Robert Little

LITTLE, Robert, age 80, of Spring Valley, long time resident of Tipp City, passed away on September 18, 2015.

He is preceded in death by his first wife, Martha Little; siblings, Charles Little, Eula Mae Beaver, and Mildred Holiday.

Robert is survived by his wife, Reva Salyer-Little; children, Rick, Steven, and Michael Little; grandchildren, Jeremy Little, Jessica Connors, Jennifer Baker, Ian, Nigel, Gavin, Joshua, Caleb, and Rachel Little, Kier, Dieter, and Katerina Smiley; great grandchildren, Taylor, Brayden, Haley, Audrey, Marlee, Katelyn, Brandon and Autumn; sister, Patricia Swindle, as well as numerous nieces, nephews, and friends.

Family will receive friends from 5:00 - 6:00 pm on Tuesday, September 22, 2015 at Newcomer Funeral Home, 3380 Dayton-Xenia Rd., Beavercreek with a service following at 6:00 pm.




Robert Little
Born February 8, 1935
Died September 18, 2015


Born in Dayton to Edna and Curtis Little, he grew up in the 'Platt' on Frudenberger Avenue. He attended Westwood elementry school and started into McKinley which was a trade school. He left school early only finishing the eighth grade which was not unusual for the time. He was extremely proud that all of his sons finished High school and his Granddaughter, Jessica graduated from Sinclair.

He married Hada Martha Holiday on December 13, 1952 and they had three sons, Rickey, Steven and Michael. Martha preceded him in death by her passing on June 30, 2005. In 2012 he married his life long friend Reva Combs Salyer who loved and cared for him during the final years of his life.

Anyone who knew my father knew his love of Cowboy movies and the Cowboy way of life. His favorite actor was John Wayne and his favorite movie was The Alamo. The Cowboy way made sense to Dad, right and wrong were clearly defined, the guys in the white hats were men of character. They were tough, they were resposable, they devoted themselves to their wives and kids and they had a deep faith. Through his life Dad lived by those principles and sometimes it was difficult for him to accept anything that he felt didn't meet that standard.

He worked hard all his life. He was a Union Plumber and Pipefitter by trade but had a natural ability to build things, sometimes to the shagrin of his sons who were pressed into service when he would want to put additions on the house that were 50% the sizeof the house. He started B&L Plumbing with Buddie Bocock in 1960, becoming sole proprietor in 1962. Kept the business until 1969 when he decided he needed to change his life.

Even though he disliked flying, he traveled to Peru for a month to build a church and school, he helped to rebuild several churches in the Dayton area, and spent several months renovating the church his sister attends in Arizona.

During this last year I've gotten to spend a significant amount of time with Dad during which he asked me to take care of some things for him.
He asked me if there was anyone he had wronged that he needed to ask forgiveness. I didn't know of any unresolved issues, but he wanted me to ask all of you to forgive him if there is anything left unresolved.
He also wanted to leave something for his grandchildren and great grandchildren so last summer he started putting a little money aside. He reached the amount he wanted in February and he made envelopes for each of you. This is so you know he thought of each of you individually and loved you very much.

My Father was a man of deep faith. He turned his life toward God when he was thirty years old and spent the next fifty years in study to perfect his knowledge of the truth. The Revelation of John was his favorite book of the Bible and he would discuss it at length with anyone who would listen.

My Father continued to grow through his entire life and I have to say even with all his flaws he was my hero. I hope when my time is finished that people can say I am my Father's son.

Rick Little
9-20-2015







On The Life And Passing Of Robert Little

If you want to bring conversation to a screeching halt in Los Angeles, use the word "Pappaw". A dark cloud of confusion will descend on your listener's face and you will feel a sense of panic fill the room as he or she wonders if you've mentioned a new diet or plastic surgery that they aren't cool enough to know about. You can set their minds at ease by saying, "Pappaw, is what we country folk call our grandfathers." You will watch ecstatic smiles fill their once troubled faces, and he or she will say something like, "How adorable! I Love That!" Then comes a shift in their countenance when they realize that Pappaw isn't a strange word, it's a sacred word– a word of honor. A word reserved for the most cherished among us.

When I think of Pappaw, I think of one word: Work. Work done by hand, work done by mind, and work done by will. I think of the early mornings, him rising before the sun and filling his thermos with coffee. Then out the door he went, only to return later that evening, exhausted. Mammaw would rub his back as a groan escaped from somewhere deep inside him. I would wonder if he was hurt and my imagination would fill with images of him completing Herculean feats of strength while he was away. I was young, and hadn't seen much of the world, but I was positive that Pappaw was the toughest man alive.

As a boy, his garage and tools filled me with a sense of wonder. To me, this was a theater of creation to be regarded with no less admiration than Leonardo Di Vinci's workshop. Broken things were mended here. Unbroken things were improved here. Things that had never existed were birthed into our world in this place. And sometimes, if you were paying attention, you could see a glimpse of pure joy. His eyes became brighter, his hands moved quicker, and you could sense the ecstasy he felt when he worked. You knew that he could see into a different world, a world of possibility, and you longed to go there with him.

Pappaw had a sweet tooth–a trait that was passed directly to me. I'm sure everyone remembers his ubiquitous supply of Little Debbie Oatmeal Crème Pies. I have a memory of him breaking off a little piece and feeding it to Fluffy, their dog. I was astonished, because I had been warned in no uncertain terms that feeding the dog anything but dog food was strictly forbidden. He gave me a wink and giggled under his breath, and I reveled in the idea that we were involved in a conspiracy together. He had taken me into his confidence and trusted me with this secret. I was young, and I wasn't sure if you could be arrested for feeding "people food" to a dog, but I have faithfully carried that secret to this day.

I also inherited Pappaw's famous love of movies. Watching a movie with him was an event. You might even call it a ritual. My favorite part of the "movie ritual" was making popcorn. I have several memories of Pappaw "accidentally" overfilling the pot with too much popcorn, which resulted in the lid bursting and overflowing. I would be on the floor, rolling in uncontrollable laughter. How could something so small mean so much to me? The answer is simple: because Pappaw did it. Then we would gather around the television to watch John Wayne defend honest folks from evil cattle barons, or Phileas Fogg travel around the world in only 80 days, or Dick Van Dyke build a car that could fly and make a sound like Chitty Chitty Bang Bang.
Pappaw loved the road. Maybe it was because he loved the change of scenery. Maybe he just loved driving. I think it must have been his adventurous spirit. I think when he saw the driveway in front of his house; he knew it connected to a road that could take him to another road, which connected to a freeway, which in turn, connected to the rest of the world. When I think of Pappaw crisscrossing our continent I am reminded of the Chinese philosopher, Lao Tzu, who wrote, "A good traveler has no fixed plans and is not intent on arriving."