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David Babcock, age 74 of River Falls, WI, died on September 7, 2026. Preceded in death by his wife, Judie. Survived by brothers, Dan, Richard, and Kyle. No funeral. No memorial. Interment Greenwood Cemetery River Falls, WI.
David Babcock: A Tribute in Stories
A Story by Richard Babcock & Gary Solomonson
Richard Babcock
It’s a strange saying, isn’t it, that death is a part of life? I often ponder how the passing of a loved one causes me to want to understand them more completely. This is especially true of family members.
-The search for David-
I heard the news of his death and was moved. Not just with grief but with curiosity.
Who was this man I grieved? Did I know him well?
Of course I did – he was my oldest brother.
As I write – or attempt to write – about his passing I realize the thinness of my understanding. My brother, he was indeed. Why should I look beyond that? “Beloved Brother” was the sum total of what I understood about his life and, in that short phrase, I have my answer.
I began with ChatGPT. I think Dave would have liked that. He was a computer geek before ‘geek’ was a term. When they were called main frames and accountants were the ones who used them. He told me once, “When I started, if they asked for your computer, they brought you a person.” He gave me my first green screen. Dropping it off in a hurry and exclaiming, “This is an XT. The heads need to be parked.” before driving off into the sunset. How interesting that such a confusing moment for me has become a precious memory.
That’s the way it was with David. The best memories I have of him are not grandiose but intimate. I could interact with him without effort. The worst memories I have of him seem inconsequential with the exception of those rare times he shared his pain. I discovered this was the experience of many who knew him.
I asked my AI counselor and friend to show me any evidence of his passing in the River Falls, WI area. As we searched, analyzed and categorized public records the melancholy answer displayed on the screen. “The community seems to have valued him highly but I find no record or mention of his passing.” As understandable as this was – he had passed just 13 days ago – it was heartwarming as well. There would be people I could ask.
I continued my search after learning of an article written by Heather Logelin about Judie. As I formulated my query, I pondered her knowledge of my brother. She knew, or knew of, Judie. Perhaps she would know of David. I also pondered the meaning of my quest. Eulogies are straightforward, people are not. Was I seeking his approval, even after his death?
Ah, the question of the ages, “What did my brother think of me?” It was sobering but I was confident of the answer. David loved people. Blood especially but also people in general. He gave his blessings easily and readily. He was there for my youngest son when I couldn’t be. He was there for anyone, as often as he was able and, sometimes, when he should have thought a little more of his own needs.
Eventually I found Gary Solomonson. A delightful fellow who knew and loved both David and Judie as family. He graciously offered to take on the daunting task of summing up David’s life over the years they had known each other.
I have stories, of course. I throw them out like seed for the birds but they cannot tell of the planting, watering, growing, nurturing and harvesting that had to take place before they became the food for casual conversation. They belong to me exclusively and I am pleased to value the depth beneath them and know that David’s friends do not begrudge me that. In fact, I know they have their own treasures under the stories they tell about their interactions with my brother.
Perhaps just one story:
David had an excellent memory of family history and would tell me the details of events I was struggling to remember.
“Hi. I have a memory of a place with a large pool and many strangers. I was struggling to stay afloat and a woman quietly helped me to the wall of the pool.”
“That was the Kon-Tiki Club. We were there …” – and we would reminisce about that event, those days and the people in them.
In the end, I know that these musings will mean little to most and that is as it should be. I’ve learned from my grandmother, my father, my brothers and myself that the Babcock’s invest in those around them. Blood is never forgotten and artificial relationships are kept to a minimum. I will miss my brother. Moreso as the years progress and I forget things that he was privileged to remember until the day of his death.
John 15:13 says, “Greater love has no one than this: to lay down one’s life for one’s friends.”
I think David exemplified the long game in regards to this verse. He had a talent for knowing people that was rare and he used that talent to enrich the lives of his many friends over many years. My faith tells me he is at peace and is now known fully by his Lord, Jesus Christ. It does my heart good to know that he is receiving what he so generously gave out while he was alive.
Rest in peace, my brother.
Gary Solomonson
Many of us knew David at different times in his life and in different ways. We carry cherished memories of his stories and affable sense of humor. We may also remember difficult moments—ones best met with forgiveness and grace. Like all of us, David’s life held both joy and struggle.
I met David early in the development of the KinniCC, a community collaborative foundation, fundraising campaign—an initiative to remove two dams from the Kinnikinnic River in River Falls, Wisconsin, and restore the river’s cold-water trout habitat.
David, Judie, and I spent many hours around their table, sharing stories and exploring possibilities for the project. Often, Judie, having heard those stories more than once, would smile and politely leave the table with a look that seemed to say, “Thank you for working together, but I need to check my email.”
My friendship with Judie had begun a year earlier, meeting at the St. Croix Valley Foundation, and the years that followed with David became a blessing in my life. From our first meeting to our last, he became part of our family and tirelessly supported Judie in the background. He was a caring, loving, sometimes irascible storyteller—a man who wrestled with personal struggles while sincerely seeking to live his faith.
During those years, I witnessed the love and care he shared with Judie. After her passing, he often told me that his life had ended with hers. Yet his love for her continued to find expression in his Facebook posts, where he shared memories of her beauty and passion for serving the greater good. Their love embraced a shared dream of community service. Their servant hearts touched many in River Falls and the region, especially those who cherished the Kinnikinnic River.
David delighted in recording videos of the Kinni with his drones. An incredible three-panel photographic arrangement graced a wall in their living room captured by one of his flyovers. It reflected their love for the river and the implementation of a long-term plan to decommission and remove the two hydroelectric dams on the Kinnickinnic River to restore the stream to a natural, free-flowing state.
In his final years, David found moments of solace amid his sorrow. He worked on writing projects with me and used his computer and 3D printer to make gifts for others. He enjoyed a good magazine while soaking in their new walk-in tub. Occasionally, he would pull out his guitar, and together we would try to remember familiar songs. Whenever I called, he seemed to be in the middle of a movie. We shared a fondness for great quotations and memorable lines from old films. We also enjoyed a Domino’s veggie pizza, seasoned with plenty of conversation and good-natured teasing about whether all those vegetables balanced out the cheese.
Whenever I left for home, David would walk with me to the door. His farewell was always the same: “A hug and love you, brother—and hi to the family.” Those gracious departures will always linger with me.
Rest in peace, David. And give Judie a hug from all of us.
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