(Return to the main contest page.)

Below are the five obits for Obit writer "C" in Category 7: Short-form Body of Work.

Obit #1: John Tomasko

Each fall, bear-hunting guide John Tomasko bought the fish in 50-pound frozen blocks.

He hauled the blocks deep into the woods on Michigan's Upper Peninsula. This was his calling.

At the empty hunting lodge, he chopped the blocks down to 10 pounds each. The bears could feast freely - until the bow hunters arrived.

As a Marine marksman twice wounded by grenades, Mr. Tomasko survived three of World War II's bloodiest conflicts: Iwo Jima, Okinawa and Guadalcanal. Yet his proudest moment was an act of mercy.

The moment, Mr. Tomasko told the St. Petersburg Times in 2009, came in Okinawa, after he had captured a Japanese soldier.

"Step aside," a Marine told Tomasko. "We're going to kill that SOB."

"You're going to have to kill me," Mr. Tomasko replied. "He's my prisoner." 'That's probably the only thing I was involved in that was really significant,' " Mr. Tomasko later told his son.

Mr. Tomasko died Nov. 5, of lung cancer. He was 87 and had lived in Zephyrhills since the late 1980s.

He grew up in rural Adah, Pa., during a time when country boys learned to supplement meals with whatever they could shoot. He favored the longbow and could make his own arrows. He could hit the center of a pie tin from 30 yards. Good enough to bring down a black bear.

He married Lottie Ehmke after the war and started a family in Ann Arbor, Mich. He got a job as an instrument clerk at the University of Michigan School of Dentistry. And started a break-even business as a hunting guide.

At first the hunters slept in tents. Then the tents became cabins. Then the cabins sprouted showers and indoor plumbing.

"As the group got older, they wanted more domestic facilities," Mr. Tomasko's son said.

One labor could not be lessened - that of lugging a bear carcass of up to 400 pounds over mountain trails. Two men could do it, using a wheeled stretcher Mr. Tomasko designed.

"Tastes just like beef," said Rosemary Tomasko, who had worked the switchboard at the dental school. They married in 1966, the second time for each. She cooked wild game stew and the venison her husband brought home.

One bear made a particularly lasting impression - as a rug, complete with huge head and snarling, yellow teeth.

"It was a big black bear," said Rosemary, 82. "I used to keep it under the grand piano. One day I was dusting there and I got my foot caught in his mouth."

The rug has since disappeared, she said. "I can't really tell you what happened to it."

Mr. Tomasko also painted wildlife. His oil paintings of bear and deer and fall leaves hung all over the house.

He also was a scoutmaster.

A couple of times, somebody ticked off the wrong bear. When Mr. Tomasko and a client came upon a mother bear and her cubs, Mr. Tomasko climbed a tree.

"The other guy kept running, and the bear chased him," his son said. "Then the bear went back to her cubs."

John Tomasko Jr.
Born: Oct. 3, 1923.
Died: Nov. 5, 2010.
Survivors: Wife Rosemary; son John; daughters Elizabeth Tomasko, Alice Drake and Wendy Dart.

********************

Obit #2: Robert Mills (Note to judges: This obit also is entered in Category 10. Please enter your score for this obit on your ballot at C10-J.)

In 1969, Robert "Bones" Mills bought a blue Peterbilt rig with light blue pinstripes, the envy of other over-the-road truckers.

He had someone paint the Roadrunner on the front louvers, over the grill.

But the coyote is right there, too, a fraction of a second behind.

For 56 years behind the wheel, Mr. Mills drove - and lived - as if there were no time to spare.

And he watched America change. Two-lane roads grew to four lanes, which gave way to Interstates. Mom-and-pop truck stops gave way to "service plazas" that closely resemble one another, like the food court at any mall.

His comfort increased, from metal springs he could feel beneath the seat cushion to air suspension. Air conditioning kept him cooler. CB radios allowed him to chat with other truckers.

Mr. Mills died Dec. 10. He was 77.

"Those guys in the 1970s and 1960s were your hard-core truck driver," said James Mills, Mr. Mills' son and a trucker himself. "They were out to take the money and run. Those guys and that time period were like your outlaw bikers."

