Rightfully so, due to his uncanny ability to poke check the puck from seemingly out of nowhere (tall torso and long arms helped), his nickname on the ice was ‘Reach.’ What has become so beautifully clear is that Stuart (Stu) Close’s reach was felt far and wide – spanning generations and geographies – and none of us knew! Because Stu lived a good-person’s life from the inside out – quietly, gently, fairly, honestly, lovingly, graciously – all from a place of deeply-seated integrity, anyone who has ever had the gift of his presence has come away feeling, well, good!
We all know that no one is perfect and that all humans are flawed. I’m sure Stu was, too. He wasn’t super human, but he did have a super power that was just part of who he was. He was able to do what is really, really hard for most humans: meet any and all challenges head-on with an under-the-radar, no fanfare, no-reward-expected resolve and determination that just might put him in the super human category.
And, as you will learn after reading the words that follow (excerpts from speeches given by his family and friends), Stu was able to muster up the best possible attitude and “game-on” joie de vivre – in EVERY domain of his life – raising up everyone he reached!
In fact, one could say he positively poke checked the hell out of us all, and now here we stand, in utter awe and admiration, wondering how he did that.

“Today is a great day!” Stuart Close, 1960-2025
Stuart Thomson Close, 1960-2025
Stuart Thomson Close died April 17, 2025 at Dartmouth Hitchcock Medical Center following a twelve-year battle with a brain tumor.
Stu was the son of Thompson and Ardis (Moore) Close and brother to Elissa Close and Ellen DesMeules. Growing up in Norwich, he was an avid athlete, playing hockey and football and developed a passion for skiing from an early age. He spent his summers working at his father’s company, Blaktop, which Stuart later managed as president after his father’s passing in 1989. He graduated from Hanover High in 1978 and from the University of Vermont in 1983 with a degree in business.
Stuart married Kristin Brown in 1997 and they raised their two children, Greta and Bridger, in Norwich, as active members of and volunteers in the community.
On Saturday, May 31, 2025, a Celebration of Life was held at the Norwich Congregational Church to honor Stu. Not surprisingly, it was a packed house. There were prayers, there were speeches, there were jokes and laughter, original poems were recited, we sang John Denver’s “Country Roads” with some Stu-ified lyric tweaks, we heard stories about Stu and the indelible mark he left on all who knew him. There was not a dry eye in the house. Sadness, to be sure, but it was love and that feeling of pure joy for life that permeated every heart in the room.
The following are excerpts from some of the speeches given by his family and friends that reveal just how wonderful Stu made people feel.
From his wife, Kristin
Stu and I are regular donors to the American Cancer Society and particularly the NFL’s Crucial Catch campaign. In 2018, we were amazingly picked out of a lottery to win tickets to the Super Bowl in Atlanta where the Patriots beat the L.A. Rams – Tom Brady’s last Super Bowl win with the Patriots – such a highlight! Part of our weekend with Crucial Catch was being showered in gear, and one of the items we got was a Patriots sweatshirt that across the front said STILL HERE referencing the Patriots staying power. Little did we know, that would be Stu’s motto a year later…
Soon after his third brain surgery in 2019, he spent a month at Ascutney rehab where he had to relearn how to do most things from writing, to eating, to speaking, to standing, to walking. Not long after he got home, we went to the Parker Meadow here in town [Norwich] to practice walking. I was taking a video of him taking steps and, all of a sudden, he raised his crutches into the air and yelled: “STILL HERE”!
Stu repeated this slogan every time he tried something new or overcame yet another challenge whether it was walking, or skiing, or sit-skiing, or sled hockey, biking, or even attaching his feeding tube. It was dark humor but we chuckled every time because, after all he had been through, it seemed so unlikely that he actually was still here.
A Romantic
…Stu was a self-proclaimed sentimental old fool – he was old-fashioned – a throw back – I LOVED that about him!
Stu proposed at sunset at the lighthouse on Monhegan Island in Maine… As a surprise for breakfast… Stu pulled out a Blueberry Buckle. I have no idea how he snuck and made this without me knowing, but it was absolutely delicious and became a favorite. From then on, Stu would make a blueberry buckle every engagement anniversary.
Every [wedding] anniversary we could, we would go back to the Trapps Meadow, he would queue up our wedding song (Bobby Darin’s “Beyond the Sea”) and we would drink champagne, he’d give me flowers, and we’d look at our wedding album – it was so romantic!
…Somewhere along the way, we decided we wanted to celebrate our anniversary EVERY month, so on the 21st of each month we would give each other cards or a text or go to Happy Hill for a toast or a dance in the kitchen… Seriously, we barely missed a month!
Stu was diagnosed with his brain stem tumor in early 2012. The tumor came back in 2014 and again in 2019. Through it all, Stu was courageously rock-solid in not letting this tumor take over his life. Not many could endure three 11-hour brain surgeries and two rounds of radiation.
Perseverance
MLK said, “The ultimate measure of a man is not where he stands in moments of comfort and convenience, but where he stands at times of challenge.”
We have all heard this quote, but Stu lived it EVERY day – especially in these past few years, showing us further what an incredible human he was. I think of how he embraced each challenge with, “What CAN I do now in this new state?”…a state that was ever-changing and ever-compromised.
When he couldn’t trust himself to bike on two wheels, he found a recumbent e-trike. When his legs couldn’t ski or skate anymore, he found Vermont Adaptive and started sit-skiing and joined a sled hockey league over at Campion. When he eventually couldn’t balance on the hockey sled, he’d go over to watch his buddies play.
But one of the hardest losses for Stu was his smile. His beautiful smile lit up his whole face. You will see in almost every photo taken over the past few years that he would take his right hand and tug the right side of his mouth up – ensuring that we knew he was truly having a good time… because he was. He was experiencing real JOY. He loved being with us and [being] a part of whatever we were doing. Even in the midst of so many losses, he managed to share his gratitude for STILL being HERE.
Because of these physical declines, Stu became elderly before his time. It’s funny… starting early on in our marriage, whenever he would see an elderly couple walking down the street, he would say to me: “there we are.” But, in 2019, as we would slowly make our way around the block, he began to say: “here we are.”
In so many ways our reality was unimaginable, but we both seemed to get that we had to stay in the present, stay positive, and find happiness in this time we had left. I’ll never forget how every morning he came into the kitchen practicing his speech and over-enunciating, “TODAY IS A GREAT DAY!”

