Arthur Rambo Memorial Bridge dedication set for May 25
Day weekend in Libby.
The dedication ceremony will be held at 1 p.m. Sunday, May 25, at Riverfront Park.
According to Rambo's sister, Patty, who still lives in Libby, the memorial plaque will be installed in view of the bridge. The public, near and far, is invited to join in for the dedication ceremony. The Rambo family extends a special invitation to the students who have been awarded the Arthur J. Rambo Memorial Scholarship over the past 56 years.
Earlier this year, on Jan. 16, the first bill of the 69th session of the Montana Legislature, Senate Bill 59, was signed into law by Gov. Greg Gianforte in the State Capitol Building in Helena.
Senate Bill 59 was introduced by Sen. Mike Cuffe, the representative of Lincoln County.
Senate Bill 59 declared, and was made into law, that the bridge spanning the Kootenai River on Highway 37 in Libby be named and dedicated to honor Staff Sgt. Arthur J Rambo, a Libby native who was killed in Vietnam on Thanksgiving Day 1969. Rambo was returned home and buried the day before his 25th birthday.
He was posthumously awarded the Silver Star, the Bronze Star, a Purple Heart and the Vietnamese Presidential Citation for his actions in the mortar attack that his unit came under that day.
Besides his immediate family, extended family and many friends, he left behind his wife Helen Ryan Rambo and his two daughters Kerry and Amy, both under the age of two when their father was killed in action.
For more information, please contact Patty Rambo at (406) 293-4306.
Hashtags
Try Our AI Features
Explore what Daily8 AI can do for you:
Comments
No comments yet...
Related Articles
San Francisco Chronicle
15 hours ago
- San Francisco Chronicle
Mt. Tam railroad's last survivor restored and ready for new role at California museum
SACRAMENTO — Early morning commuters on Highway 37 Friday would have been taken aback by an ancient mode of transportation rolling alongside the old passenger railroad tracks that once connected Marin County to Vallejo and the world beyond. It was Engine No. 9, the last relic of the fabled Mount Tamalpais and Muir Woods Railway, on a tractor trailer headed up the line to Sacramento. The steam locomotive, built in 1921 and lettered in gold, was bound for the California State Railroad Museum in Sacramento, where it will go on public display in August. This completes a seven-year restoration effort by Friends of No. 9, a nonprofit that sank $500,000 and 15,000 volunteer hours into arriving at this point. 'This is like a coronation for us,' said Fred Runner, President of Friends of No. 9, the Novato nonprofit that got the job done. The engine was delivered in a five-vehicle parade from Sebastopol to Sacramento, led by Sheedy Drayage of San Francisco, which transported the 36-ton load of iron and steel, free of charge. 'To be invited to the CSRM is like having a vintage car invited to show at the Concours d'Elegance in Pebble Beach,' Runner said. 'It's a very rare thing that just doesn't happen. But it did.' As a teaser for the railroad museum display, No. 9 was brought by the same Sheedy Drayage trailer to the Mill Valley Depot over Memorial Day weekend. It made its public premiere in the town parade, with its bell ringing and the whistle blowing and smoke coming out of the engine. 'There was a tremendous display of enthusiasm by people who loved the engine and thought it should stay at the depot,' Runner said. But by then the train was already rolling to Sacramento, a commitment made a year ago, when it was still in mid-restoration at a workshop. That was a job that took five years from the moment it was purchased at auction up near Eureka, where it had sat out in the weather gathering rust for 62 years. 'We are lucky that there is this marvelous group of obsessives that tracks these old steam engines,' said Runner, who led a team that outbid five other obsessive parties to muster up the winning bid of $56,240 to buy No. 9. There were 15 members of the bidding party, most of whom were devoted to the lore of the old Mount Tam railroad line and knew this was the last remaining piece of it. 'There is this whole fabric of stories about the lore of Mount Tam, and the railroad is at the center of it,' said Runner, a movie sound mixer who worked on 'Basic Instinct,' 'Mrs. Doubtfire,' 'Total Recall' and most recently 'Top Gun: Maverick,' which won an Academy Award for sound two years ago. 'As a moviemaker I'm interested in stories, and the stories about Mount Tam are tremendous,' Runner said. The story of the Mount Tam railway, which called itself 'the crookedest little railroad in the world,' was told in the 1980s in 'Steaming Up Tamalpais,' a short documentary by Mill Valley filmmaker Cris Chater. Runner saw it at the Mill Valley Film Festival and started tracing the tourist railroad line, which was built in 1896 and scrapped in 1930. Its 8.1 miles of track from the Mill Valley depot to the Mount Tam summit — 281 turns later — had been ripped out, as was the 2-mile spur into Muir Woods. Only Engine No. 9 survived, probably because it was still new with life left in it when the railway closed so it wasn't sold for scrap. It worked an additional 25 years hauling lumber from the forest to the mills. 