Clifford Cletus Keil

Clifford Cletus Keil, age 93, of Delta, Ohio, a lifelong farmer renowned for his exceptional Bender Muskmelons, passed away peacefully in his sleep Wednesday morning, April 8, 2026, at the Fulton County Health Center. Clifford was born on December 4, 1932, in Toledo, Ohio to Joseph John and Agnes Magdalena (Schmitz) Keil.

A 1951 graduate of Macomber High School, Clifford dedicated his career to farming, where his passion for corn and soybean agriculture and his expertise in growing muskmelons earned him respect and admiration. His involvement with the Toledo Farm Market highlighted his commitment to supporting local farmers and the community.

Clifford’s personality was marked by his playful nature; he loved teasing people and found joy in taking Sunday drives through the countryside, inspecting fellow farmers’ crops. A devout Catholic, he was member of St. Richard Catholic Church.

Beyond his work on the farm, Clifford embraced an array of interests. He enjoyed deer hunting, spending winters in Florida, and traveling with friends and family. As a passionate Cleveland Indians fan, he carried a lifelong enthusiasm for the sport.

Clifford was blessed to share a loving marriage of 62 years with his late wife, Shirley (Ryan) Keil, who preceded him in death on May 6, 2017. Together, they raised six children, and their legacy lives on through them. Clifford is survived by his children, Donna (Mark) Lotycz, Peggy (Jeff) Mohr, Brenda (Kyle) Robinson and Doug (Lisa) Keil; son-in-law, Doug Blausey; 15 grandchildren; 43 great-grandchildren; his brothers Jerry (Carol) Keil and Tom Keil; as well as many nieces and nephews.

Besides his wife, Shirley, Clifford is preceded in death by his daughter, Debbie Blausey, son, Perry Keil; grandson, Brad Blausey, and siblings Kathleen, Virginia, Rose, Ronald, and Joseph.

Visitation will be held Thursday, April 16th, from 3:00 pm to 7:00 pm at the Weigel Funeral Home in Swanton. A Mass of Christian Burial will be held Friday, April 17th at 11:00 am at St. Richard Catholic Church in Swanton, with Fr. Eric Culler presiding. Interment will follow at St. Richard's Cemetery.

Memorial contributions may be made to St. Richard’s Church, 333 Brookside Dr., Swanton, OH 43558.

Eulogy for Grandpa Keil by Amanda Markward:

Hello, my name is Amanda, daughter of Donna and granddaughter of Cliff Keil.

I want to start by saying what so many of us already know—my grandpa was a man of faith, a farmer, and just the right amount of ornery.

He was a devout Catholic, steady and patient in a way that quietly shaped the people around him. And honestly, you’d have to be patient to raise four daughters. But that was him—steady, calm, and rarely losing his temper. His faith wasn’t loud, but it was constant. It showed up in the way he lived his life, in the way he loved his family, and even in the small, ordinary moments like Sunday mornings, dancing to polka music in the kitchen with Grandma, who he loved faithfully for 62 years.

He was also… ornery. And if you knew him, you know that’s one of the highest compliments we could give.

He had a way of teasing that made you feel seen, especially as a kid. I remember him calling me “A-Man-DUh”… and of course I had to give it right back, “at least I’m not named Clifford the Big Red Dog.” That was our thing. And if I had to guess, many of you here had your own version of that with Grandpa. He had a gift for pulling people in with a joke—making sure they felt seen, included, and like they belonged. It was such a small, simple thing, but it made a lasting impact on so many people.

And that same love showed up in the big moments too, like our Thanksgiving gatherings, where he made sure every single one of his great-grandkids, 43 at the time, (now 45) had a Christmas gift. Not just his kids, not just his grandkids… all of them. Because that’s who he was.

I’ll always remember the twinkle in his eye a couple Thanksgivings ago when he looked around, smiled, and said, “All of these people are here because of me and Shirley.”

Those tender moments didn’t always come as often, but he was always ready with a joke. Whether it was saying, “Hey good looking, what you got cooking?” to Grandma in the kitchen, or making sure you noticed the one-liner on his hat, he kept things light, even when life wasn’t. And if he ever pushed it just a little too far… well, Grandma might make chili.

And then there was farming. That wasn’t just what he did, it was who he was. Grandpa would tell stories of starting out farming with a horse and plow. From those early days, to being known for his bender muskmelons, and eventually to the combine he loved so much, farming was the thread that ran through his entire life.

That love for the combine isn’t surprising, because in many ways it reflected his own life. He moved slow and steady, never in a rush, always willing to pause when needed, and in the process, he harvested something much bigger than crops. He harvested a legacy.

A legacy of hard work. Of family. Of simple joys, like trips to the Toledo market, where a “penny a peck” could turn into glazed donuts and hamburgers. Of letting grandkids dress up the old pig pen, knocking down corn in the crib with his kids, or sharing one of his mom’s recipes—his famous orange ice.

He didn’t need much. Farming was his life, and maybe his only vice were cigarettes, which he somehow could smoke all the way down to ashes. But even in that, there was something familiar and steady about him—just like everything else he did.

And even now, there are reminders of him.

There’s a saying: “When a cardinal appears, an angel is near.” After Grandma passed, there was a cardinal on the farm (which isn’t something you see often). And on the day Grandpa passed, the security cameras at the farm stand picked up something unexpected—one ornery cardinal chasing another up into the sky.

And honestly… that feels about right.

Because if there’s one thing we know, it’s that he’s still himself. Still steady. Still watching over us. And probably still teasing—just enough to let us know he cares.

I’ll leave you with one last one-liner. I’m sure if Grandpa were here, he’d be teasing me right now, asking when I’m going to wrap this up… But not long before he passed, he told my dad, “You know, Mark, I tease you so much because I care—but don’t tell anyone I said that.”

So, Grandpa—your legacy lives on. We’ll remember to show up, to slow down, and to tease because we care.