Hello,

I'm sorry to have to make this announcement. I just received an e-mail from Paul Clark whereby he informed me of the passing of Bob Cotrell of Minie' Ball Miniatures. He passed away on August 5 at UC San Francisco Hospital.
Bob was aged 76 years.

The Funeral service was on August 13 at St Patrick's Catholic Church in Ripon, CA.

After the Catholic service, as Bob was a Colonel in the USMC, there was a service conducted with full Military Honors by a detachment of Marines.

I had gotten to know Bob over the past 2-3 years as his "east coast" dealer for his line. He certainly had a passion for this wonderful hobby, and very much a Civil War buff. He was very kind to me, and I was fortunate to be able to spend time with him at the World Show in Boston a couple of summers ago. His unique approach was to provide the figure painter with lots of alternatives...head sets, leg sets, etc. for endless conversion opportunities. He used top sculptors for his line (and our hobby's best casters), as he was very focused on quality and historical accuracy.

I will most certainly miss him!

Sincerely,
John

"THE BIVOUAC OF THE DEAD"
by Theodore O'Hara, 1847


--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The muffled drum's sad roll has beat
The soldier's last Tattoo;
No more on life's parade shall meet
That brave and fallen few.
On Fame's eternal camping ground
Their silent tents are spread,
And glory guards, with solemn round
The bivouac of the dead.

No rumour of the foe's advance
Now swells upon the wind;
No troubled thought at midnight haunts
Of loved ones left behind.
No vision of the morrow's strife
The warrior's dream alarms;
No braying horn, nor screaming fife,
At dawn shall call to arms.

Their shivered swords are red with rust,
Their plumed heads are bowed;
Their haughty banner, trailed in dust,
Is now their martial shroud.
And plenteous funeral tears have washed
The red stains from each brow;
And the proud forms, by battle gashed,
Are free from anguish now.


The neighing troop, the flashing blade,
The bugle's stirring blast,
The charge, the dreadful cannonade,
The din and shouts are past;
Nor war's wild note, nor glory's peal,
Shall thrill with fierce delight;
Those breasts that never more may feel
The rapture of the fight.


Like the fierce Northern hurricane
That sweeps the great plateau,
Flushed with triumph, yet to gain,
Come down the serried foe;
Who heard the thunder of the fray
Break o'er the field beneath,
Knew the watchword of the day
Was "Victory or death!"

Long had the doubtful conflict raged
O'er all that stricken plain,
For never fiercer fight had waged
The vengeful blood of Spain;
And still the storm of battle blew,
Still swelled the glory tide;
Not long, our stout old Chieftain knew,
Such odds his strength could bide.

Twas in that hour his stern command
Called to a martyr's grave
The flower of his beloved land,
The nation's flag to save.
By rivers of their father's gore
His first-born laurels grew,
And well he deemed the sons would pour
Their lives for glory too.

For many a mother's breath has swept
O'er Angostura's plain,
And long the pitying sky has wept
Above its moldered slain.
The raven's scream, or eagle's flight,
Or shepherd's pensive lay,
Alone awakes each sullen height
That frowned o'er that dread fray.


Sons of the Dark and Bloody Ground
Ye must not slumber there,
Where stranger steps and tongues resound
Along the heedless air.
Your own proud land's heroic soil
Shall be your fitter grave;
She claims from war his richest spoil,
The ashes of her brave.

Thus 'neath their parent turf they rest,
Far from the gory field,
Borne to a Spartan mother's breast
On many a bloody shield;
The sunshine of their native sky
Smiles sadly on them here,
And kindred eyes and hearts watch by
The heroes sepulcher.

Rest on, embalmed and sainted dead,
Dear as the blood ye gave,
No impious footstep here shall tread
The herbage of your grave.
Nor shall your glory be forgot
While fame her record keeps,
For honor points the hallowed spot
Where valor proudly sleeps.

Yon marble minstrel's voiceless stone
In deathless song shall tell,
When many a vanquished age hath flown,
The story how ye fell.
Nor wreck, nor change, nor winter's blight,
Nor time's remorseless doom,
Shall dim one ray of glory's light
That gilds your deathless tomb.

Every good man's loss is a big hit . May god rest him in peace

I'm very sorry to read this sad news. May he rest in peace

May he rest in peace, and cloose to his God,

marc

It is a news that I didn't hear,
God rest him in peace

My sincerest condolences to his family and friends.

Roc

Unfortunately I missed knowing Col. Cotrell and, from your moving description of him and his involvement in our hobby, he sounds like he was a man worth knowing. I wish him Peace. May God hold those who cared for him in His hands. I hope your personal grief is short but your warm memories of Col. Cotrell are long.

All the best,
Dan

Dear Dan It's the same for me , it allways a sad new hear a veteran for figure passed over...be in peace friend of all of as...

all the best Stefano

I´m sorry to know these sad news.
I met Col. Cotrell in California in 1999, with other spanish modellers, and all we remember him as a charming man.
Requiescat In Pace.

Diego

My condolences to his family and friends.

I join the others in this sad but eventual post......may he rest in peace and gets his much deserved reward.......

Ray