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MY FATHER WAS A WONDERFUL MAN

That my father was a wonderful man is an opinion shared by neighbors, friends and family. He was a man that knew many hard times, endured much suffering but maintained his sense of humor, total honesty and moral uprightness throughout his life. Never have I heard anyone that knew him speak an unkind or derogatory word about him.

Life for my father began on August 2, 1892. He was the youngest of three children born to his parents. Sorrow was to visit his life at an early age with the death of his mother when he was less than three years old. When their mother died, there was an older half sister age fifteen, and an older sister age eleven, who cared for my father for the next two and a half years until his father remarried.

Dad didn't talk much about his early life, but I got the impression that it was not a particularly happy one. Even though he never said as much, I don't think he got along well with his stepmother, who had a son and a daughter by a previous marriage. It appears she showed much partiality to her own son which was greatly resented by my father and his brother. Dad called his stepmother, "Sally", and I never heard him refer to her as "mother" or "ma" even though he was only five years old when she married his father. The story was told, whether true or not, that Dad and his brother harassed their step-brother so much that he ran away from home at an early age. If true, it added to the rift in the relationship between step-mother and step-sons. The step-sister was well thought of and remained close friends to our family during her lifetime.

Growing up on a farm in rural Missouri, Dad never felt that education was of great importance to him. Although he lived a very short distance from the local school, his attendance was intermittent. All hands were needed to help with farm work and the school sessions were short, when held. Dad wasn't sure how many grades he completed but thought it was about five. It was enough that he was able to write his name and read the newspaper. As a youngster, it was noticed that the pages were disappearing from his book.

When asked he said, "Oh, I tore those pages out because we had finished with them."

After my mother's death I found a letter he had written to her. That took effort on his part and although filled with misspelled words, it is a jewel to me.

Dad grew into a tall, handsome, muscular, blond haired man with blue eyes and a square, firm jaw. By the time I was old enough to remember,

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