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January 2, 1922 – Monday, September 26, 2011

Service Information
Peterson Chapel Buffalo, Minnesota
Tuesday October 4, 2011
11:00 a.m.

Visitation Information
Peterson Chapel Buffalo, Minnesota
Tuesday October 4, 2011
9:00 a.m. until the Service

Lloyd Charles Colberg, age 89, of Wareagle, Arkansas, formerly of Buffalo, Minnesota, was called home to be with his Lord on September 26, 2011 in Wareagle.

He was born January 2, 1922 in Minneapolis, Minnesota the son of Arthur and Mae Jacobson Colberg. He was an aircraft mechanic and served in the United States Army-Air Force.

He is preceded in death by his wife Clarissa Colberg.

Survived by his children Paul Colberg of Wareagle, Arkansas; Lloyd Charles Colberg Jr. of Kansas City; Michael Colberg of California and Pinkie Alanko of Minnesota; one brother David Colberg of Franklin, North Carolina; eight grandchildren; three great-grandchildren; nieces, nephews and friends.

Funeral services will be held at the Peterson Chapel in Buffalo, Minnesota on Tuesday October 4, 2011 at 11:00 a.m.

Interment will be at St. Francis Cemetery in Buffalo. Visitation will be held at the Peterson Chapel in Buffalo, Minnesota on Tuesday October 4, 2011 from 9:00 a.m. until the time of the service.

The Peterson Chapel assisted the family with the arrangements

5 Guestbook Entries

  1. Pinkie Alanko

    Rest in Peace, Dad. Go find Mom and be happy. Say Hi to Molly for me if you see her there. I love you.

  2. John Moorman (Packy)

    I am sorry for your loss. My deepest condolences for the family.

    John (Packy) Moorman

  3. Pinkie Alanko

    Thank you for your kind words, Packy. It would be good to hear from you again.

  4. paul colberg

    I am so very blessed to have shared his company for so many years. I noted the other day we’ve put 50,000 miles on the motorhome, and most all those miles he was right up front alongside me, BS’ing and “shootin’ the shit” all the way.

    The CCC camp when he was 15, cutting down trees up in Ely on Lake McDougal, Remer, Big Thunder, Crystal Bay. Then the war, the planes (A-20), blasting across the southeastern US swamps and out over the Gulf of Mexico, so low they ground the blade tips off, 300 mph down on the ground, down in the dirt. Old Dad, riding right up front in that glass nose, shooting bouys, chasing cars off the road, running fishermen out of boats, throwing flour sacks.

    Then San Fransico. Throwing drunks out of their building they managed, riding his big Hog Harley, driving cab, just generally being an asshole.

    Underlying it all was his sisters death, and dumb old Dad fessin’ up to somethin’ he didn’t do, to cover up for his sister so she didn’t look bad. So his family didn’t look bad. Jeff Foxworthy joke; if you’d climb up the water tower to paint over your sister’s reputation, you might be a redneck. And I suppose with “ammo” on the shopping list on occasion old Dad fit that mold fairly well.

    But he was a pilot, too. He learned to fly a float plane, a little Luscoumbe 8A on floats. Then a SeaBee seaplane, and trips up to Lake Port on Clear lake, 100 some miles north of San Fransisco. And his “hot Rod” Ford, a ’46 Ford coupe with Eldlebrock heads, ardun intake with Stromberg carbs, and every aircraft switch and indicator light he could dig up. It wasn’t fast by todays standards, but in his world it would “suck anything up”.

    When we lived in Duluth, so many kids I knew didn’t have a Dad, over time I grew to appreciate I had something pretty special. He might have been half blind and half deaf, but he was still my Dad. In ’74 I drove the car, with Dad alongside and a trailer behind, to California and back. Then in ’75, east to New York City, saw the new twin towers, and down to the Florida Keys. And over the ensuing years, probably racked up a million miles or more with him beside me as my co-pilot.

    I found a love for God through my Dad.
    I found a love for flying through my Dad.
    I found a way to love, and forgive, through my Dad.

    The automatic Pilot, put on his de-icer boots, and walked across the wheatstone bridge. Dad, I got my gear up, and my flaps, everythings firewalled to full power and I’m a flyin’ solo. But I’m really missin’ my old co-pilot, ya old Commander.

    In that sweet, by and by, when we meet on that beautiful shore, I hope and pray you come glassing that Seabee into the beach and take me up for a flight around the patch. You owe me that. Until then, I’ll do my best to keep the home fires burning.

  5. Tim Arney

    Hi Paul, It’s Tim Arney. I’m glad I found LLoyd’s obituary, so I could know more about him and you. I believe in my heart that he was a great man. Your family stood in the gap for me on more than one occasion. I am richer for having known you all. I especially appreciate having learned the importance of checking your oil, and tranmission fluid. I take my learning from you about auto mechanics very seriously. I hope that our paths cross again. I think about you and your family, and wish you well.


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