Born on May 25, 1950, in Beatrice, Nebraska, Eugene Kenneth Willet, Sr. came into this world already equipped with a strong work ethic, a corny sense of humor, and an uncanny ability to make everyone groan with a perfectly timed dad joke. He passed away on December 23, 2025, leaving behind a lifetime of stories and a collection of jokes so bad they somehow made you laugh.
A farmer by trade and by heart, Gene spent his days feeding hogs, working the land, irrigating crops, and watching the weather like it owed him money. He believed in early mornings, long days, and that no problem existed that couldn't be fixed with a large crescent wrench, some baling wire, a can of WD-40, and a healthy dose of colorful farmer's commentary said with conviction. If it still didn't work after all that, then it probably didn't need fixing anyway.
Gene's humor was legendary and unapologetically corny. He loved to tell a good bad joke—especially the eye-rolling that followed. If you didn't groan, he assumed you either hadn't heard it or hadn't understood it, and he would happily repeat the joke... and then explain it, just to be sure.
He is survived by his wife of 56 years, Eva, who shared a lifetime of love, patience, and laughter with him; his children and their significant others, Gene Willet and Kaci Korn, Rod Willet and Jamie Woolery-Willet, Chris and Lesli Willet, and Angie and Freddy Mora, who learned that Dad Jokes are a love language; and a wide circle of siblings, in-laws, grandchildren, great-grandchildren, nieces, nephews, and friends. Listing them all by name would have made Gene deeply uncomfortable and extremely anxious, so instead we'll say what mattered most to him: he loved them fiercely, showed it daily in his own way, and made sure they never left without a laugh.
He was preceded in death by his parents, Kenny and Helen; his brother and sister-in-law, Dick and Arlene Snell; his sister, Debbie Smith; his niece, Danielle Heitz; his grandson, JuanJose Mora, and several brothers and sisters-in-law, all who were surely waiting to welcome him home—probably laughing before he even finished his first joke.
He leaves behind a handful of agricultural innovations still in use today, a lifetime of harvests, and a legacy of feeding others, proof that some of the most important work in the world happens one season, one field, and one meal at a time. He also leaves behind a splintered shovel, an old pair of irrigation boots, an empty can of WD-40, and a legacy of hard work, humor, and love. Though we will miss him deeply, we like to imagine him now finally resting—fishing for perch on a beautiful mountain lake or watching an impressive fireworks show, telling a joke no one asked for, and smiling proudly that he lived life on his own terms.
The family will be holding a celebration of his life later this spring that will surely include many of Gene's favorite things: bad jokes, canned beer, and custom fireworks—because Gene believed no gathering was complete without a little excitement and the need to stand back.
A farmer by trade and by heart, Gene spent his days feeding hogs, working the land, irrigating crops, and watching the weather like it owed him money. He believed in early mornings, long days, and that no problem existed that couldn't be fixed with a large crescent wrench, some baling wire, a can of WD-40, and a healthy dose of colorful farmer's commentary said with conviction. If it still didn't work after all that, then it probably didn't need fixing anyway.
Gene's humor was legendary and unapologetically corny. He loved to tell a good bad joke—especially the eye-rolling that followed. If you didn't groan, he assumed you either hadn't heard it or hadn't understood it, and he would happily repeat the joke... and then explain it, just to be sure.
He is survived by his wife of 56 years, Eva, who shared a lifetime of love, patience, and laughter with him; his children and their significant others, Gene Willet and Kaci Korn, Rod Willet and Jamie Woolery-Willet, Chris and Lesli Willet, and Angie and Freddy Mora, who learned that Dad Jokes are a love language; and a wide circle of siblings, in-laws, grandchildren, great-grandchildren, nieces, nephews, and friends. Listing them all by name would have made Gene deeply uncomfortable and extremely anxious, so instead we'll say what mattered most to him: he loved them fiercely, showed it daily in his own way, and made sure they never left without a laugh.
He was preceded in death by his parents, Kenny and Helen; his brother and sister-in-law, Dick and Arlene Snell; his sister, Debbie Smith; his niece, Danielle Heitz; his grandson, JuanJose Mora, and several brothers and sisters-in-law, all who were surely waiting to welcome him home—probably laughing before he even finished his first joke.
He leaves behind a handful of agricultural innovations still in use today, a lifetime of harvests, and a legacy of feeding others, proof that some of the most important work in the world happens one season, one field, and one meal at a time. He also leaves behind a splintered shovel, an old pair of irrigation boots, an empty can of WD-40, and a legacy of hard work, humor, and love. Though we will miss him deeply, we like to imagine him now finally resting—fishing for perch on a beautiful mountain lake or watching an impressive fireworks show, telling a joke no one asked for, and smiling proudly that he lived life on his own terms.
The family will be holding a celebration of his life later this spring that will surely include many of Gene's favorite things: bad jokes, canned beer, and custom fireworks—because Gene believed no gathering was complete without a little excitement and the need to stand back.
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