Dad had a natural curiosity. He liked to learn new things so I always wondered why he left school after 8th grade. I suppose the correct term is “quit school,” but in Dad’s case “left” is more appropriate since he just didn’t see much sense in continuing. He then went to work on Grandpa’s farm where he said there was plenty to do.
That natural curiosity was always kicking in as he heard about new things, like computers. He bought his first back in 1982 so he could track Meals on Wheels expenses as their treasurer. Then he just kept upgrading over the years.
When Mom went into the nursing home we set him up with a webcam so we were able to do video calls with him. He could place or receive a call and it worked well to keep him out of the four walls, so to speak, and both Kevin and I had calls with him 2 or 3 times a week.
About a year ago we were talking one day and the conversation turned to his funeral plans. Again. I asked his advice on what I should say here today. He thought a minute and then said, “Tell a good joke.”
What kind of joke - do you have a suggestion? Well, yes he did, and offered a joke that might best be described as ethnic, so I told him we probably didn’t want to do that because it’s not politically correct and besides, the odds are pretty good that you’re going to offend somebody in the congregation.
He thought for a minute and then said, “Well,I just got back from Bible Study this morning, and they were talking about the Hitites. I guess there aren’t many of them around anymore, so maybe you could tell one about the Hitites . . .”
So . . . there were these 2 Hitites. Their names were Sven and Ole.
One day Sven was walking by Ole’s house and saw a sign in the front yard that said “Boat for Sale.” And just then Ole came walking around the house so Sven said, “Ole, what’s this business about a boat for sale? You don’t have no boat! All you have is that John Deere tractor and that John Deere combine!”
Ole said, “Yep, and they are boat for sale!”
It’s good to hear laughter in this church. When I was a member it seems we were pretty staid. Things change with time, don’t they.
Dad loved good jokes, and he loved to laugh. We have many pictures of him with a huge smile on his face, especially when he was around family.
My favorite story about his sense of humor centers on Uncle Irving. He was probably Dad’s best friend, and Mom said we could always tell where Irving was working by looking at the color of the machinery on the farm: Red for International, Orange for Allis-Chalmers, Green for John Deere . . . everything but Case.
Irving had a habit of finding his way out to our farm about ten in the morning during the week, which coincides, donchaknow, with coffee time. And maybe cookies or cake. One morning after he and Dorothy were married he showed up as normal, the day after they had returned from their honeymoon.
Irving had made the mistake of giving their house key to somebody to look after things while they were gone. Well, the door was “open” and those Holstad girls and their husbands took it upon themselves to do a shivaree, and he had just seen the, shall we say, consequences.
I recall as plain as yesterday that Dad and I were standing by a green 3-bottom plow when he pulled up and walked over to us, this serious, no-nonsense Irving look on his face and said, “I don’t suppose you know anything about what they did when we were gone?”
Dad gave his very best deadpan, “No, I don’t know . . . “ and Irving said, “I know you know all about it but I’m going to tell you anyway!” And he proceeded to tell what they had found the previous night.
Probably the last thing those brothers-in-law did before they left that night was to stack up a bunch of pots and pans inside the front door so when Irving unlocked and opened it, the pans clanged and clattered all over.
He had to grab Dorothy by the arm to keep her from running away.
And on the inside they found all kinds of mischief - saran wrap placed appropriately, vaseline on door knobs, cereal in the bed that had been short-sheeted, and the ultimate was the kitchen drawers which they had carefully pulled out, removed the trays, turned the drawers upside down, inserted the trays back into the overturned drawers and slid them back in. When the drawer was pulled out, silverware fell all over the floor!
It wasn’t long before both Irving and Dad were laughing so hard the tears were running down their cheeks. To this day I can visualize Dad, Max, Roy, Leon, all of them, having a merry time while doing the shivaree. I just wonder if we have that kind of fun anymore.
Dad loved music, but I thought he mostly loved it by listening, because I never heard him sing. Then I heard from Kathy last night that he has been singing in chapel since he went into the nursing home. On pitch. When he finally was not too shy to sing in public.
We once had a banjo hanging on the wall at the farm house and I was told that Dad had used that to play in a band. Yet I never saw it taken down from the wall, never saw him play it, and now I have no idea where the banjo is.
His favorite band, of course, was on TV every Saturday night, Lawrence Welk.
He was so proud of the recording of “In the Garden” that was played for the processional today, but those Holstad girls frustrated him no end because by nature when they weren’t singing they were talking, so he had difficulty getting a clean cut at the end of the song.
He made it clear to me many times that his granddaughter Marni would be accompanying his great grandson Bryan who would be the ONLY soloist at his funeral. That’s your family/music connection, so important to him.
His computer came in handy when Kevin set him up with iTunes for music, and downloaded his favorite author, Zane Grey. With the computer he didn’t have to hold the book, and could turn pages with one key, so he often was listening to his favorite music while he was reading.
