THE LIFE AND TIMES OF JOSEPH MATHE

                      THE LIFE AND TIMES OF

                           JOSEPH MATHE

                       by His Granddaughter

                      Harriet Grant Shikoski

To my Readers;

     I lived with my grandfather from my earliest memories until a few months before his death.

     The incidents related here are all true as far as I know.  They were written from memory.  Memory can sometimes be an illusive thing, and many of the stories here passed through other minds before I heard them. 

     I have tried to portray life as it was lived, so that my grandchildren might better understand that period before their parent were born.

                                        Harriet Grant Shikoski

                      

     My Grandfather, Joseph Mathe, was born January 20, 1858, in Kewaunee County.  His parents were Johanne and Mary Ann (Langbauer) Mathe, who had grown up in Austria where Johanne made wooden shoes and raised cattle.  When some cattle were ready for market, he banded together with a few of other raisers.  They combined all their marketable cattle in one large herd and drove them on foot into Vienna for sale.  When Johanne was very young, his mother, while carrying him, was caught in a snowstorm during very cold weather.  His fingers froze, leaving them shortened and misshaped.

     During the first half of the 1800s Austria was ruled by bureaucracy and police.  The land was in the hands of rich landowners; the common people were kept poor.  Those who were able to escape, migrated to other lands.

     After Grandpa's eldest sister, Francisca, was born, their parents left Austria, then under German rule, and headed for the overseas land to the west.  They landed in Quebec, Canada.  While they were in Canada, two more children were born, Franz and Mary.  Later they traveled by boat up the St. Lawrence Seaway and landed at Kewaunee.  Joseph was born in Kewaunee County on January 20, 1858, and his younger sister, Victoria, was born in 1860.

     Years later when Grandpa wanted to vote in Portage County, he was asked where he had been born.  He replied that he had been born in Luxemburg.  The poll worker, never having heard of the town by that name in Kewaunee County, thought he had born in the European Country, and at first refused to let him vote.

     It was said that Grandpa's mother had carried him in her arms for 20 miles in order to have him baptized by a Catholic priest.  It was also said that a very small chapel had been built near their home so that a visiting priest could offer Mass there.  However a (rumor? scandal? calumny?) was circulated about the priest and an unmarried mother who refused to name her child's father.  The real truth seems to be unknown, but many Catholics no longer associated with the priest.  At the same time an active Methodist evangelization developed in the area and endeavored to satisfy a spiritual hunger.  The Mathe family became good Methodists.  The chapel that had been built for the Catholic priest was used later as housing for pigs.

     Years later when my daughter and I went to Kewaunee, we discovered a mid-1800s atlas map showing where Johanne owned land.

It showed a two-branched creek flowing through his land, as well as a road which passed it.  By comparing this map with a modern road map we looked for the property, and found it, a wooded tract with the two-branched stream flowing through it.  I was surprised to learn that, with so much good land available for settling at that time, that my Great Grandfather had opted for a tract adjacent to unclaimed "swamp land."  Not until afterwards did I realize that it was swamp land on which grew tamarack trees--wood that naturally resisted rotting from contact with barn yard manure, the best wood for making long-lasting wooden shoes such as those which Johanne made.  Johanne also used tamarack for making long lasting shingles, a product more in demand by settlers than the wooden shoes he made.

     Grandpa sometimes talked about his earliest memories.  He remembered being in a log cabin with a dirt floor.  The lowest logs in the walls rested directly on the ground.  It was a hard winter with deep snow.  A hungry pack of wolves began circling around the cabin.  One of the wolves came up to the cabin and began to dig a hole underneath the wall.  His father sat on a chair holding his gun, but ammunition was very scarce and could not be wasted.  He waited while the wolf was digging until he could see the eyes of the wolf through the hole it was digging before he killed it with a single shot.  While I was discussing this story with my sister, she said she remembered his telling a different version, that his mother killed the wolf with a single chop of an ax.  These may have been two different events.

     Grandpa said he remembered when the family went to dances where his father played a fiddle for the dancers.  That was before his father had turned Methodist.  He remembered playing on the floor among a pile of coats or wraps while people were dancing to the fiddle music.  Grandpa's sister, Aunt Victoria, who was two years younger than he, vehemently denied that they ever went to such a sinful thing as a dance.

     Grandpa remembered the bread his mother baked in an outside oven.  The oven was built of stones and covered with dirt.  A fire was built inside the oven to heat the stone.  When it had burned down, the ashes were brushed out, the bottom sprinkled with seeds, and the dough, as one big glob, was thrown on top of the seeds.  The oven was closed and banked with dirt until the next day, when it was opened and the bread taken out as one big round loaf.  In his old age Grandpa claimed that that was the best bread he had ever eaten.

     Grandpa remembered the end of the Civil War.  At that time there was only one available weekly paper which was passed on from one family to another, and which was their usual source of news outside their little community, but the news of the North's victory was shouted in the streets long before the newspaper came.  Everybody was out singing or dancing, celebrating such great news.  Grandpa was seven years old.

     Grandpa spent only two days in a country school.  The school had been built in a wooded area, where trees had been cut down to clear the school ground.  Grandpa climbed up and stood high on top of a stump that had been left near the school.  As small children will do when standing high, he boasted about his position.  Another boy came and knocked him off the stump.  Grandpa's older brother Franz (Frank) knocked that boy down in retaliation.  That boy went home and told his father.  That father came to Grandpa's father.  The end result was that Johanne declared that if all they did at school was fight, there was no reason for them to go to school.  Their schooling days were over.  Grandpa did not learn to read until after his second marriage when his wife taught him how to read.

     When Grandpa became old enough he became indentured to a wagon maker.  His master had a large two-sectioned shop.  One side was a full service blacksmith shop where the wagon irons were made and horses shod; the other side produced the wooden parts and assembled the wagons.  Another young fellow was apprenticed to the blacksmith section; Grandpa was assigned to the wagon-assembling side.

     One Fourth of July the other apprentice wanted to celebrate.  He took an anvil outside in front of the shop and laid it on the ground.  He filled its hollow with gun powder and laid a second anvil upside down over the first one.  He then lit fire to the gun powder.  With an enormous explosion the anvil flew straight up in the air, came down and struck the fellow.  He remained a cripple the rest of his life.

     One day Grandpa was told to deliver a new wagon to a farm a little farther distant from the shop than usual.  He turned the wagon over to the farmer and was about to leave when the farmer's daughter came out to see the new wagon.  Of course Grandpa had to show her all of its good points!  Before he knew it, she asked him to stay for dinner.  Protesting that he had to get back to the shop by noon, she informed him that dinner was ready to be served, he could just sit down and eat right away.