'Amazingly it didn't get melted down to turn into weapons during World War II,' Runner said. No. 9 was no longer in running condition when the Friends bought it at auction, and it is still not in running condition because the boiler would need to be rebuilt and certified at a cost of $150,000, he estimated. The engine is 34 feet long, 12 feet high and 9 feet wide, and every aspect including the nonworking boiler was taken apart piece by piece. It was all repaired, cleaned, greased and then put back together — tender, cab, boiler, frame, even the assembly for the steel wheels. 'The restoration of the No. 9 represents the very best impulses of the preservation community,' said Ty Smith, director of the California State Railroad Museum. 'Although the locomotive won't steam passengers up Mount Tamalpais, it serves as a window into a remarkable episode in California history. We're grateful to be able to share in telling this important story.' When it arrived by caravan Friday morning, No. 9 was put onto the museum's railroad track and pushed along to its display stage. At that point, Runner was allowed to sit in the engineer's seat and listen to the valves open and close while No. 9 was actually moving on live track for the first time since 1953. It went only a few hundred feet, but the ride was smooth, thanks to 16 new springs. 'To feel the engine actually moving and hearing it hiss was a thrill,' he said. The engine was then removed to storage space, to allow museum staff time to finalize the exhibit. No. 9 will be up for six months with a possible extension, but it still needs a permanent home. 'While it is in Sacramento, we are working on it,' Runner said. 'It's an extraordinary piece of local history that deserves to be remembered.'
Boston Globe
21-07-2025
- Boston Globe
How a DIY invention helped me conquer a 333-mile bike trip
Then last year, I got a springtime idea. I proposed to my family and friends that we go on a bike-packing ride on the Great Allegheny Passage and C&O Canal Towpath, a 333-mile riverside route from Pittsburgh to Washington, D.C. Advertisement I had ridden thousands of miles on a handcycle, a low-riding machine powered by arms instead of legs. The idea of riding a long way on a bike was not new. However, the idea of camping with my bike, and specifically figuring out a way to get down to the ground to sleep in a tent (and back up again), was new. My weak legs could not thrust me upward or support me downward. After much trial and error, I figured out a home solution. When on my knees, I could grab a stationary object like a bench or the arms of a sturdy patio chair and, leveraging against it, do an inclined push-up to stand. Advertisement But there were no patio chairs on the dirt and gravel trail where we were going. I needed a light, portable device. But I couldn't find something like that on the market. No sleek camp chair that folded into nothing. I had been here before. Years earlier, in slightly different circumstances, I had reached out to Olin College of Engineering, which has a community program focused on low-cost mobility workarounds, but they couldn't turn the trick either. I needed to make something. Design innovation wasn't my calling card, but willfulness is. I thought nonstop about the problem. Because it had to be something that could be carried on a bike, the item had to disassemble after use. It had to be robust enough to withstand a human being's full weight multiple times a day. Mostly it could not fail. My weak legs could not thrust me upward or support me downward. After much trial and error, I figured out a home solution. Todd Balf I found a design that made sense on the blog of a CrossFit madman: a pair of mini handrails made from PVC that the guy used to do handstands on. I scaled everything up, creating knee-high hurdles. I based their height on the arms of the rigid deck chair I used in my yard for lifting up from my handcycle. Wide penguin feet and a beefier PVC grade provided stability. There were nearly two dozen pieces in all. Amazingly, it worked. When we rode the trail last May, we merrily dubbed the device the 'Todd-Me-Up.' I was proud enough to send a three-minute-long demonstration video to my former rehab hospital in Boston. It was a challenging ride for me — my canes were strapped to the frame of my bike — but the minute I stopped to stand, the others would rifle their bags for the PVC pieces, and, pit crew-style, assemble them. Advertisement I rode alongside and shared a weeklong trail adventure with those closest to me, including my son, brother, several friends, and my wife, Patty. Over six days we raised money for charity and saw all the things that make the trail beloved: the bird life, the turtle life, the bald eagles, and the crashing white water of the Youghiogheny River in Pennsylvania and Great Falls in Virginia. We ate super food (White's Ferry pickle sandwiches) and were treated to trailside wisdom from the likes of 'Son of Bill' in Little Orleans, Md., and George in West Newton, Pa., the resident DIY campground specialist who approved of my PVC magic. I can't be sure I will go on a run of making stuff. Problem-solving is an instrument of hope. The energy isn't always there. The cancer has spread. My legs are much weaker, and even the redoubtable Todd-Me-Up isn't enough to help me stand. There is a part of me that thinks my DIY triumph might be as good as it gets. I felt similarly decades ago, when I won a bunch of poker money one night, never having played poker before. I never played again. Or maybe there will be another place and time where there will be something else that I must do. But first I'll have to make something. And I will. Advertisement
