The tale of a Man – June 30, 1949 – March 10, 2026 The Black Hills lost one of her finest on March 10, 2026. He didn’t go quiet — he went the way he lived: on his own terms, probably mid-laugh, and almost certainly mid- scheme. On the evening he left, the sky saw fit to send him off in style — a heavy, beautiful snow settling over the hills like a final, perfect goodbye. He rode into this world on June 30, 1949 in Yankton, South Dakota, the son of Clayton and Mildred (Robinson) Huber, and from that day forward, nobody in his orbit was ever quite safe from a grin, a laugh, a prank, or an unexpected act of quiet kindness. After High School, he went into the service [United States Air Force], stepping into something larger than himself with the kind of quiet resolve that would define him his whole life. The military shaped him — gave him discipline, grit, and a code he’d carry long after he came home. But home called sooner than planned. When his father passed, he didn’t hesitate. He set down his service, returned to his mother’s side, and took up the work of holding his family together — looking after her and his younger brother with the same steady hands he’d later use to build, fix, and tend everything else he loved. Some men talk about duty. He just did it. For 76 years, he roamed these parts — a true South Dakota man. He could build damn near anything, fix what others had given up on, and make a piece of wood into something worth passing down. His woodwork wasn’t just craft; it was conversation. It said I was here, and I cared enough to make something last. Most mornings, you could find him where any right-minded man ought to be — down at breakfast, coffee in hand, holding court with his boys. The women joined when they felt like gracing the table. He never complained either way, though his smile got a little wider when the whole crew showed up. He knew this state the way most people know their own living room — maybe better. He drove the roads often, and rarely the same way twice. A new route meant a new angle on something beautiful, and he never got tired of looking. Come turkey season, his place became headquarters. Hunters bunked in his legendary man cave basement — a space he’d built and outfitted himself, because of course he had — and for those few days, his home was exactly what a home is supposed to be: full of people, full of noise, and full of something that felt like belonging. On quieter evenings, he could be found deep in a magazine — front to back, no skipping — or dialed into Deadwood, a rodeo, the cowboy channels, or whatever the Mountain Men were getting into. He watched with the full attention of a man who genuinely respected a good story, a hard life lived well, and the particular dignity of wide open spaces. Right out his back door, the wild world carried on — and he made sure it was looked after. He tended his garden, kept his bird feeders full, and made certain the wildlife always had water. There is a tenderness in that — in making sure the small creatures are alright — that tells you everything you need to know about a man. And then there were the pranks. Oh, the pranks. He elevated mischief to an art form. His counter intelligence was unmatched — you never quite knew when it was coming, only that it was, and that his belly laughing afterward made it impossible to stay mad. To be pranked by him was, in its own strange way, an act of love. It meant he was paying attention. It meant he liked you. He liked a lot of people. And a lot of people knew it — not always because he said so, but because he showed up. To help. To build. To fix. To tend. To sit with you at breakfast and make the morning feel a little more worth having.

He is survived by his beloved wife of 34 years, Roxanne (Roxy Kaufman) Huber; his many nieces and nephews who called him Uncle and meant it with their whole hearts; and a community of neighbors and friends who will notice the empty chair, the quiet bird feeder, and the breakfast table that won’t quite be the same.

He was preceded in death by his parents, Clayton and Mildred (Robinson) Huber, and his brothers Dale and Dennis Huber. A man who loved carrot cake, the Black Hills, South Dakota to her bones, and every soul lucky enough to find their way into his orbit. He didn’t ride off into the sunset, the Sunset rode off with him.

A celebration of life will be held at a later date.

Memorial proceeds can be directed to Monument Hospice House in honor of Thomas Huber – Rapid City, SD. Friends and family are invited to sign the online guest register and leave written condolences at WestRiverfd.com. Arrangements are under the direction of West River Funeral Directors in Rapid City.