     As Grandpa told it, the next thing he knew she invited him to supper.  Protesting that he had to get back to the shop, she said supper was all ready to be served, he could just sit down and eat right away.  The next thing he knew her father told him that it was ten o'clock already, and didn't he think he ought to go home?  He left in a hurry then.

     He managed to stay away for about four weeks before he went to see her on a Sunday and spent another full day with her.  Two weeks later, he went back, taking with him a preacher who married them.  She was Mary Ernestine Liebach, the daughter of Herman Liebach.  The marriage took place near Eden, Brown County, on March 9, 1880.

     Grandpa broke his apprenticeship.  His parents gave him a wagon and a team of horses for a wedding present.  He rented a farm on shares, which meant he didn't have to pay any direct money as rent, but instead had to give a percentage of the crops he raised to the land owner.  He borrowed money to buy seed to sow.  Then he and Mary Ernestine went farming together.

     It was sometime during the first year or two of their marriage that the events leading to an interesting tale happened.  Grandpa was raising a fine field of corn.  It was growing along the side of the road, in full view of passers-by.  All summer his father-in-law kept his eye on it, noting its progress.

     In those days corn was cut with a "corn knife" and stacked in shocks by hand.  Every six rows were cut and shocked together, leaving one row of shocks standing in the field where before there had been six rows of standing corn.  Shockers started around the outside edge of the field and worked toward the middle.  It took a long time and hard work to do all this by hand.  Anyone passing by could easily see how much of the field had been shocked.

     As the fall wore on, and there was no apparent indication that anyone was cutting this field, Grandpa's father-in-law kept hounding him: when was he going to get down to work and cut his corn?  Good weather was being wasted, soon the snow would begin to fly, and what was Joe doing anyway that he couldn't take proper care of his field?  Joe must be lazier that he thought!

     Unknown to his father-in-law, Grandpa had walked to the center of the field, counting the corn rows from the outside to the center, and began the unheard-of-thing by starting to shock at the center of the field, and working outward.  While it looked from the road that no work had been done, the whole field was shocked except for those six outside rows, which screened the work in progress.

     One evening Grandpa said to his wife, "Tonight is the night!"  There was a bright full moon, a "Harvest Moon," and pleasant weather.  After finishing evening chores they began shocking those last six rows, working all night.  The first few glimmers of dawn were beginning to show when they finished.  After taking care of the morning chores, they went to bed.

     That day Grandpa's father-in-law was on his way to town when he noticed the cornfield, and could hardly believe his eyes!  He certainly had to have an explanation as to how that field got shocked in less than one day!  He had seen it only the day before!  It had not been started then!  He went to find Grandpa, that son-in-law of his!  He found no activity in any of the out buildings, or in the fields.  The horses were home so he knew they could not have gone very far.  He entered the house looking for someone--and found the two of them in bed together!  At ten o'clock in morning!  Disgraceful!  After recovering from this shock he demanded an account of what happened in the corn field.  The only statement Grandpa would give in explaining how his corn had been shocked was to say, "The fairies must have done it," and his father-in-law never did learn what had really happened.

     By the time my grandparents married, there had developed in Kewaunee a group of German immigrants who wished to move on to a less settled land.  In July of 1878 some of them went to look over the area around Almond in Portage County.  What they looked for was available land and a good German Methodist Church, a church which they did not have in Kewaunee but did find in Almond.  The 1880 census of the Town of Almond shows that almost half the population were German immigrants.  They included some Mathe, Tess, Karnopp, Langbauer, Kehl, and Popp families.  Many of these people had come from the Kewaunee area.  Grandpa's brother Frank (Franz) had married Bertha Karnopp on October 11, 1871 in Kewaunee County.  He was one of those who came to inspect property in Almond, and in October, 1878, bought 160 acres in the northwest quarter of Sec. 23.  Grandpa's sister Francisca married August Popp.  The Popps remained on a farm near Kewaunee, but Grandpa, his brother Frank, and his sisters, Mary and Victoria, with their husbands, wives and children, settled in or near Almond.

     Around 1881, when my grandparents were in their early twenties and had been married about a year, they decided that they would join their relatives and friends who had left Kewaunee for Almond.

Ernestine rode a bicycle to her parents home to inform them of their planned move.  As she turned into their drive she lost her balance, falling with her bicycle and injuring her breast, an injury from which she never really healed.

     Grandpa was a hard worker, a shrewd man and a practical manager.  He acquired a farm about three miles northeast of Almond, on the north side of present County Trunk A.  This "home farm," the first of many farms he eventually owned, however briefly, was in Sec. 14, T 21 N, R 9 E.  His brother, Frank Mathe, owned the farm on the south side of the road.  Isadore Mathe, a cousin, lived on the farm abutting Grandpa's property on the east.  The crossroad corner between these farms became known at that time as "Mathe Corner."  After Frank and Bertha moved away, Carl Dopp acquired his farm.  In my youth it was called "Dopp's Corner."

     Originally there was a log cabin on the "home farm," the first farm that Grandpa acquired.  There he built a large farm house and a sturdy barn.  He wanted a large family, so the house he built had two bedrooms on the first floor and three on the second floor.  His son, my uncle, Edward Joseph Mathe, was born in 1883.  His daughter, my Mother, Louise Mathe, was born in 1885.  Emma Mathe, their sister, was born 1887.  As Emma approached her seventh birthday, she became ill, cause unknown.  She was listless, her lips became blue and she passed away on July 5, 1894.  She was buried in the East German Cemetery near Almond.

     Grandpa's sister Aunt Victoria also came to the Almond vicinity; She married Carl Rath.  Their daughters, Rose and Lydia, had also been born sometime before 1890.  When Carl Rath passed away in 1890, Aunt Victoria was left widowed with two daughters to raise; Grandpa took her in.  He enlarged the upper story of the house he had built on the "home farm," adding a large living room, a small kitchen and a small bedroom for them to live in.  An outside stairway was built for their private use.  Garden space was given her to raise her own vegetables.

     Grandpa prospered, not only in his farming activity but also in trading.  He loved to bargain whether with another farmer, store owner or butcher.  He attended farm auctions, paying attention to the bidding.  Occasionally he would enter a bid just to liven things up.  It was said that once, a day after an auction he had attended, he was asked when he was going to pick up the cow he had bought.  It seems no one had raised his bid as he had expected.  He then owned one more cow, after he had settled the account of course.