Bridger and Stu circa 2013.
Nurturing Relationships
From his son, Bridger
My Dad noticed our similarities as I grew up, and every so often he would tell me how he saw parts of himself in me. One moment that stuck with me was when I received a letter from him while at school in Colorado last winter. In it he opened up and articulated more than he ever had before. He wrote about his emotions growing up, how they shaped his choices early in life, and what he wished he had prioritized more. One of those things – something he didn’t want me to overlook – was building relationships.
Over the past few years, my Dad was a true role model for how to nurture relationships. When Greta and I were kids, we’d always duck in the backseat of the car as mom shouted out the window to say hello to someone she recognized on the street. But recently it was my mom, Greta, and me idling next to my dad as he checked in with a neighbor from our front porch or greeted a passing biker on a rail trail. He kept in close touch with his friends, always making the effort to call or set up an adventure for the upcoming weekend.
Fair and Family-Focused

Stu ran Blaktop and Twin State Sand and Gravel, alongside his
partner Bud Ames, for nearly 40 years.
From Tim Kramer, Blaktop employee
But it was more like we worked with him rather than for him, for as long as he was at Blaktop… When you respect a man as much as I respect Stuart, it’s easy to keep on pulling for the betterment of the company and because you don’t want to let a man like him down.
Stu treated his employees with great respect also. He didn’t want anyone overworked. Stu, being a family man, wanted everyone to be close to their own family and to be part of the Blaktop family. When asked what it would cost to pave a wheelchair ramp for my mother, the answer was “just do it.” We are all family. He even knew my granddaughters’ names and kept tabs on them.
His disposition was almost always excellent. It was pretty hard to make him mad. But trust me, I did pull it off a couple times. One night in particular, it was getting late and we had a disagreement that didn’t go too well. I left mad at him and he was mad at me. However, he didn’t want the sun to go down with the issue still between us, so before I was home he was calling me, wanting to get some dinner and get it worked out.
Kindness and Integrity
From his UVM best friend, Mern
Back to the original question – What made Stu so exceptional? Stu was truer to his core beliefs than anyone I’ve ever known.
One example: You know that one, “Don’t speak poorly of others?” In the 48 years we were friends,
I never heard Stuart, not even once, speak poorly of another person!
That’s exceptional!

Like father, like daughter. Greta and Stu circa 2001.
Humble and an Adventurer
From his daughter, Greta:
…Sometimes I wondered if it was hard for him to recount the life of that fit and fearless former version of himself. But if anything, he seemed surprised and touched that I was so interested in his life. And honestly, that was so Dad, never one to feel worthy of such attention. He was so humble and unassuming in everything he did. I’m not sure I’ve met anyone else who, without needing to speak, commanded such respect and love and admiration just from the way he carried himself.
And yet, at the end of the day, Dad was Dad, and it’s not those intangibles but simply him, just being around, that I’ll miss most.
So, I’d like to end with this letter-turned-poem
I wrote to him this spring.
Dear Dad,
I drove home last night through perfect spring.
Cotton candy skies and bushy green trees.
And there you are.
In every freshly unfurled leaf, each budding flower,
in the birdsongs and the clouds and the setting sun.
Just like the other night,
when I biked out to the end of Turnpike
and then further
until grated, hard-pack dirt
turned to mud and rocks and that old Class 4 road.
I pedaled over rock slabs and deep ruts,
amongst puddles and trees.
The further I went,
the thicker the golden hour poured over that forest and me.
And when I hit the powerline,
I turned left toward home,
and I spoke to you.
“Hi Dad,” I said. In my mind, walking through
the breezeway
into your crooked grin.
“You know that old Class 4 road off the end of Turnpike?” I’d say.
And you’d know.
And together we’d trace my route,
you from the yellow swiveling chair in the kitchen
and I on two knobby tires.
“I know you’d know where that old mine is,
and the way water runs through those ruts,
and the fun in discovering the beautiful, hidden folds of your hometown.”
And when I stopped talking, there you were
in the hills ahead of me and the ridgelines behind
and up above in the pink and blues of the sky.
Like seeing home with new eyes.
The ruts veered and I with them,
and I thought,
okay Dad,
if this is how it must be,
then I’ll be here,
and you’ll be everywhere,
and it will be the most beautiful the world has ever been.
Love,
Greta
We all – and I can safely include even those of you who didn’t know him – love him and miss having him on this Earth. But, as with every super human, his glorious reach is still being felt and will through time and space… for good!
