Father’s Death
It was late October 1950 and it was a normal school day for me. My father and brother Lowell were shelling corn. Suddenly my father was not feeling well, and soon was on the ground in pain. Lowell ran to the house and told Mom, and a doctor was called. By the time the doctor arrived my father was no longer breathing. They carried him to the house and he was pronounced dead.
Lowell walked to the school and knocked on my classroom door. He gave the message to Alice Walter, my teacher, and she called me out and gave me the news. I was in disbelief because my father had told me, when he dropped me off at school, that we would go to town when school was out and buy me some new shoes and a dress.
We slowly walked home and when we got there the hearse and undertaker were on the yard. I walked in the house and uncovered the sheet from my father’s head and took a last look at his face.
Then the undertaker loaded my father up and proceeded to take him to the hearse. Our faithful old German shepherd dog saw what was happening and bit the undertaker in the leg. No way was he going to let this man carry my father away!
Plans were made for the funeral, and life for my family was changed. My father was not a man who attended church, but we did have the funeral there. There was a large crowd in attendance at the service and at the meal following.
The decision was made to move back to our house in town in spring. My twin brothers were still at home but they left that winter for service in Denver, so my mother and I were the only ones left to move.
I was 13 so I had my high school years left to be at home with my mother. We had a renter in our house in town but had notified her we would need it in spring. My mother never drove the car, and I was too young to drive. Soon I got my license and drove when necessary.