     Sometimes Grandpa took products to town to sell; potatoes, meat, vegetables or fruit.  One story tells of him butchering a steer and peddling the meat door to door.  A housewife came up to him asking if his meat was from a "he-one."  She had bought some meat from some other peddler which was so tough that it "must have come from a he-one."  Grandpa assured her that the meat he was selling was of very high quality, carefully avoiding stating its sex.  She bought some from him.  The next time he came around town selling meat she came running, wanting more of his good meat which, she was sure, did not come from a "he-one."

     Peddling from door to door was common, with no laws protecting buyers.  Meat market owners dealt directly with animal raisers.  In later years Grandpa would not eat any processed meat, bologna or sausages from a meat market.  He said he had seen too much of what went on in their back rooms to trust any of their products.  He loved the home-made sausage his sister, Francisca, would send him at Christmas time, though he strictly avoided any sold in stores.

    

     If a farm was for sale fairly cheap, he would buy it.  Down the line he would sell it for a profit.  The farms that he had once owned and subsequently sold were numerous.  He often rented out some of the farms he was holding for resale, actively helping the renter during busy times.

     While helping a renter he would be asked to share a meal.  He enjoyed the companionship and took the opportunity to judge the people he worked with.  He believed that hardy eaters were hardy workers.  One day he sat down to eat with a prospective renter consisting of a father and two or three big strapping sons.  After downing a big dinner the father picked up a big pie, cut it down the middle and polished off half of it.  The sons followed suit.  Grandpa thought they must be wonderful workers, only to find out later that, as far as farm work was concerned, they were about the laziest people he knew.

     Refrigeration as we know it was non-existent.  Perishables were preserved in cool cellars or tanks cooled by cold well-water.  Grandpa once ate where the meat had become "tainted."  The woman covered up the taste by the generous use of black pepper.  Grandpa became deathly sick from it.  For the rest of his life he would not eat anything that had black pepper.

     Grandpa had a story about a bachelor called "Smoky Bacon."  Smoky cooked everything together in one big frying pan, ate directly from the pan, and when satisfied, put the frying pan on the floor for the dog to lick clean, after which he hung it back on its nail ready to use for the next meal.  Grandpa made sure he had a lunch along with him when he went there to help.

     One year during potato harvesting he went to help a renter who happened to have a fastidious wife.  Grandpa had taken his own noon lunch with him.  While going up the steps from the cellar potato storage, he noticed a beam over the cellar door with an open space above it.  He decided that it would be a good place to keep his lunch safe and unobtrusive.  At noon he was invited to eat with the couple, and afterwards completely forgot his lunch which contained some of Grandpa's favorite Limburger cheese.  As time went on and the cheese ripened, the smell permeated the entire house.  The poor wife did thorough house cleaning time and time again, without ever being able to trace the smell or get rid of it.  When they finally did find the lunch and asked him about it, he had to admit what he had done.

     Grandpa had been born with shallow hip sockets.  A number of times he had thrown a hip out of joint during lifting while working.  A doctor would put it back in place, only to have more problems with it.  He tried wearing a broad belt around his hips to hold them in place.  It was very uncomfortable and seemed useless.  He suffered from his hip problems most of his life, sometimes more, sometimes less, depending on how hard he had worked or lifted.  His hips did not bend far enough for him to sit down normally.  To sit he rested his hips on the forward edge of the chair and leaned against the back, keeping his body straight.

     There were tales told about Grandpa's great distrust of banks, such as burying a baking powder can full of money in the dirt floor of a cellar, or hiding some in the chimney before replacing the stove pipe, and having to be sure to take it out of the chimney before building a fire in the stove that fall.  There was also the story of him selling a farm with the entire price paid for in gold.  In order to confound any would-be thief, he filled a dummy sack with rocks to look identical to his bag of gold.  Hiding the bag of rocks under a robe in his wagon, he drove the team to the bank.  Then obviously looking around while half-shielding his bag of rocks, he carried them into the bank, and loitered around the outer anteroom unobserved.  As no one came in or out after a reasonable time lapse, he left the bag in the corner of the anteroom and walked out without his bag, so if anyone outside was watching his movements, they would think he had deposited the gold in the bank and not try to look for it and steal it from him.  Nothing is known about what the banker thought when he found the bag of rocks inside his bank.

     In the late 1890s after gold had been discovered in Alaska, there was a great rush of men to Alaska to find their own fabulous lode.  Grandpa also felt the urge to get his before it was all taken, but family cares kept him close to the Almond-Stevens Point region.  His wife was ailing, his young son and daughter were half grown, needing parental guidance.  His little beloved daughter Emma had died in 1894.  His wistful dream of finding gold faded before it was born.

     The sandy loam soil around Almond was ideal for growing potatoes.  Grandpa became one of the great potato producers.  Before the 1900s, the greatest problem of the growers was shipping them out to the markets.  Good roads were few and far between.  Railroads were the popular shipping means.  By 1900 the Wisconsin Central Railway was shipping potatoes out of Plainfield, Hancock and Bandcroft.  The idea of building a railroad from Plover to Almond by the Wisconsin Central Railway was conceived and rejected by that railroad because they thought that whatever business they would receive from Almond would be offset by the loss of shipping from Plainfield.  But the Green Bay Road said they would operate the equipment if the railroad was built by the townships.  Petitions were circulated and almost everyone in the township signed, including Grandpa, Reinhold Mathe, W. J. Mathe and H. H. Mathe.

     This proposed rail line was to run from Plover to Almond and pass through Hetzel.  Hetzel was a small hamlet in Sec. 15, Township of Almond, a short distance north of Grandpa's "home farm."  It consisted of a store, post office, school, creamery, blacksmith shop and a storage shed.  A railroad passing through it would be very convenient for Grandpa and his potato-growing neighbors.

     In January 1900 two strangers appeared in Almond questioning farmers and merchants before leaving.  They were from the Chicago, Northwestern Railroad, who later announced that they would build a line from Fond du Lac to Marshfield and it would pass through Wild Rose, Almond and Bandcroft.  The Almond, Stevens Point and Northern Railway died before even blossoming.

     Around the turn of the century, Grandpa bought a house in Stevens Point.  Though Grandpa himself was uneducated, he strongly believed in education.  When Mother was enrolled in the Stevens Point Normal School, her father was criticized for hiring a housekeeper while letting his daughter go to school.  She should have stayed home where her parents needed her to help them and keep house!

