"LOUD." "Opinionated." "An absolute character."
And they are just a few of the words Bevan McKee's family use to describe the Elmore stalwart, who died earlier this year at the age of 74.
"He was an amazing man," Bevan's wife, Maree, said.
"I could tell you some stories but you wouldn't be able to print them."
More than 70o people were on hand for Bevan's funeral at the Elmore Memorial Hall, with mourners travelling from as far away as Brisbane, Melbourne and Dimboola just to be there.
It was a mark of respect, and gauge of the popularity, of the man in the community.
Bevan was born and raised in Elmore and, aside from six years on the road during his adolescence, spent his whole life there. His eulogy details a colourful life. At 14 he left school and started a mechanical apprenticeship with his father, before eventually setting up a workshop on Simmie St for agricultural machinery.
As the sole person working in the company, Bevan took major risks to ensure top-quality machinery was available for his customers.
In 1969, after Allis Chalmers and Gleaner America pulled out of the Australian market, Bevan acted quickly to import their products.
And while in America in 1986, he sent a bill home to Maree for 14 new Allis Chalmers tractors a move which turned into a success for the company
Bevan's legacy continues today with McKee's Garage and Engineering on Fire Brigade Track in Elmore around the corner from his original workshop.
But a tale which stands out above others is one evening in Wycheproof, when a young Bevan decided to take a steam train for a joy ride.
"There was only one hiccup how to stop it," his eulogy reported. Bevan spent what was left of the night in the local lock-up, but only because he was caught tying a bag over the 'Po' of the police sign on his way home.
Although Maree describes Bevan as a workaholic and a prankster, she said there was much more to him than met the eye.
"He was an absolutely brilliant diesel mechanic, and that is mostly what people saw of him," she said.
Work was his serious side. He was a very astute businessman. But he also had a soft side. He was a real family man. His brother had Down syndrome and he would have him at the workshop whenever he could.
Bevan's son Lee recalled how his father would also go out of his way to help farmers in the region.
"If someone was in trouble, he would go and help them strip their harvest," he said. "He never left anyone stuck" Lee said Bevan also had an amusing penchant for calling everyone 'Rooster' or `Joe'."
"If he didn't know your name, he would call you Rooster, but if he did know you, he would call you Joe," he laughed.
"He was a humorous sort of bloke who was very loud. You always knew he was around. He lived to work, but when he played, he played hard. Real hard. Age did not hold him back"
Bevan died on January 12 after months of constant pain following an accident on a telehandler last June.
His farewell was nothing like your usual funeral.
After all, Bevan was not your usual bloke.
Gleaners were printed of the side of his coffin, while his procession in-cluded driving through an archway made of headers outside the family's workshop.
Instead of throwing flowers on his coffin, mourners threw stubby lids and wheat.