Mills estimates his father drove millions of miles and through every state except Hawaii. He returned to his home in Johnstown, Pa., to a wife and five children.

In one memorable run in the mid 1970s, Mr. Mills took a load from Johnstown through Washington State and up the Alaskan-Canadian Highway. In Anchorage, Alaska, he dropped off a load of steel for the Alaska Pipeline. His seven-week trip, which included a swing through California on the return leg, paid $25,000.

He made frequent runs to Texas, where he hung out with other truckers waiting for the right load back.

"They would go to a terminal and play gin, drink beer and wait for a load to come up," said James Mills, 47. "They could pick and choose where they wanted to go. A guy would come in and put a load on the board. If it paid good, he'd take it."

CB radios alerted him to police lying in wait or the next weigh station.

"They took back roads if they were heavy. They had bear reports if there were cops out."

Mr. Mills went by the handle "Quack Quack 1" - a bond with three other truckers also named Quack Quack.

He made friends easily, introducing himself in a gravely voice with the word, "Howdy." A rangy 6-footer, he ate only meat and potatoes -never pizza or submarine sandwiches or dessert. He smoked unfiltered Lucky Strikes and liked his steak burned.

Other truckers knew where they stood with Mr. Mills. "If my dad liked you, he liked you, and if he didn't he told you how it was," his son said.

He could take a hard-running lifestyle to extremes, and once drove for three days straight.

"Drivers back then had their ways of staying awake," his son said. He rested only after friends conficated his keys.

Yet in 56 years, Mr. Mills had no accidents and incurred only one ticket, for illegal parking.

Born in Johnstown, Mr. Mills came by the nickname "Bones" because of a childhood anemia that left him thin. He learned how to drive a truck at age 13, and started work unloading them at 16.

He married Alice Pemrod New Year's Eve, 1953. He became an owner-operator and began hauling steel around the country. He drove part-time for several years, and continued to work until 2005. Mr. Mills and Alice moved to Seffner in 2006. She died two years later.

The trucking industry has changed since the 1970s. The Motor Carrier Act of 1980 deregulated the trucking industry and drove prices down, as new players underbid the rest. More recent federal regulations have found truckers limited to 11 hours of driving a day, their positions monitored by GPS devices.

"After he retired, I would come home and tell him the rules and regulations," his son said. "He said, 'They took the fun out of trucking.' He's glad he got out of it when he did."

About two years ago, Mr. Mills was diagnosed with chronic obstructive pulmonary disease, a likely result of his smoking. His son asked him if he had any regrets.

"He said, 'No. I would live it again the same way.'"

Robert E. 'Bones' Mills
Born: Sept. 22, 1933
Died: Dec. 10, 2010
Survivors: sons Steve and his wife, Jan, James and his wife, Cindy, Rick and Dan; daughter Vicky Nazarak and her husband, Louis; brother Richard and his wife, Barbara; seven grandchildren; one great-grandchild.

********************

Obit #3: Shirley Wilson

Every week, Shirley Wilson walked to the Gulfport Gabber to deliver another poem, each one as uniquely hers as the plastic rose she wore in her hair.

Her regular poetry column, "Shirl's Pearls," took readers along as she mused - openly and frankly, in crystal clear verse - about her joys and hurts.

Mrs. Wilson, who also saw her work published regularly in the Evening Independent, wrote by hand on lined notebook paper, now faded. A crumbling red photo album holds some of them, fished out of a box in her daughter's garage.

Readers loved her work, including the likes of "Mr. Stanley Squirrel" (With bright penetrating eyes, And a long bushy tail, you thrill me immensely, On my emotions you prevail); "Mr. Jack O'Lantern," celebrating all things spooky; or "Golden Rule" (Are you always kind and helpful to others; Treat all you see as sisters and brothers? Or are you inclined to go your own way, Quite aloof, holding everyone at bay?)

Her poems showed empathy for a homeless man (Did his mother caress his haggard brow? Would anyone want to caress it now?), nature and animals.

The Independent ran her work so often, it got almost embarrassing. It looked like she was the only one turning in any poetry, editors said.

