Ron Joseph Zimmer

My Dad was a unique person. When I was growing up, I’m ashamed to say I was embarrassed by that. As I grew older, it’s one of the things that I loved most about him. His early years were unique because he survived an accident as a toddler that would change the course of his life. Now we would call it a disability or physical challenge, but the damage to his hip at a young age caused him pain throughout his life and gave his large frame the signature limp that many kids remembered when they saw him at his pharmacy growing up. What no one really saw was the actual pain behind the occasional grimace or grumble about the weather. When he first had his hip examined for surgery, the surgeons were shocked that he was even walking since he was essentially walking bone on bone for decades. The fact that he didn’t let that stop him from trying to keep up with his kids or running his business speaks to a level of tenacity and toughness that is rare. He was also rare in how far he would go once he made a commitment. When he chose to become a pharmacist and then entrepreneur, he would not quit. Whether it was running multiple stores until he got it right in Radville, to trying new ideas and diversifying the business or simply not stopping until the work was done. Most thought he was done when his store closed for the evening, but he was working most nights well into the night catching up with my mom on prescriptions for community members and the hospital. He also committed himself entirely when he found his faith. I only knew Dad after he became a Christian, but from what I’m told he had struggled earlier in his career with the stress that gets to a lot of entrepreneurs. Once he gave his life to Christ, he never looked back and committed himself fully. He would share his faith with those who would listen because he genuinely, sincerely, and deeply believed it would help them as it had him. I believe his sincerity is why many wanted to talk even if they didn’t share his faith, and why some of his very best friends were people of other faiths who could relate on some level. He would offer to pray for a lot of the hurting people who would come for a prescription but would stay to talk about what was happening in their life. He would bring to church anyone who needed a ride, and would quietly give some financial help to community members and outsiders who needed a hand to get back on track. He was always a tinkerer, which he inherited from his dad. His curiosity was manifest in his love for Popular Mechanics and the visions for the future, inventions, and what could be possible. He was always learning, keeping up with the latest in medicine so he could pass along the best advice…I think he took some small pleasure in sharing an insight or two with the town doctors from time to time. As I think about Dad and his impact, I end up thinking about how he changed me in a positive way. Growing up, I didn’t think we could be more different. He had a background in science, medicine and business and saw a lot in black and white. I was a bookworm who liked to debate him and anyone within earshot because I saw a lot in grey. I was always dreaming about something or other, and he was always thinking about the practical and what could be achieved with some hard work. As I grow older, those who knew us both say we have more in common than not. I see now that I have a bit of his vision, even it developed differently. I feel I have some (but certainly not all) of his tenacity. He would empathize and share with me about the challenges and lessons that come when you lead people. Above all, from Dad I learned the importance of living and leaving a legacy. Not one built on pride and personal accomplishments, but one gently created with humility and the belief that your kids should have the opportunity to learn, grow and build on what you and others in their lives started. Looking back, I can see how our Grandpa Zimmer did this in his own way with Dad and my uncles Walter and Gerry. And I see myself pulled in that same direction, wondering how I can use my time left and whatever influence I have to make some impact on my own family and team. Thank you, Dad, for showing me that building a meaningful legacy doesn’t look like trophies and awards, but a tall guy from Rouleau with long dress socks, a limp, and a quick smile with a lot of heart behind it.I’m