     Ernestine became listless and ailing.  The injury she received when she went to visit her mother before moving to Almond, continued to bother her.  Grandpa took her to see the best doctors that he heard about.  She continued to languish with the cancer wracking her body.  She died on Saturday, April 20, 1907. 

     Mary Ernestine Liebach had been born in Brown County on Oct. 24, 1858, the same month and year that President Theodore Roosevelt was born.  She married Joseph Mathe at Eden on March 9, 1880.  A funeral service was held for her in her home in Stevens Point on Monday evening, April 22, at 7:30.  On Tuesday morning at 8:00 the funeral party journeyed to Almond by team and took her body to the German Methodist Emmanuel Church.  At 1:00 P.M. the Rev. Entyminger officiated at her funeral.  She was laid to rest near her daughter Emma in the East German Cemetery.  She had not lived long enough to see any of her grandchildren. 

 

     Sometime after his wife's death, Grandpa hired Elizabeth Kissinger as a live-in housekeeper.  She had been single all her previous life, working as a cook for rich people, where she had earned top wages. She hired out to Grandpa for less than her usual wages had been, because he agreed to let her bring along her aging mother, Marie (Binzel) Kissinger, to live with them.  She took care of her mother and kept house for him at the same time.

     About six months after she came to his house they got married.  As Grandpa talked about it years later, he mentioned marrying his first wife six weeks after meeting her.  He said he was more cautious the second time.  He knew her six months before marrying her.  After her mother passed away, Grandma (Elizabeth, Grandpa's second wife) became more active helping Grandpa both in his farming business and in his physical decline with hip problems.

     Shortly after their marriage, Grandpa and Grandma were out working in their garden.  The garden was not close to the house, and was somewhat secluded.  While they were working a boy came along and asked them why all those people were gathered on their front porch.  Grandma became excited, wondering what was happening.  Grandpa then told her that those people were there for that surprise birthday party for him that she and a friend had planned.  Grandma had gotten mixed up on the date, and was more surprised by the party than he.

     Grandpa continued to live in Stevens Point.  He kept a team of horses there so he could go out to his farms.

     Once Grandpa wanted to transport a load of hay, I believe from one of his farms to his barn in Stevens Point.  He helped load the hay by getting up on the empty wagon, and distributing the hay evenly over the wagon as the other men pitched it up to him.  He used his hay fork as a cane to steady himself while walking back and forth over the hay.  He remained above the hay, which rose higher and higher.  By the time the wagon was loaded he stood on top of the load, but with his hip problem he could not get down safely until he had helped unload it.  Neither could he bend his hips so he could sit down on the load.  Not being able to safely stand up all the while it was being driven to another distant location, He laid down on top of the hay while Grandma drove the team on the road.  As they were traveling along the highway two men in a fast horse and buggy began to pass them.  One of them made a remark to his companion about "that poor woman" having to drive the team because her man was "too dead drunk" to even sit up.  Grandma was furious at them for thinking him drunk and laughing about him when Grandpa was physically disabled, but Grandpa just laughed about it and thought it was a big joke.

     Grandpa had had no formal schooling, but he believed strongly in education and encouraged his children to receive as much as possible.  Both Mother and Uncle Ed became school teachers.  Uncle Ed married Ada Martin; Mother married Richard Grant.  Grandpa's grandchildren began arriving.  His son, Edward, became the father of Allan in 1912.  His daughter, Louise became the mother of Robert in 1914.

     Uncle Ed had earned a college degree, but continued studying for a higher degree.  When our country was plunged into the World War, he was asked to take over a class whose teacher had left to fight.  Uncle Ed never got back to finish earning that higher degree.  His daughter, Yvonne, was born in 1918 in Baton Rouge, La. where he was teaching at the time.  My sister, Margaret was born in 1919 in Milwaukee.

     Automobiles came into use.  They attracted Grandpa.  He wanted one, but the way they were built, and with his hips, he could not even sit in the drivers seat, let alone drive the car.  He bargained with the dealer and said he would buy one if the dealer would guarantee to refund the full purchase price if his wife (Elizabeth) could not learn to drive it.  At that time very few, if any, women drove cars.  It was considered a strictly man's task.  While Grandma was learning to drive she hit a cow.  At first she was afraid she had killed it, but that cow was up and at the farthest end of the field lickety-split.  Grandma did learn to drive, and they bought a 1919 Model T Centerdoor Sedan Ford.

     The problem of Grandpa getting into the car and sitting down in it, was solved by permanently removing the front passenger seat.  That seat had been made to fold forward to allow passengers to climb into the back seat before the front passenger entered the car.  Though the seat had been removed, the bottom half of the hinges, which had allowed the seat to fold forward, were permanently left sticking up in the car's floor.  Grandpa used those hinges in the floor to brace a special wooden block that he had made.  Standing on the ground facing the open car door, with his right hand on the block, and with his left hand on the back seat, he hoisted himself up with his hands high enough to stand on the running board.  Someone had to be sitting in the driver's seat to prevent its back from folding forward in his next movement.  With his left hand on the driver's seat-back, and his right hand on the back seat, he hoisted himself up, twisting to the right at the same time, to settle down on the edge of the back seat, with his feet braced against the block held by the hinges where the original front seat had been.  He had powerful arms to be able to handle himself this way, weighing in excess of two hundred pounds.

     Grandfolks made many trips in their Model T to their farms, to their friends and relatives and to other places.

     I remember when quite young going to a large gathering of friends and relatives.  We were in the Model T going on a narrow road when a car came barreling down the middle of the road toward us.  Grandma tried to avoid getting hit; the right wheels of the car slipped off the edge of the road.  The right side of the car leaned into the ditch, even though the left wheels were still on the road.  The only thing that prevented us from rolling over sideways into the ditch were the thick bushes growing there.  With the car leaning sideways at nearly a 45 degree angle, the thick brush preventing the door from being opened, and his hip problem, Grandpa's only option was to remain sitting in the back seat, pressed against the side of the car.  Friends came along and offered to help.  One went to a nearby farmer who came with a team of horses, which he hitched to the Model T.  The men who had gathered leaned against the right side of the car to steady it and push it upright while the horses pulled it out of the ditch on to the road.  In spite of his ordeal Grandpa remained calm, made suggestions about how to handle the situation, and was ready to continue going to the celebration as soon as the car was back on the road.

