Robert “Bob” Bruce Henning

June 4, 1947 – January 30, 2026

Robert “Bob” Bruce Henning has exited the building.

Not quietly. Not politely. And definitely not on anyone else’s schedule.

Bob was a father, a papa, a best friend, a hero, and a walking reminder that life is too short for bullshit, half-measures, or pretending to be someone you’re not. He lived exactly how he wanted, liked what he liked, loved who he loved, and never once asked for permission.

Bob was an avid camper—real camping, not the curated kind. Dirt under the nails, smoke in the clothes, a cold Mountain Dew at sunrise. He was a lifelong motorcycle rider with a deep, unwavering devotion to Harleys, the kind of loyalty forged by open roads and bad decisions that somehow always turned into good stories. He rode to Sturgis more than once, because of course he did—gravel, thunder, noise, freedom, and zero interest in moderation. And because the universe clearly understood what it was dealing with, Bob also became a land speed record holder at the Bonneville Salt Flats, tearing across a blinding white nothingness at irresponsible speeds, daring the horizon to blink first.

Music wasn’t just background noise—it was part of his DNA. Bob was a bass guitarist who had been playing in bands since he was a teenager, holding down the low end and the rhythm like he did everything else: steady, committed, and unapologetic. He played in bands including Full Circle and Mac and the Bulldogs, and if you ever heard him play, you know he wasn’t there for show—he was there to drive the sound. Silence was suspicious. Music was meant to be loud enough to feel in your chest and honest enough to tell the truth.

Bob was Brian’s hero and best friend, the greatest papa to ever do it, and a grounding force for the people lucky enough to be in his orbit. He showed up. He stayed. He meant what he said. He loved fiercely and without pretense. You never had to guess where you stood with Bob, and that kind of clarity is rare and powerful.

Caring for Bob in his final days was not easy, but it was sacred. He was surrounded by real love—the kind that sits down, makes no excuses, stays put, and doesn’t flinch. He had the best caregivers anyone could ask for: Jennifer Henning, Ronnie Golyar, Maria Diaz, Alyssa McKee, Zikoranachukwudinma Okongwu, Kelsey Schiltz, and Rita Barry—people who showed up with compassion, patience, grit, and heart. Along with family, friends, and visitors, they were part of the same unspoken agreement: this mattered. And it did.

Bob leaves behind a wake of stories, a permanent engine hum in our memories, bass lines that still echo, and a family forever changed by the privilege of loving a man like him. The world is objectively less interesting without Bob in it.

Bob is survived by his son Brian Henning, daughter-in-law Jennifer Henning, and their children McKenzie and Connor Henning; his daughter Karis Henning-Reed, her husband Hershel Reed, and their children Julian Henning and Lyric Reed; and his brother Frank Henning, Frank’s wife Susie Henning, and their son Graeme Henning.

He is also survived by a chosen family of lifelong friends who meant the world to him, including Dale and Beverly Giles, Bruce and Peggy Hansen, Ron and Sandy Ronfeldt, Blayne Zeschmann, Dan and Maribeth Mohatt, Lincoln Warden, Rob Schlautman, and Gage Wiggins.

Bob's Celebration of Life will be held at River's Edge Pavilion, 4250 River's Edge Parkway, Council Bluffs, Iowa 51501 on Sunday February 15th, 2026, from 1:00pm-3:30pm.  It will not be quiet. It will not be stiff. There will be stories, laughter, probably music, possibly chaos, and absolutely no pretending. That was never Bob’s style.

Wherever he is now, we’re confident of one thing: there’s an open road, a Harley rumbling nearby, a bass slung low, amps turned up too loud, a campsite waiting—and Bob running it wide open, salt flying, throttle pinned, grinning like hell.

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