How does one describe a legend? How do you describe a person who defies description? John VandeCorput--Crow--was that type of person. He was the man who defied description. In appearance he was "the evil biker" personified. At six foot, four inches with curly blonde hair that streamed midway down his broad back, and the requisite missing front tooth, he looked to be the person your mother warned you about. But moments after you met him, you realized he was the total opposite of what he looked to be. He was warm, funny, loving and lovable.

The man didn't have an enemy in the world. The line that stretched from the front doors of the funeral parlor, down the steps and halfway down the block is a testament to the lives he touched, the people who loved him. He wasn't immortal, but in our eyes, he was close. Friends from as far away as North Dakota dropped what they were doing, risking the loss of their jobs, to drive straight through to Seymour, Wisconsin to be at his funeral. Grown men, most of them also "evil biker" types, cried without embarrassment, not bothering to wipe away the tears.

Crow lived his life the way he wanted to, without apology, without trying to fit in or conform. He lived his life the way all of us wish we could live ours. He worked enough to support himself and his two daughters, and to buy the things that he wanted. His greatest joy was riding, his only material love was his bike. He rode wherever and whenever he could, always managing to look uncomfortable in a car.

     Crow was a friend, a true friend. He lost his life offering help to someone who'd run his car off the road. When he found out the man already had help coming, he decided to head home, less than four miles away. In less than a minute, he was dead, struck from behind by a pick-up truck that was driven by a man who'd been drinking since early evening. It was shortly before three in the morning, he was thirty-eight years old.