Luke Regional Medical Center in Sioux City, IA, on Thursday, April 26, 2012, at the age of 70. He was preceded in death by his parents and one sister, Edna Mae Grover. Left to cherish his memory are his wife, Georgia of Dickens, IA; his children: Russell Riley and wife, Joleen of Prosper, TX, Roger A. Riley and his fianc�, Annette of Langdon, IA, Kimberly Wiegand and husband, Terry of Spencer, IA, and Sherri Jo Murphy and husband, Mark of Clive, IA; 11 grandchildren; 1 great-grandchild; one brother, Rodney Riley and wife, Janel of Cape Fair, MO; two sisters: Faye Hansen and husband, Mel of Ft. Dodge, IA, and Tammy Macrae of Bruceton, TN; other relatives and many, many friends. The Touch of the Master's Hand 'Twas battered and scarred, And the auctioneer thought it hardly worth his while To waste his time on the old violin, but he held it up with a smile. 'What am I bid, good people', he cried, 'Who starts the bidding for me?' 'One dollar, one dollar, Do I hear two?' 'Two dollars, who makes it three?' 'Three dollars once, three dollars twice, going for three,' But, No, From the room far back a gray bearded man Came forward and picked up the bow, Then wiping the dust from the old violin And tightening up the strings, He played a melody, pure and sweet As sweet as the angel sings. The music ceased and the auctioneer With a voice that was quiet and low, Said 'What now am I bid for this old violin?' As he held it aloft with its' bow. 'One thousand, one thousand, Do I hear two?' 'Two thousand, Who makes it three?' 'Three thousand once, three thousand twice, Going and gone', said he. The audience cheered, But some of them cried, 'We just don't understand.' 'What changed its' worth?' Swift came the reply. 'The Touch of the Masters Hand.' And many a man with life out of tune All battered with bourbon and gin Is auctioned cheap to a thoughtless crowd Much like that old violin A mess of pottage, a glass of wine, A game and he travels on. He is going once, he is going twice, He is going and almost gone. But the Master comes, And the foolish crowd never can quite understand, The worth of a soul and the change that is wrought By the Touch of the Masters' Hand. Myra Brooks Welch

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