Rather than take a break, Mrs. Wilson adopted at least a dozen pen names, submitting work under the names of friends and relatives.

She turned in "A Purr-Fect Pair," about a man who adopted a stray kitten, under the pen name Danita Weed, her daughter - who had no clue until a high school teacher complimented her on her poem.

"She was so pleased, like she had seen a different side of me," said Danita Weed-Smith. "I was irritated."

A native of Springfield, S.C., Mrs. Wilson attended the University of South Carolina with the goal of becoming an English teacher, but instead married and brought up five children. In 1969, she moved to Gulfport with her third husband, Joseph, then found work as a secretary at St. Anthony's Hospital.

She relished her poetry group, walks along Gulfport Beach with her chihuahua, Colonel, and the responses of Shirl's Pearls fans - which, over time, included her daughter.

"I appreciate the fact that she did that now," said Weed-Smith, 47. "I didn't realize how important it was to her then. I can see what she was thinking."

Mrs. Wilson began what may have been her last poem in 1999, a prayer for courage in the face of advancing dementia.

She never finished it.

Mrs. Wilson died Thursday, at Pinellas Park Care and Rehabilitation Center.

She was 84.

Shirley Harley Wilson
Born: May 24, 1926.
Died: June 24, 2010.
Survivors: Sons Timothy Danby and Nelson Weed; daughters Dianne Belbeisi and Danita Weed-Smith.

********************

Obit #4: Harry Hancock

Harry "Jughead" Hancock lived between straight lines.

He laid block in perfect rows through hundreds of buildings, including his own house. He could get a proper crease with an iron. Because he didn't think his wife or children could, Mr. Hancock did all the ironing. He even used a level to hang a picture.

A star catcher for several Clearwater Bombers championship softball teams, Mr. Hancock also threw in a straight line - a cannon shot to second base when a runner tried to steal.

Mr. Hancock died May 10 of cancer. He was 85.

He was a creature of routine, the tried and true, and saw no reason to fix what wasn't broken. That included his pronunciations of certain words.

A jacuzzi was a "yahoozie." He took "Booth McMullen" road to get to "K-Mark."

He gave his children the same birthday present every year: brand new $1 bills, as many as their age.

Every Saturday, he pulled up to a McDonald's restaurant to give away citrus from his property. Though his owned 4 acres, he gave away more citrus than he sold.

Nobody knows why a football coach at Clearwater High School decided to refer to Mr. Hancock during practice one day as Jughead. But the name stuck.

Mr. Hancock served in the Army Air Forces during World War II, and flew 35 missions over Japan. He lettered in three sports at Rollins College.

He taught history for a year before going into construction. "He had Popeye forearms," said Sally Barrett, his daughter. "He had that weathered look on his skin."

One pinkie was bent, the likely result of a Herb Dudley fastball. Mr. Hancock caught for Dudley, an Amateur Softball Association Hall of Fame pitcher, through the 1940s and 1950s.

Pitcher and catcher knew each other so well, they did not use signals. "He didn't know whether it was going to be a riseball or a drop or a change-up or whatever. He just caught it," said Bombers hall-of-famer Doug Mason, 78. "He could recognize the pitch by the time it got there."

The pair played together through at least six of the Bombers' 10 world championship. For a couple of summers, Dudley and Mr. Hancock also played together for the Zollner Pistons softball team in Detroit.

In 1964, Mr. Hancock moved his family into the house he had built with friends. He coached Little League baseball when his son played, and started a Junior Miss Softball league in 1972, his family said.

Once, an umpire ejected Mr. Hancock from the dugout at Woodlawn Park for yelling at him about a call. Mr. Hancock dutifully retreated to the other side of the park fence and resumed his tirade.

Since his death, family and friends have reminisced about Mr. Hancock and his regular habits: the beanie weenies he always ate, the gifts of $1 bills and boxes of rolled coins.

His children and grandchildren are already thinking about their next birthdays, and feeling the absence.

