Richard Dolezal, 91

Richard Matthew Dolezal, 91, “slipped the surly bonds of earth” and is now soaring with eagles, dying peacefully after a short illness in Phoenix, Ariz., on the morning of Jan. 12. He left behind his wife, Eileen, children Michael, Lisa and Scott, grandchildren Michael, Anna, Kristin, Taylor, Cooper and Kennedy, and his cat, Sophie.

Richard “Dick” Dolezal was born June 6, 1932, to Henry “Greasy Hank” and Jean Dolezal while en route to Moosejaw, Saskatchewan, a place he would affectionately refer to as “Moose Breath” for the rest of his life. It was a fitting arrival for a man who would spend many of his days in motion.

Dick was the second of five Dolezal brothers. The family eventually settled in Ronan, Mont., where Dick attended primary and secondary school.

“Dickie” was active in Scouts and as “Dynamite” Dick Dolezal in the boxing ring. He spent the years hunting, fishing, picking up scrap metal in the ditches, playing pond hockey by the light of burning tires, and stealing shotgun shells from the backseats of the Missoula bigwigs up in the Flathead Valley for hunting season.

After high school, Dick followed his older brother, Hank, to Havre where he spent two years at Northern Montana College. Dick worked in the kitchen, and then the X-Ray room, to pay room and board. Both graduated in 1952.

Later that year Dick was accepted into the Naval Cadets and spent two years training in Pensacola, Fla. The training complete, Dick took his Commission in the Marine Corps in 1954.

When given the choice between flying in the Navy and Marines, knowing the Marines flew AD-1 Skyraiders and the Navy mere transporters, Dick said: “If I have to do this job, I’d like to do somersaults.”

Dick arrived to a cold rainy Christmas in South Korea in 1954, where he would spend 14 months flying missions in and around the DMZ. In all he spent 2,643 hours in that plane. After leaving Korea, Dick remained a Marine Corps reservist, ultimately serving Twenty Good Years in the Marines and retiring as Lieutenant Colonel.

Upon his return to the States, Dick quickly found his way back to the skies. He once attempted to combine two passions in an ill-fated flight to the Madison River to fish with his good friend Richard Luchau. Dick assured his friend that they would make it to the Madison despite a punishing rainstorm and dwindling fuel levels. No airport or field in sight, Dick landed the plane on a county road near Anaconda while Luchau shouted, “Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit!”     

Dick was determined to get his college degree. He enrolled in the University of Montana in September 1957 and earned a degree in history and education in May 1959.

Not too keen on teaching, Dick was soon airborne again. That July he left Ronan to begin his career with West Coast Airlines. After bouncing around the Northwest with the airline, Dick settled in Boise, Idaho.

In the airport lounge there, he met Eileen Lind, a quick-witted stewardess with a smile brighter than the sun at 30,000 feet. Dick and Eileen married in August 1960. Their three children, Michael, Lisa and Scott, followed shortly after.

The family relocated to Vancouver and ultimately settled in Federal Way, Wash., where Dick had easy access to the SEATAC airport. Captain Dolezal was known for his technical skills behind the yoke and for his in-flight banter. Even in his final weeks he made everyone around him laugh. 

Dick’s working days in Federal Way were heavily supplemented by ones spent clam digging in the Pacific, salmon fishing and moose hunting in Alaska, and elk hunting in Montana, as well as flying for the reserves, playing golf, and frequenting the officers’ club nearby.

Dick flew commercially for 30 years, spending – as he would often say – 27,000 hours in the air. After retiring, he and Eileen travelled widely, visiting every continent save for Antarctica, but he loved skiing in the Alps most of all, where he returned winter after winter. The only thing he wouldn’t have done again was the camel ride in Egypt, because he “hated that son of a bitch” on whose hump he sat.

When Dick was growing up on meager rations in Ronan, owning a place on Flathead Lake was a sign of making it. Dick made it himself when he and Eileen bought a home on Finley Point, where they spent 34 of their best years and were part of a warm community of which he was proud. He loved skiing in the winter, fishing the lake, and tending his property. Perhaps most of all, he liked sitting on the deck with a glass of wine and looking out at the Mission Mountains.

In recent years, he and Eileen took refuge from the Montana winters in Sun Lakes, Ariz. Here Dick enjoyed picking fresh citrus off the trees in his backyard and keeping careful track of weather up north. On a visit to the Arizona house, you’d likely hear about bone-chilling temperatures in Minot, followed by “now that’s cold enough to freeze the balls off a pool table!”

Dick enjoyed hosting friends and family, and hundreds experienced that hospitality at Finley Point and in Sun Lakes, where he’d barbecue ribs and ensure your hand was never far from a drink.

But Dick liked his own space too, time when it was peaceful and quiet. He often jokingly recounted an old Czech saying his father had repeated seriously when he was ready to be alone: Yea pyecknay den yet domoo. “Looks like a nice day for you to go home.”

Yea pyecknay den yet domoo, Dick. We’ll miss you.