Frederick Huber, 79, born on December 27, 1946, in Culver City, California, passed away September 21, 2026 in Sherman Oaks, California. While the start and end of his journey were close together, the life he led between those two places was far from a short trip.

Fred was the beloved only child of Ruby and Richard Huber. Together they were a Southern California family devoted to the love and care of animals. He proudly recalled that when he was a baby, the family dog would carry him around the farm by the diaper. For a time he rode a horse to school, and his peers growing up would sometimes envy him for being around the Arabian and Miniature horses his father bred. This would apparently not last long however, after they were invited over to join in on the arduous hours spent cleaning stalls and caring for them! Even in his late years, Fred’s eyes would sparkle recalling visiting the animals his father cared for at UCLA, specifically a chipmunk sort of critter which would curl up in the chest pocket of his father’s lab coat, and an owl he loved to circle around to watch its head spin. (For anyone who would read this and wonder, when asked if they were animals to be experimented on, Fred was adamant that his father would never stand for someone harming the animals he cared for.) He spoke of running through green bean fields to visit his uncle, an old purple hearted war veteran named Walter Huber, and how when his grandmother Violet Thornton Huber would give directions, you’d never get anywhere unless you knew the whole town’s history because her directions would be two street names ago. He spent time in marching band during his school years in Santa Monica, during which time Fred got to perform in the Rose Parade in Pasadena.

After high school, once the Vietnam war broke out, Frederick enlisted in the Air Force, hoping that way he’d get to pick his branch instead of being drafted into the army. During the war he acted as a Combat Documentary Photographer for the air force, and since during his leave periods he wasn’t allowed to go far, he traveled around Thailand. He was sparse about stories from this time, but one thing he carried with him every day until the day he died was his USAF military ID card. Not for identification, or some pining for the war, but because of what the card said on the back and his favorite story about it. The card reads:

“ To Whom it May Concern

Request the person identified by this card be furnished such transportation, information of your activities, and other logistical support required by him to accomplish USAF ComDoc photography as directed in ARR 28-37.

(Signed)

William S. Barksdale, JR., Colonel, USAF

Commander “

The story goes: A high ranking official is seated on a plane, about to leave to go home from the war. He is asked to deplane, so a scrawny young kid with no patches can take his seat— Fred. While the official technically out ranked him, the card gave Fred priority to get on that plane, apparently the man was not amused— but Fred would be amused all the way into his late 70’s.

While in the war, where he was exposed to Agent Orange, Fred also contracted malaria. He said he didn’t remember much being so delirious at the time, but that the treatment he was given was local to the area. His later life showed no ill effects from this, with his daughter often joking that he “outlived malaria”.

After he was discharged, Fred returned to Southern California, and took up various career paths and hobbies. He repaired musical instruments, wrote about them, and made some as well. For a time he practiced speed skating as an Olympic hopeful, but in an unfortunate accident his skate sliced his ankle, injuring his tendon badly enough the doctors thought he may not walk again. He was lucky though, and a neurosurgeon happened to be doing residency at the time and put in so much intricate tiny stitch work, that in his words “the guy who later removed them was cussing up a storm”. He sang for the catholic pope twice, joined the Rotary club for a time, and took up painting. He owned a record player store, worked as an actuary, studied real estate, worked admin for a department store, and then worked in accounting. He married twice, and divorced twice. First to Joan Martin, then to Teresa Scholl. With Teresa he had two children, Thomas and Marie Huber, whom he raised with a strong mixture of silliness and sternness.

When Fred was in his sixties, he took up speed bicycle riding, with hopes to eventually do Iron Man. He lamented how during one ride he was pulled over for speeding but managed to talk his way out of it. He said he should have instead accepted it so he could have framed it. It was during one of his bike rides that he was struck by an SUV whose driver was on the phone. The accident destroyed four of his lumbar vertebrae, and swiftly put him into retirement. He would later admit that after this accident he had to relearn how to write. During this time he devoted himself to Toastmasters. After recovering from this ordeal and amassing a very eclectic and fashionable cane collection, he moved to Durango, Colorado. There he enjoyed the peaceful mountain environment for many years, together with Cindy Lou Pickett and their dog Dexter. In June 2026 Fred returned to California to enter an assisted living facility in Sherman Oaks. It is here we return to the beginning of our tale. Fred had received his last rights five times in his life, and bounced back from so many misadventures, that his loved ones could never be sure “it this is it this time”. Fred, for real this time, slipped away peacefully on the morning of September 21st. His family and the multitude of friends he leaves behind can only speculate with a smile, what sort of antics he must be getting up to now in the afterlife.

Arrangements are under the care of Forest Lawn, Hollywood Hills, CA. 

***Please, no gifts. In lieu of flowers, please tell a loved one or a complete stranger a cheesy joke in his honor. He would have loved that.***