Chicago Tribune
18-07-2025
- Chicago Tribune
Donna Vickroy: The joy of simple things, and defying age in a time of uncertainty
It was over the winter that my husband and I decided to ignore our advancing age and take a giant step backward into our parenting years. We ordered an outdoor playset for the grandchildren. Even though both sets of kiddos have a swing set at their own homes, we felt they'd appreciate one when they came to visit. It arrived in May in a million pieces packed into long, rectangular boxes. I immediately regretted the decision. The mess, the work, the months it would take to complete a project like this. Had we lost our minds, at last? I imagined aching muscles, pulled hamstrings, splinters. I imagined chaos unfolding in the backyard. It looked impossible to return, so I suggested we hire someone to put it together. My husband, nearly five years my senior, insisted he do it himself. I know, I know, we're at an age when 'careful' is a daily reminder. Life is supposed to be slowing down. We're supposed to be sitting in recliners, remote in hand, listening to our bones creak as our days wind down. We're supposed to be past youthful ambitions. Though we tire more easily and heal from simple missteps more slowly, we haven't yet learned how to act our age. Despite, or perhaps because of, losing so many people in our circle these past few years, we are determined to eke every last ounce of life from however many years we have left. We recently expanded all of our gardens, doubling the size of the veggie plot and turning the railroad space into a dinosaur land. The bending, the pulling, the hauling. It hurt like heck but in a good kind of way. We still walk every day. We still stay up late on Saturday nights watching 'SNL' and movies. We still enjoy a cocktail now and then. We still book kayaking and snorkeling vacations. And we still tussle with our 90-pound dog daily. The audacity of denial? Perhaps. Luck? Definitely. Of course, we know our days are numbered. We figure we can count them sitting on the sofa or we can do the math while up to our elbows in power tools. Nevertheless, I confessed, this particular project might be too much of a beast. 'I can do it,' my husband said. He also could get hurt. He could pass out. He could blow a hip or a shoulder. He could get half way through and then determine it was not a good idea. 'People our age don't build swing sets,' I said. 'They pay someone else to do it.' He was adamant. And, so I warned the youngsters it might be a few months before things were up and running. I was wrong. With an afternoon's help from our son-in-law and his sophisticated tool kit, that playset was ready to go in a couple of days. On Memorial Day, the kids put it through the paces. They swung standing up. They flipped upside down. They hoisted all kinds of toys up to the ladder to the fort atop the slide and then hurled them back down. And the 3-year-old conquered his Mount Everest. Choosing to forgo the perfectly good wooden ladder designed to make the ascent to the slide's top easier, he stood at the bottom edge of the slope, gripped the sides and begin the arduous climb up the plastic incline. The hard way. It took triple the time it would have had he chosen the ladder, but he never gave up. Grunting, sweating, hoisting his little body along the slippery fiberglass. One tiny sneaker up, a short slide down, another step up, another slide down. His eyes were laser focused, his mouth betraying the physicality of the challenge. At last, he reached the top, turned around, clapped his hands and, in the blink of an eye, slid down to his starting point. And began the whole process again. We cheered. Because he'd accomplished his goal, and because we understand the joy in not always taking the easy way. In life, there will be mountains to climb, hardships to endure, limits to be tested. Perhaps this was a preschooler's training ground. Or perhaps that apple really doesn't fall far from the tree. If I've learned anything during these bitter, fast-moving chaotic months of 2025, it is to make home a sanctuary. When the news is overwhelming and the future seems bleak, I walk through my gardens and marvel at nature's persistence. I've learned to savor the small wins, to regale in the simple joy of achievement even when the only people applauding are under the age of 10. And I've come to realize there is merit in going to bed each night completely worn out. Nothing keeps those 2 a.m. scaries at bay like complete exhaustion. We set out to construct a swing set, a lofty goal for two people old enough to get seriously hurt going down a slide. And we did it — well, he did most of it — proving that even in old age, sometimes you can still get the win.
