Adam Otto
The Rev. David Doppenberg told mourners about “Lucas, the rusty old Chev pickup that Adam drove . . . and by principle he would never wash.”
Aaron Otto explained later the 1981 vehicle was bought last spring from a friend who had named it Lucas for the makers of an engine oil treatment used to quiet the valve lifter noise it made. Adam kept the name.
“He always said he was never going to wash the truck.”
Mourners used marking pens to write messages on the truck outside the church and at the AHS Homecoming.
Aaron said he had planned to have the truck crushed after the funeral, but “it’s kind of a nice monument.”
He plans to let it sit in the family’s yard for awhile where people can sign it, then decide what to do with it.
Doppenberg said Adam loved fishing, and hunting was also part of his life.
“He loved to eat,” liked to cook and talked about becoming a chef one day.
“Adam was loved. He will always be in our hearts.”
AHS senior Tana Bouillard said she grew up with Adam and worked with him at the Marketplace II supermarket.
Adam left the store the night of Oct. 1 at 9:10 or 9:15 p.m., she said. They talked for a bit before he left, but not about anything substantial.
“He could look at you and smile,” she said, “and you’d smile back. As they say, one smile starts another.”
Marketplace night superviser Joyce Jarl said Adam’s mood was usually “up and bubbling,” and he was a good worker.
Principal Ofstedal called Adam “just a happy kid. He always had some funny comments to make.”
“He seemed to be respectful of others and didn’t give authorities a bad time,” Ofstedal said.
“He really didn’t have enemies because he didn’t put anybody down.”
Teachers liked Adam, he said, and the kids called him “Big Daddy.”
Adam’s father said he stood about 6 feet tall and weighed 285 pounds.
His favorite T-shirt had “Big Daddy” on the front and “Large and in charge” on the back.
“He left an impact,” Aaron Otto said, pointing to the large turnout for the funeral.
“I hope he’ll be remembered. I hope it’s not one of those things that disappears.
“I just hope he’s remembered.”
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