They are also thinking about the consistency of his character. "He always said, 'Treat your friends the way you like to be treated,' " his daughter recalled. " 'And be who you are. Don't hide behind the mask.' "

Harry "Jughead" Hancock
Born: Sept. 9, 1924.
Died: May 10, 2010.
Survivors: Wife Mary; daughters Sally Barrett and her husband Ray, Jane Farina, and Molly Rodnite and her husband Andrew; son William and his wife Sandra; brother Frank; and eight grandchildren.

********************

Obit #5: Louis DeBiase Sr.

Louis DeBiase Sr., owner of Florida's first licensed tattoo parlor, knew his profession carried an unsavory image. The art itself didn't help, often depicting guns, nude women and daggers dripping blood.

Since Lou's Tattoos opened in 1978, tattoos have become as mainstream as costume jewelry. For every set of knuckles spelling L-O-V-E and H-A-T-E, there are many more butterflies adorning someone's ankle.

Through it all, Mr. DeBiase lived a quiet, law-abiding life as conventional as the tattoos of Jesus he wore on each biceps — one showing a face, the other a scene of three crosses at Calvary.

He tolerated no vulgarity in the presence of women and refused to draw the numeral 666 or any other symbol he deemed satanic.

Mr. DeBiase died Saturday at home of heart and kidney failure. He was 77.

"He was a pioneer in the state of Florida," said Bill Hannong, owner of the Cadillac Tattoo Studio in Fort Myers. "He ran an extra-classy organization that practiced sterile technique, and he employed some of the best tattooers in the country."

Getting started wasn't easy. In 1978, fearing the image and clientele a tattoo parlor might create, St. Petersburg Mayor Corinne Freeman vigorously opposed Mr. DeBiase's efforts to get an occupational license, saying, "No way! No way!"

His first customers were two women in their 60s. One wanted a butterfly; the other a marijuana leaf. Soon all manner of customers were heading to Lou's Tattoos at 6535 Fourth St. N, including lawyers, bankers and professional athletes. Once, he even tattooed a priest.

Customers came from as far away as Daytona Beach and were willing to pay for tattoos starting at $15. They were lined up outside when he opened at 10 a.m.

They wanted ships and trees and sunsets, Star Wars characters and religious symbols. Some wanted Western themes, like horse's heads and bleached steer skulls; others favored cartoon characters or fantasy themes.

Within a year after opening the first Lou's, he opened another in Clearwater. Today, the studio operates in St. Petersburg, Clearwater, Madeira Beach and Mulberry.

"He was very old-fashioned in his own way," said Connie DeBiase, his wife of 57 years and the inspiration for the heart on his arm. They met as teenagers in Bridgeport, Conn., when Mr. DeBiase put forth a brash demeanor his family compared to the character Fonzie in Happy Days.

"He said, 'Where you going?' " said Connie DeBiase, 76. "I couldn't get rid of him after that."

They married in 1952.

He served with the Marines in Japan, then worked odd jobs. He moved his family to the Tampa Bay area in 1973 and found work fishing and operating a crane. He couldn't find a job he liked until he started Lou's Tattoos.

"It used to be you got a tattoo in some dingy place from a guy leaning over you with a 1-inch ash hanging from his cigarette," he told the St. Petersburg Times in 1981. "It's not like that now. My place, it could be a doctor's office."

In 1992, when just 40 or so tattoo parlors were doing business in the state, Hannong and Mr. DeBiase helped found the Florida Professional Tattoo Artists Guild. The organization is celebrating a recent victory. For years, Mr. DeBiase had lobbied to require tattoo studios to be licensed by the state's Department of Health, a measure he felt would upgrade the profession. On June 4, Gov. Charlie Crist approved the bill.

Mr. DeBiase died the next day.

Louis Anthony DeBiase Sr.
Born: May 6, 1933.
Died: June 5, 2010.
Survivors: Wife Connie; daughters Dawn Zamoznick and Flo DeBiase; son Louis DeBiase Jr.; brothers Dominick and Ronald DeBiase; seven grandchildren; and eight great-grandchildren.
Service: 5:30 p.m. today (visitation starts at 3 p.m.); Curlew Hills Funeral Home, 1750 Curlew Road, Palm Harbor.