BY KAREN BOSSICK

The news that two Wood River Valley men had died of coronavirus delivered a punch in the gut to Blaine County residents Thursday.

Until Thursday morning spokespeople for public health departments had sprinkled words like “he presented very mild symptoms” and “she is recovering well in her home under isolation” in press releases confirming new cases.

There was always the hope that maybe, just maybe, Idaho might limp through the coronavirus pandemic without any deaths.

But on Thursday the news began circulating through the valley. First by email and text among the friends of those who had died. And then, at 1:38 p.m. through an official statement by the Idaho Department of Health and Welfare, followed by a second announcement from the South Central Public Health District.

And, with that, Idaho joined the ranks of those in Seattle, New York City and New Orleans where people have seen loved ones snatched away by this unforgiving virus.

To many Idahoans, the two Blaine County men will be statistics—the first and second Idahoans to die of the coronavirus. Nationwide, 1,100 others had passed before them.

But to their friends and neighbors in the Wood River Valley they were so much more.

Bob Buchanan was a familiar figure at Lefty’s Bar and Grill where his ready smile bordered by his salt and pepper mustache and short chin beard lit up the room.

In fact, the bar has planned a Virtual Happy Hour Toast for Bob at 4 today.

He worked as a remodeling contractor but loved to have fun, whether rooting for the Los Angeles Dodgers or enjoying a dip at Redfish Lake with his chocolate lab. And skiing—he loved his skiing.

He had just celebrated his 60^th-some birthday on Saturday, March 21, as the valley went into lockdown over the coronavirus. But his brother found him unresponsive shortly afterwards after Bob had complained of flu-like symptoms.

Buchanan died on Sunday, March 22.

A couple days later a test confirmed that he had indeed had COVID-19. And with that he officially became Idaho’s first death.

Lynn Bockemohle was known as an uber volunteer by his friends. A kind and gentle man, he was a mainstay at St. Luke’s Wood River where he volunteered for years, wheeling patients in and out of the hospital. When blood was needed, he was among the first to offer his.

He volunteered as a ski patroller on the North Valley Trails not so much because he wanted to ski but because he enjoyed visiting with the people who used the trails at Prairie Creek. He and his wife Sharon served as captain of the Limelight Room every year at the Sun Valley Jazz and Music Festival and ushered at the Sun Valley Music Festival. And he sang bass in the Caritas Chorale, his lanky body towering above the others.

He was an avid photographer who shared many of the photographs he’d taken with his Nikon DLSR of elephants and giraffes on Tanzanian safaris. And he reveled in telling stories of the bushmen who speak in clicks that sound like Morse Code, even as he and his wife adopted several orphaned baby elephants at the David Sheldrick Wildlife Trust outside Nairobi.

A faithful churchgoer, he was positive and upbeat—an encourager.

“He was a doer,” said Sharon, who does not have the virus. “If he saw something that was not quite right, he would fix it. And he loved being with people. His loss is a tremendous hole for me because he’s the one who got me to do things. He’d say, ‘Okay, let’s sing.’ So, we joined the Caritas Chorale.”

At 84 Lynn was in perfect health. He didn’t take medications; he did work out regularly at Zenergy. Friends thought he was a good 10 years younger.

Sharon Bockemohle said she took her husband to St. Luke’s Wood River to be tested for the virus when he developed a slight cough and low-grade fever. It took eight days to get the results back. Before then, his symptoms had worsened and so she took him to the Emergency Department on Friday.

Doctors promptly had him flown to Twin Falls where he was put on a ventilator. On Monday, after a scare, doctors medically induced a coma to give his lungs a rest and a chance to heal as they piped soft music into his room.

“We had no idea where he got it,” Sharon said. “He had volunteered at the hospital but that was two weeks prior to coming down with symptoms. I know there was a big wedding that brought in a lot of people from Seattle…. Maybe…”

Lynn took a turn for the worse around 4 a.m. Thursday morning. He passed away shortly after 5 a.m.

“He couldn’t get rid of the virus once it got in his lungs,” said Sharon. “They even put a trach in him to try to open him up so he could get more oxygen but that wasn’t enough.”

The worst part, Sharon said, was not being able to be by her husband’s side since her doctor had told her to self-isolate at home.

“It was so hard that I couldn’t be there to hold his hand,” she said. “Fortunately, the nurse held the phone to his ear so I could tell him how much I loved him.”

Sharon has been buoyed by the emails from people telling her how much Lynn meant to them. But, with  everyone ordered to stay at home to stem the disease, she has missed the human touch.

“It’s good I have little Annie to hug,” she said of her Australian shepherd. “She misses him terribly. She sits by the driveway waiting for him to come home. But he isn’t coming home.”

She paused.

“But, you know what? Two days before he died, Lynn said, ‘God has been so good to us.’ Isn’t that something?!”