     In March, 1923, my father, Richard Grant, died of the terrible flu that raged at that time.  My Mother was devastated.  Widowed, she had a son, Robert; a daughter, Margaret; and me, a child not yet born.  She sought refuge in her father's house.  At that time Grandpa and Grandma lived in their house on Elm Street in Almond.  I was born in that house in August, 1923.  Mother wanted badly to go back to her own home.  When I was only six weeks old she took her three children back to Milwaukee by train.  Her troubles became unbearable and she had a nervous breakdown.  She was hospitalized and her children were temporarily placed in the Milwaukee County Orphanage in Wauwatosa.  Custody of us three children was awarded to Grandma (Elizabeth), and we were released to her care.  Robert was a ten year old boy, very active and lively.  Grandma was 56; Grandpa was 65 and crippled, hardly able to handle a rambunctious ten year-old boy.  Uncle Ed and Aunt Ada graciously took Robert into their home and raised him as a son, as a brother to Allan and Yvonne.  In spite of their age and physical condition, Grandma and Grandpa took Margaret and I into their home giving us loving care.

     My earliest memories of Grandpa were of our life on a farm adjacent to the "home place."  Grandfolks had moved there from their home in the village of Almond.  I remember Grandpa standing in the granary, looking out the open door toward the out-buildings.  From an inside recess near the door he took a conch shell and blew into it, creating a distinctive blaring sound.  Immediately chickens came running from all around to scratch for the shelled corn he threw out to them.

     There was a small smoke-house built a short way from the back door of the house where Grandpa had previously smoked meat or fish, though not within my memory.  He and Grandma had a large garden where they raised most of our food, a wide variety of vegetables including strawberries and raspberries.  They had raised ducks and geese which they butchered.  Grandma saved their feathers which she washed and used them to fill pillows she had sewed from pillow ticking.  Sometimes she striped the barbs of a feather from the quill which produced a softer, fluffier pillow.  She did this especially if she saved chicken feathers which were less desirable than goose or duck feathers.

     When Margaret became old enough to go to school she went to the one at Hetzel.  One teacher taught all eight grades.  There was a merry-go-round on the school grounds for the children to play on.

     One noon Grandma sent me out to the garden to tell Grandpa to come for dinner.  I found him lying on the ground; he had had a sunstroke.  Grandma rushed out to him with an umbrella and water and called Aunt Ada who was living on the near by "home place."  They managed to get him into the house where he recovered through Grandma's care.

     After Grandpa's sunstroke we moved back to their house on Elm Street in Almond where I had been born.  Grandpa's sister Victoria also lived on Elm Street in the fourth house away from us toward the east.  She was a frequent visitor at our house as well as we were in hers.

     Grandpa rented out the farm where we had been living to a family with many children.  The barn had a hay fork hanging above the alley-way where a load of hay could be driven into the barn.  The hay fork was used to unload the loose hay and carry it into either one of the side mows.  It was operated by pulleys and ropes.  When not used in unloading hay it was suspended in the peak of the barn, and the ropes used to operate it were tied to keep it from dropping.  When they were securely tied, a person could hang on to the rope and swing out over and across the driveway, from one hay mow to the other.  Though dangerous, children enjoyed swinging in this way.

     One day the renter's daughter was in the barn and tried to swing across.  Unfortunately the rope had not been securely tied.  As the girl swung across, her weight released the fork and it came down stabbing her in her thigh, severely injuring her.  Her hospital and doctor bills were heavy.  Her father did not have the money to pay them.  When he tried to borrow money to meet them, the banker demanded collateral.  His renter asked Grandpa to co-sign the note which the bank wanted.  When the note came due the renter was unable to pay it.  The bank demanded that Grandpa pay it.

     Grandpa had been a prosperous farmer and an astute bargainer in business deals, but he also had reverses, including doctor bills for his wife's cancer and his own hip displacements.  The 1929 crash affected him as well as everyone else.  Prices of farm products plummeted.  Many farmers lost their farms because they couldn't make enough money to pay for their taxes.  Grandpa managed to hold on to three farms.  Uncle Ed and his family lived on the "home place" which Grandpa deeded over to Uncle Ed in exchange for a monthly stipend to be paid for the rest of Grandpa's life.  At that time Uncle Ed taught History and Economics in Soldan High School in St. Louis, Mo.  Because of his position as a valuable teacher, he was always able to pay that monthly fee, even through the worst of the depression.  The renter of the next farm (whose daughter was injured on the hay fork) left and was not replaced.  Any income from this farm was split three ways, one third to Grandpa as owner of the land, one third to Uncle Ed who furnished the seed, machinery and horses used to farm it, and one third to Hamilton (Push) Martin, Aunt Ada's brother, for supplying the labor.  The third farm became a real drag.  It was in a less developed area.  One renter had a fire which burned down the barn leaving the farm without shelter for livestock.  Another renter had cut down trees and left with the wood.  That farm produced no income, but taxes still had to paid.

     Grandpa had not learned to read until after his second marriage.  His business deals had always been by "Word of Mouth" and a handshake, but in the depression and its changing times he decided to ask a renter to sign a rental agreement.  The man told him that such a paper was useless.  "If I want to swindle you, I will, paper or no paper."  He did, disappearing with everything he could take without fulfilling the contract.

     When I was young Grandpa walked with a crutch under his left arm and a cane in his right.  Sometimes he laughed about the last time he had gone to a doctor that a neighbor, Frank Poll, had recommended.  The doctor told him to go home and tell Frank Poll to quit sending dead men to him.  The last time Grandpa had consulted a doctor about his hip problem, the doctor told him that his right hip had been dislocated so long that his leg bone had worn a new socket, and that it was useless to try to put it back in its normal place.  The right leg was twisted so that his toes pointed toward the right instead of straight ahead.  When he climbed steps he first lifted his right foot up a step, then raised his left foot up beside it.  Sometimes he had trouble lifting that left foot high enough to be able to reach the higher tread.  I learned to help him by lifting that left foot up gently and pushing it on to the tread.

     I remember Grandpa trying to go up steps when there were grown men around.  They wanted to help him, embarrassed to stand by and let a child do it, but Grandpa always preferred me.  He said too many men used too much lifting power and he was afraid that they might topple him.

     Sometimes people would make remarks about taking me home with them.  My standard answer was, "My Daddy needs me."

     When I was very young I called him "Daddy."  At that time he was the only father-figure I knew.  As a rule children were afraid of him because of his crutch and cane.  I never sat on his lap; he never had a lap to sit on.  As a child I would climb up the side of his arm chair and sit on its arm, leaning my head against his chest, and he would put his arms around me.

