DONORS:

Mike and Karen Yates, Clifford and Windy Ponsock, Bob Pelton, Dave

Jamieson, Rick Lund, Martin Stiasny, Bruce Guimont, Mac Lopez, and

Rosalie, Rosalyn and Randy Wright and Tanya Hack.

Stanley Thomas Palmer

31 May 1943 - 13 October 2015

Stanley was a painter by trade, and he attacked that profession as he did the many other passions

it enabled him to pursue. He loved fast cars and motorcycles, pretty ladies, his dogs, the martial

arts, skiing, ﬁshing, hunting with gun and bow and falcon, and just about any pursuit that would

put him in his natural element...the outdoors. Foremost among these was falconry. In 1967 at

a gas station in Sparks, Nevada, Stanley chanced upon a vehicle with a hooded goshawk in the

back. Thus began a lifelong friendship with Bob Pelton and the

fulﬁllment of a rewarding obsession he’d been unknowingly born

to. His birds were always utterly tame, and many occupied the house

with him. Junior, a beloved gyr/peregrine partner of 15+ years

who predeceased Stanley by a few days, often slept on an adjacent

pillow in his bedroom. He trained a female gyr/barbary to follow

his hand signals to ﬁnd tidbits he’d hidden around the house,

even successfully directing her to descend into the basement on

those missions. His birds were not only cherished companions but

accomplished game hawks that caught sage-grouse, pheasant, duck,

hun, quail and rabbit.

Stanley had a great sense of humor and an appreciation of the

absurd. His hawks and falcons were creatively named, beginning

with the ﬁrst red-tail “Big Al.” Stanley hawked quail through a car

window all around Sparks with a Cooper’s Hawk called “Weinie

Madea.” A north African peregrine tiercel was “Toto Jo.” He dubbed Steve Baptiste’s German gos

“Thunderchicken.” Dave Jamieson recalls a group of Reno falconers getting together for exercise

ﬂights, and Stanley’s bird landing on the front of a car when cast off. Undeterred, he turned the

moment into comedy gold by exclaiming: “Who said he was hood-shy?” Stanley knew how to be

a friend, which was one of the reasons he had so many. He never spoke ill of others, and we never

heard unkind words spoken of him. His was a rich life, but he also enriched beyond measure the

lives of those fortunate enough to know him.

I have many fond memories of days spent with

Stan Palmer. He was there helping me rappel

down a cliff face when I took an eyas prairie out

of the nest. He had a good laugh at my fear of

heights and generously came down on the cliff

next to me to give me conﬁdence. He enjoyed

my look of happiness when I tucked that little

ﬂuff ball in my creel and let myself down to

the bottom of the cliff. We happily chased

pheasants and ducks in central Nevada, him

with his falcon and I with my goshawk. The gos

did better than the falcon on pheasants, and the

falcon better on ducks. We pursued sage-grouse

in the high desert. His new gyr/barbary falcon

took the ﬁrst grouse at which she was ﬂown.

We had many happy hawking days together.

One would be hard-pressed to ﬁnd a nicer guy

than Stan. He was gentle and kind to his birds,

his dogs and his friends. He had a wonderful

smile and a hearty laugh that are missed by all

who knew him.

Remembering

Stanley by

Cliff Ponsock