Where Dad was the biggest role model for me was in his ability to “figure things out.” With only the 8th grade education, he still had this innate ability to look at a mechanical problem and come up with a solution. That is often my motivator. I’ll get embarrassed when I can’t figure something out, even when no one is around, knowing that he could do it.
He bought a welder on the farm, primarily because then he wouldn’t have to pay to have things fixed, although it was also because he loved to do it himself. He became a “go-to” person for my uncles when their equipment broke, and around the farm he was good at making everything easier with pulleys and machines, anything to avoid the manual side.
He was one of the first to use hydraulic hoists, and put them on our cultivators, discs, plows, wagons, and anything that needed lifting.
More recently this one-armed man amazed all of us with his ability to clip the nails on his left hand - with nail clippers, string, and a push-pedal.
What we couldn’t figure out was his attraction to gadgets, especially if they were free with a magazine subscription. He thought it was so neat that he could get a free am/fm radio, calculator, phone, clock radio. He thought he was getting a real deal with those subscriptions and we wound up passing those gadgets along for him . . .
Dad was indeed a survivor. When he lost his arm in 1964 he was up against a wall. An 8th grade education. A farmer all his life, accustomed to and preferring to work alone. Two kids, ages 10 and 12. With all he faced, he truly “did what he HAD to do.”
While still in the hospital after losing his arm he resigned himself to his one-handed fate, turning to Mom one morning to say, “You might as well get me a paper and pencil. I’m going to have to learn to write left-handed.”
He not only learned to write, he learned to type, and when Voc Rehab said they would provide a business education - or a prosthetic arm - he said, “I’ll take the education.” Because that was his choice he said they also gave him the arm. He went on to a successful career in insurance, as county treasurer, and agent for the State of Iowa.
Most of all, he was a loyal man, to his family, and especially his beloved Lu, the love of his life. He first met her - or I should say “saw” her - at a Sunday evening Luther League meeting at Deer Creek Valley Church. In those days the League would put on some type of program and the evening was more or less a social event that church members might attend.
Dad was struck when he first laid eyes on Mom, and then, he said, “I always tried to put myself in a position where she would be sure to see me!”
Makes me think of Shakespeare: O Romeo, my Romeo, wherefore art thou? “Over here, by the Baptismal font!”
Like any couple, they would have disagreements from time to time, and they normally ended with Dad going into his silent mode. He could be kind of stubborn.
But when she was confined to the nursing home, he trekked to her room daily and sat there all day, every day, to keep her company.
And I recall summer nights, when I was growing up. The windows would be open with a gentle breeze blowing through upstairs. We could hear the sound of the farm coming from the barnyard.
The pigs were eating, as they always do, so when they pulled out of the feeder the door would noisily clank shut, and the cows ambled about the barnyard, the chain and ID around their necks tinkling as they walked about or bumped into each other.
And I would hear Mom and Dad talking softly, he speaking soft enough that I couldn’t hear, and she chuckling at whatever it was that he said. They were indeed a pair, and he longer had to stand by the Baptismal font trying to get her attention.
Last but not least, he was loyal to this church. When we moved to Grove Township, we all became members on Mom’s birthday, March 7, 1949. And though we all have memories of the church, my most vivid memory came at the marriage of my sister LaVerne and Kenny in February, 1959.
This was my big sister, you know, so I wanted to do things perfectly. When the wedding party had advanced to the altar, we ushers were lined up on the floor here, three on each side. I stood ramrod straight - perfect.
After a while I noticed everything was getting dark, and soon the only light I could see was a circle around Kenny and LaVerne and Pastor Mikkelson. I started to wake up as Dad and somebody else were dragging me through this door on the side.
Since I was no longer part of the ceremony, I didn’t know what else was happening, but I heard later that Karen, who was a bridesmaid, turned when she heard the commotion, then pirouetted to the floor as she fainted. Kenny turned to help, but LaVerne grabbed him by the sleeve, as if to say, “Pay attention here, Buster!” And the wedding went on.
Things you never forget, right?
As I said, their church loyalty was strong. Mom and Dad were regular in attendance as long as they were able. They celebrated their Silver Wedding here, then their Golden Wedding, and were just a few months short of #70 when she died.
All five of their children were confirmed here.
All five of their children were recognized at graduation here.
Two of their children were baptized here.
Two of their children were married here.
Karen’s funeral was held here.
Mom’s funeral was here.
Today, his funeral is here, and our First Lutheran book is closed.
At his request we have few flowers in the church today, only a vase of five roses, white for their girls, red for their boys. We will leave them graveside as we say goodbye.
There are so many more stories I could share with you about this man and what he meant to his family. Like any human being he had his faults, but we will always remember that he cared deeply about us.
We know that you have your own memories and we hope you will take some time to share then when we meet for that traditional Lutheran coffee break after the services. That would be nice.
So many of you have already expressed your sorrow and your sympathy, and we do appreciate that. But I think I speak for the family when I say that Dad is at peace at last, and we are grateful. I think you’ll agree that he had a wonderful life.
Thank you.