     Grandpa was very dexterous with his cane.  He could use it to poke the fire in the stove to make it burn brighter, or use it to hold aside the window curtain so he could see who was passing by.  Grandma would have liked the windows veiled to preserve privacy, but learned that if she wanted curtains to stay half way clean she had to leave them open at least far enough so he could look out.  He could walk in the garden and without bending down, use the cane to press a weed out by its roots.  He could turn the cane around using its curved handle to pull a tub or bushel basket along the floor or ground as he inched along with the crutch without the cane.  He often worked in the garden hoeing.  He would drop his cane and crutch on the ground and use the hoe to inch forward, work up and down a row, picking up his cane and crutch with the hoe when he came back to them.  I once came home from school when he was in the garden.  He had accidentally dropped his hoe and had to stand there unable to inch forward until someone picked it up for him.  I have no idea how long he had patiently stood there.

     As he worked in the garden he enjoyed watching the squirrels and robins.  If a squirrel or an occasional rabbit came around, he would often make a distinctive sound with his mouth to scare them away, but the squirrels would get used to hearing him, look doubtfully in his direction, and then continue their activity.  If his hoe revealed a worm, he laid it out for a robin to eat.  A tame robin would come very close to his hoe for the delicacy.  He claimed it was the same robin year after year.  It would disappear when all the other robins left, but would reappear in spring among the first returnees.  Some scoffed that he could tell it was the same robin each year, but one spring he missed it.  No other robin ever came so close to his hoe looking for worms.

     Block wood for the stoves was delivered and left on the ground.  Grandpa would heave one block on top of another so he could split other pieces without bending forward.  He managed to pick up a block by embedding the ax solidly into it.  It would adhere to the ax as Grandpa lifted the ax and then set the block down where he wanted it.  Margaret and I carried the split wood into the woodshed.  He would give us very strict instructions on how to pile it so that the stack was neat and stable.  Oak was used in the heater in winter.  He also had some pine which he split finely for kindling.  If necessary he even went out in bitter winter cold.  I have seen him come inside in winter with icicles hanging from his mustache.  He had a pair of mitts made with buffalo hide backs and wrists.  They had leather palms and wool linings.  He also had a robe, a buffalo hide lined with wool.  He said that that robe had kept him warm in the coldest weather whenever he had gotten caught in a storm and had to sleep in a barn or a shed, if available, or by a wind break.

     Grandpa loved the dill pickles Grandma made.  Uncle Ed did too.  The story goes that one year when enough cucumbers were ready, Grandma packed them in granite crock and set them out on a table under a tree to "cure."  Several weeks later, when she wanted to test one to see if they were ready to eat, she went out to get one.  Not a single cucumber was left!  Every time Grandpa or Uncle Ed had passed the tree, they had "sampled" one or two or more.

     Sour kraut was made in the fall when the weather became cold.  Grandfolks had their own "kraut cutter."  It was made of wood, about a yard long and had three diagonal knives built into the center.  An open wooden box ran back and forth in side grooves.  A laundry wash tub was thoroughly cleaned and set on two kitchen chairs placed close together.  The cutter was put across the tub.

     Cabbage was gathered, the outer leaves were trimmed off, the heads cut in half and the stem sections cut out.  The cabbage was put in the box, held down by hand and slid back and forth in the cutter.  The shredded cabbage fell into the tub where Grandma kept salting it.  Frequent tasting determined how much salt was needed.  The cabbage was then placed in a 12 gallon crock and tamped down with a wooden block.  It formed its own juice.  When the crock was full, Grandma covered it with a clean white cotton cloth.  Next a round oak board shaped to fit the inside of the crock was placed on top and held down with a large field stone that had been scrubbed.

     Every day for awhile Grandma would have to open it up, clean off the scum that formed, rinse the cloth, board and stone, and cover it up again.  Fermentation took place.  When the kraut was "cured" it could be eaten, raw or cooked.  Grandma might then can it in quart mason jars for longer storage.

     Grandpa loved the "potato dumpling and sour kraut" dinners that Grandma made, served with pork roast and gravy.  The dumplings were hard, containing no eggs, only potatoes, flour and salt.  Grandpa said that to test the dumplings you should throw them nine times against the barn door.  If they were still whole they were good.  If they broke down the barn door they were better.  Though the dumpling dinners were more work than regular dinners, Grandma made them about once a week.

     One day when we had dumplings Grandpa said, "What's the matter, Mama.  Your dumplings aren't as good as usual."  Grandma replied that if he didn't like her dumplings she wouldn't make them any more, and for some weeks she didn't.

     It was summer and Uncle Ed came to visit his father.  During the conversation Grandpa asked Uncle Ed if he and Aunt Ada would like to come to dinner the next Sunday, adding that "Mama will make us some potato dumplings, won't you Mama?"  Grandma wanted peace and wouldn't argue with Grandpa in front of his son.  She made potato dumplings the next Sunday.  Grandpa couldn't praise those dumplings enough.  After that she again went back to serving them about once a week.

     During the school year Uncle Ed lived in St. Louis.  He usually came home to the farm for Christmas for a short stay.  In the summer he would come to visit Grandpa.  They would argue about the cost of farming.  The Economics teacher would add the cost of labor to the other expenses.  Grandpa would say you can't figure in labor because that is your own work for which you don't pay.  Uncle Ed would try to explain that if you didn't work for yourself you could earn money by laboring for someone else, therefor it was an expense.

     Grandpa may have been baptized by a Catholic priest, but he received no further instruction in that religion.  His family had become disillusioned, uncertain about their faith by the scandalous rumors whispered around.  Disconcerted Catholics were welcomed by the Methodists of Kewaunee.  Grandpa and his wife were among those who migrated from that county to the Almond area that they might worship in an active German Methodist Church.  They, their children, Grandpa's sister Victoria, and some other relatives became, and remained, good Methodists.

     Grandpa was interested in other religions too.  Some Seventh-Day Adventists held some tent meetings near Hetzel.  Later a church was organized with meetings held in private homes, often in the home of Isadore Mathe, a cousin of Grandpa's.  When a Seventh -Day Advent Church was built Albert Mathe, the son of Isadore, donated the land on which it was built.

