Tonight I lost a father, mentor , and a friend.
Gregory Paul Hoit lived more than most men before he turn 21. Losing his father at an early age. He took the term memento mori to his heart and determined to live his life to fullest.
He chase after anything that had motor in it. Drag cars, hotrods, motorcycles , or speedboats there was nothing my old man was afraid to drive. In highschool he play football and fell in love with motors and deep sea fishing. His college days he met a great group of friends in a fraternity. He used to joke that the movie Animal House was based on him and his fraternity.
 He eventually took a job as concrete mixer driver. He told me that he asked every day to a plant Forman for a job for a week straight. The foreman gave him a chance and told him to deliver a load, drop it off, and make sure to get the ticket sign. If he did that the job was his. With no knowledge of how to operate his truck he successfully delivered his load and return with his ticket. The rest was history. He spent the rest of his life driving or work around concrete. He met his wife in Boulder City after visiting the Hoover Dam. He raised 5 little shits which mostly turn out ok. Which in turn gave him at this moment 4 grandchildren with one more on its way.
He was not a perfect man by any means. But he was a father and made sure his children had food, shelter , and memories. He made friends everywhere he went and believe in hard work and few jokes would fix anything. The last few years of his life he spent fighting off kidney cancer amongst many other medical problems. He fought so hard to see another day and to see his family moving forward in life. So that said I leave this poem.
Do Not Go Gentle Into That Good Night.
Do not go gentle into that good night,
Old age should burn and rave at close of day;
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
Though wise men at their end know dark is right,
Because their words had forked no lightning they
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Good men, the last wave by, crying how bright
Their frail deeds might have danced in a green bay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
Wild men who caught and sang the sun in flight,
And learn, too late, they grieved it on its way,
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Grave men, near death, who see with blinding sight
Blind eyes could blaze like meteors and be gay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
And you, my father, there on the sad height,
Curse, bless, me now with your fierce tears, I pray.
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
Gina Colombatto
What joy and contentment to be remembered and loved by our children and family members when we leave.
Bravo Greg, to a life well-lived! And thank you Douglas, for the beautiful sketch of your dad's life.
George Ryder
A kindly written tribute. Although I did not know Greg, he was a fellow tiger, and I am grateful that he is kindly remembered by his family in this caring eulogy. May his spirit live on in his descendants.