     While some of Grandpa's cousins became good Seventh-Day Adventists, he became interested in Spiritualism and their tenets.  He believed in the existence of spiritual guides who could know, understand and impart information.  He sometimes gathered with one or more like minded persons.  Sometimes he and Grandma would go to "camp" at Wonewoc to attend the psychic meetings held there.  Grandpa claimed that his own spiritual guide was an American Indian chief, who sometimes helped him through inspiration.

     Grandpa's attitude toward structured religions is best understood by a story he often related.  A circuit rider made the rounds conducting missionary sermons for the Methodists.  After a few years had passed the same circuit rider again came around but then preached for the Baptists.  When asked how come he could profess Baptist beliefs as fervently as he had professed Methodist beliefs before, he replied that he would preach whatever someone wanted him to preach if they paid him enough money for it.  Grandpa felt that money rather than faith was the power behind too much of the preaching.

     Grandpa was deeply religious but his beliefs were what he had concluded from his own prayers and meditation.  If he received news such as the death of a friend, he would take to his arm chair and lie with closed eyes.  His lips might move as if in prayer.  Other times also he would remain in a meditative mood.  He was greatly influenced by Spiritualism, believing that the spirits of our loved ones, as well as other good spirits, would bring helpful inspiration and knowledge.  At the same time he was skeptical of what mediums would relate, especially those who expected compensation of any kind.  Grandpa received and read a weekly publication called "The Progressive Thinker," a small newspaper put our by a Spiritualist or a psychic group.  Grandpa had a little extra sensory perception himself.  There were a few persons who sought Grandpa out for their own spiritual help and consolation.

     Grandpa loved to talk to people.  He would sit in his arm chair on the front porch and talk with any passer-by who would stop.  When he met anyone for the first time he did not hesitate to ask him his name, where he lived, who his parents, brothers or children were, or any other personal question.  He practically always ended up knowing all about that person's relatives and life history.  The next time he met that person he would know all about him, except what his name was.  Names were hard for him to remember.

     Grandpa loved to play the card game of "500" whenever he could.  He told of how he and Grandma played cards with another couple in Stevens Point.  They had played continuously in one of their homes, barely stopping to eat.  When all the dishes in that home were dirty they simply moved over to the other couples' home.  When those dishes were dirty they took a day off from playing cards to wash all the dishes and clean house.  Then they went back to playing cards again.

     Grandpa's sister, Victoria, greatly disapproved of his card playing.  She did enjoy going to domino parties which were very similar to card parties: tables were set up; prizes were given to winners; and a light lunch was served.  Once Grandpa asked her what was the difference between playing with pieces of cardboard with spots on them, and playing with pieces of wood with spots on them.  She was very upset that he compared his card playing to her dominoes.  Grandpa and Grandma used poker chips to keep score, but no betting or money exchange was ever made.

    

     Grandpa always wore a moustache, but kept the rest of his face shaven.  Sunday morning was the time for his weekly shave, using the dresser mirror in the bedroom.  The bedroom light was turned on, and the window shades had to be entirely wound to the top, a position they had only during his shave.  A leather strop hung in the kitchen where he stropped the edge of his straight razor.  His shaving mug had a bar of William's Shaving Soap.  Hot water from the kitchen was used to soften it for his shaving brush.  He continued shaving with his straight-edged razor up to his eighties. After his serious fall either Uncle Ed or Aunt Ada used a safety razor to shave him.

     Grandpa was always interested in farming and in farm business.  He regularly received and diligently read a U. S. government weekly report.  It listed all the prices and amounts sold of potatoes, cattle, corn, etc.  Even after moving into the village of Almond, he and Grandma kept a garden where they raised vegetables, including a patch of potatoes.  In early summer they were freshly dug each day using a garden fork.  New potatoes boiled in their tender skins, was a delicacy.  The garden supplied all the potatoes we needed, at least until the farm fields had been harvested and potatoes stored away in the cellar.  Grandpa suggested that potatoes planted in the front lawn would be more profitable than the grass growing there, an idea Grandma did not share or allow to develop.

     One day around 1930, I went to the Post Office to pick up the mail.  A very strange envelope was there.  In the upper left hand corner was a picture of three men in a boat fishing.  I ran all the way home with it.  It was a letter from Grandma's brother John Kissinger, informing her that his wife had passed away from cancer.  She had helped him for years to operate a summer resort in Fox Lake.  The strange envelope was a business envelope from their business, The Waushara Resort.  After that, Uncle John came to Almond for a short winter visit. 

     But the depression had taken its toll on Uncle John's resort business, and without the support and work of his wife, Uncle John could not manage it alone.  He took in a man and wife as his business partners.

     One summer we piled into the 1919 Model T to visit him and his resort.  Grandma drove of course.  Margaret rode on a box placed before Grandpa's feet, our cousin Yvonne, Grandpa and I rode on the back seat, a tight squeeze all the way around.  We stayed in the Waushara Resort for about a week.  A three-piece combo played in the evenings, led by Jack Wilson from Fond du Lac, a fellow still in High School at that time.

     A year or so later we came home after visiting the family of a good friend of Grandpa's, surprised to see a light on in our house.  In the house was Uncle John who had signed away his bankrupt business for a single dollar to the couple he had taken in to help him.  The depression had deepened and in order to get rid of all his debts against the property, he had sold it, "lock, stock and barrel," debts included.  He had packed all that he owned, the total accumulation of his whole life's work, into a long Hudson touring car.  It included many pieces of his wife's fancy work like battenburg and crocheted laces.  She had made lace for all the curtains in the resort, including all the bedroom windows.  Grandma and Grandpa took him in, giving him a home.  He lived with us for the rest of Grandpa's life.

     Uncle John was only the latest person to receive Grandpa's help.  In 1890 he had taken in his widowed sister Victoria and her two young daughters.  He had taken in his wife's mother until she had passed away.  He had taken in two young granddaughters to raise.  Now he took in a brother-in-law.

     In 1938 when I was a High School student, Grandpa fell over backward out the kitchen door, landing with his head in the porch, his feet in the kitchen, and his hips on the threshold.  Somehow, with much pain and help, they got him into bed.  Grandma diligently cared for him.  He was a large man, helpless and not easily attended.

     After examining him one day the doctor talked to Grandma about his condition.  Even though they were out in the dining room talking low, Grandpa in the bedroom heard the doctor say that he would never walk again.  Even though he had been bed ridden for several months, Grandpa was determined that he would walk again.  He began pestering Grandma, Aunt Ada or anyone else around to have two men lift him up, stand him on his feet, and let him walk.

     Finally Aunt Ada told Grandma that he would never give them any peace until they did stand him up and let him see for himself that he could not walk.  Gus Grosse, the school janitor, and Uncle John lifted him up on his feet.  Grandpa screamed with pain and they laid him down again.  Aunt Ada was sure now that Grandpa would no longer beg to be lifted.

     The next day Grandpa again demanded to be lifted.  When reminded of his action the day before, he said that he now knew the pain and he would be ready for it.  When lifted up again he did expect it and for a brief time he did endure it.

     It was arranged with Gus to come twice a day to help lift Grandpa, once in the morning after Gus had stoked the school furnace for the day and was walking home for breakfast, and once in the evening after banking the fire and was on his way home for the night.

     At first Grandpa only stood for a minute or two hanging onto a dresser for balance before being laid down again.  Gradually the time was lengthened and he began shifting his weight from one foot to other and back, without lifting or shifting his feet.  Eventually he did learn to walk, but then he used two crutches without the cane.  He never again was able to rise from his bed without a great deal of help.

     Grandma had diligently taken care of Grandpa through his long convalescence. It had certainly not been easy meeting his many needs.  She had not been able to care for all her own needs.  As Grandpa improved she declined.  Aunt Victoria came over often trying to bring comfort, bringing a grapefruit or something for her.  Grandma slipped into a coma, her breathing was labored.

     One evening while Aunt Victoria was visiting she said that she would stay that night, that the "death rattle" had come.  Grandma's breathing could be heard all over the house.  After midnight the rattles became farther and farther apart and finally ceased.  Grandpa, Aunt Victoria and I were with her when she passed away in November, 1939.

     While Grandpa could by then walk with his two crutches, it was an effort to do so.  For his convenience Grandma's body was laid out in our "front room."  The visitation and funeral ceremony were held in our home with the Methodist minister officiating.  When the funeral director had asked Grandpa which grave in his cemetery lot should be opened he answered "Not the one nearest to Ernestine."  He wanted to be buried there, between his two wives, "to keep them from fighting."  He sounded flippant but in reality he had a great respect for both of them.

     When Margaret wanted to order individual memorial stones to match the large Mathe monument at the cemetery, she contacted the Stevens Point company who had sold Grandpa that huge stone.  The man Grandpa had dealt with had retired by that time.  His son had taken over the business, but the father just happened to be in the office when Margaret came.  He told her that he remembered her grandfather and how he had bargained with him for that huge red granite stone.  In the end Grandpa had given him four cows in exchange for the stone.

     Life went on.  Margaret was teaching school north of Stevens Point.  She boarded near the school coming home only on week ends.  Uncle John still lived with us.  He and I lifted Grandpa up on his feet every morning.  During the day Grandpa mostly sat in his arm chair from which he could rise by himself.  He would twist to his left, place both hands on the left arm of the chair and push himself up high enough to stand.  He still had powerful arms and shoulders for his age.  He liked to stand in front of the large front window and watch whatever was going on, waving to anyone who looked his way, observing the weather, the antics of the squirrels, what the neighbors might be doing, etc.

     Grandpa had what he called "the sugar disease."  He had not been given a strict diet to follow but did not use sugar or eat candy or frosting, though he occasionally did eat some plain cake.  He had a large festering sore on his leg which he had had for years.  It began when he had attended an outdoor gathering in the Portage County grandstand.  There had not been enough room to comfortably stretch out his leg, so he had taken his cane to help support it by cradling the leg in the cane's crook and holding the cane up with his hands.  The crook of the cane had rubbed against his leg causing a sore which had never healed.  At least one time, a doctor had wanted to amputate his leg, but Grandpa refused to have it done.  He did not want to live his eternal life with only one leg.  He would rather die than lose a leg.  Now with Grandma gone it became my job to change its dressing.

     One day Aunt Victoria wanted to see it.  I had just dressed it, re-bandaging it, and I did not want to again take the time to open it up and re-dress it, but Grandpa wanted her to see it.  She barely looked at it and told me to cover it up again.  I was disgusted with her.  If she wanted to see it so badly, why didn't she take a good look at it.  Afterwards, in private, she asked me how I could stand to dress it.  She said that she had nursed two husbands to the grave, but she didn't think she could endure to care for anything like that.  Grandpa once said, "Maybe I am too afraid of pain, but its because I have had so much of it."

     I graduated from High School in June, 1941.  That summer for me was an aimless, uncertain time.  I had received a scholarship to a state college, but if I went off to school who would take care of Grandpa?  Margaret couldn't.  She had a contract to teach school.  She was the only one in the household able to earn money.  Uncle John still lived with us.  He helped me lift Grandpa out of bed, but he was no "nursemaid."

     Uncle Ed was home for his summer vacation from teaching in St. Louis.  He and Grandpa discussed my situation, with Grandpa insisting that my education must continue.  Uncle Ed said that he and Aunt Ada would take care of him in St. Louis if they could get him down there.  It was decided that Aunt Ada would leave with Uncle Ed in the fall to prepare a place for him in St. Louis, but would come back for him during the Thanksgiving break.  Margaret was able to take care of Grandpa until Thanksgiving by driving back and forth to her school every day, something she could not have done during the winter.  Uncle John helped her lift Grandpa in the mornings and stayed with him during the day while Margaret drove off to teach school.  This gave me the opportunity to enroll in college that fall.  Aunt Ada managed to get Grandpa in her coupe.  With the seat set as far back as it could go, and with his legs bent at the knees, an unusual position for him, he was able to ride.  Together they drove to St. Louis.

     That last summer before departing for St. Louis, Grandpa talked about his declining years.  He told me that he loved Margaret and I, and he would like to stay with us, but that he had more relatives and friends "on the other side."  He would like to be with them too, some of whom he had not seen for a long, long time.  He loved them too.

     Several months after settling down in St. Louis, Grandpa slept away peacefully, slightly more than two years after Grandma had passed away.  Uncle Ed brought his body back to Almond for burial.  A special coffin was adapted for him, because its inside had to be large enough to hold his large frame, but also its outside dimensions small enough to meet the railroad regulations for transporting it back to Almond by rail.  The visitation and funeral was officiated by the Methodist minister and held in our home, just like Grandma's was.

     I looked down at him in his coffin and I was happy for him, as a person is happy for a loved one who had attained something which he had desired.  Now he was pain-free and happy with those loved ones whom he had not seen for a long, long time.

     He was buried in the East German Cemetery between his two wives.  His two daughters are buried in the same lot, his son and a grandson in a lot across the driveway.