Sunday, July 26, 2009
Ruth Elizabeth Phillips,
78, Russell, formerly of Amherst, died Friday, July24, 2009, at Salina Regional Hospital.
She was born Nov. 19, 1930, in the Amherst community to Rudy and Thelma (Wyckoff) Motzner.
She graduated from Waldo High School.
She married Kenneth Phillips on Dec. 9, 1948, in Woodston.
She was a dispatcher for Russell County Sheriff's Department from 1974 through the late 1990s.
Survivors include her husband, of the home;
two daughters, Carla Batt, Victoria and Elizabeth (Rick) Langdon, DeSoto;
son, Paul (Glenda), Russell;
six grandchildren; three step-grandchildren; and eight great-grandchildren.
She was preceded in death; son-in-law, Larry Batt.
Services were at 10 a.m. Tuesday at Otterbein United Methodist Church, Russell. Burial was in Amherst Cemetery, south of Waldo.
Memorials are suggested to Otterbein United Methodist Church in care of Pohlman-Varner-Peeler Mortuary, Russell.
Wednesday, July 15, 2009
Left side back row - Jack, Pat (Preston), Linda (Beisner),
Velma (Grimes) , Larry and Glen
Front row - Terry , Delphan
From Pat . . . .
"I have one sister who died of cancer. We had about 120 cousins and family and sisters and brothers there. We all went to Paradise on Friday and some went Sat. morning. My grand children really just wowed about Paradise to be able to walk down the streets and visit in the street and not be worried about being picked up or chased.
We stood in front of the PO and talked to Dan Hosington and talked to Lucille Houser the PO master.
My kids really enjoyed the visit up there. We went to the Harrell old house up on the hill where the kids use to play looking in to old houses. We got a few ticks but we all had fun.
We also went to Lucas and saw the Garden of Eden. They were impressed with all that.
We went out to the cemetery and put flowers on Mom and Dads' graves.
Visited my sister's grave and her daughter also.
Talked to Joyce Howell Thompson and got some books from the Methodist Church about Paradise and Fairport.
We just had a great time. Pat Hoopes Preston"
You can't visit and play in the streets of very many towns or cities.
3Jack ,Terry, Pat and Linda
Friday, July 10, 2009
Dorothy Mae (Schwerdfeger) Tanton, 86, Spearfish, S.D.,
formerly of Paradise and Waldo area, died Friday, June 12, 2009.
She was born Sept. 26, 1922, in Paradise to George and Blanche (Stout Schwerdfeger.
She was a 1941 graduate of Paradise High School and a 1945 graduate of Ellsworth School of Nursing.
She married Kenneth H. Tanton in 1947. He preceded her in death. She pursued her nursing career at Poudre Valley Hospital, Fort Collins, Colo., and Colorado State University, retiring in 1987.
Survivors include a son, Brock Tanton, Loveland, Colo.; two daughters, Kathleen Hansen and husband, David, Lakebay, Wash., and Sandra Aldrich and husband, Randy, St. Onge;
a brother, Phillip Schwerdfeger, Superior, Wyo.; a sister, Lillian McMartin, Rock Springs, Wyo.;
a cousin, Bob Christens and wife, Bernita, Hays;
six grandchildren, Chris Bledsoe, Nichole Arnold, JasonAldrich, Jennifer Gamble and Clayton and Corey Tanton; three great-grandchildren, Riley and Savannah Gamble and Bethany Jutz; and numerous nieces and nephews.
Fidler-Isburg Funeral Chapel and Crematory Service, Spearfish, S.D.,
and Allnutt Funeral Chapel, Fort Collins, Colo., are in charge of arrangements.
Wednesday, July 8, 2009
Travis graduated from Paradise Middle School in 1988,
3Terry Martin (1965) and his family are in his (Terry's) garden in Cartwright, Ok. They were on their way from Corpus Christi, Texas to Kansas City for the 4th of July.
From left to right . . . .
Terry, Jennifer (daughter-in-law), Kristine, Katelyn (granddaughter), Kevin (son) and Madison (granddaughter).
Michele Peterka (1986)
Michele has been busy this summer keeping up with her daughter,
I had more information about Haley but I can't seem to find it when I need it.
However, that information will be added here.
These photo's are of Haley playing ball this summer.
More to come!
Sunday, July 5, 2009
Five signers were captured by the British as traitors,
Twelve had their homes ransacked and burned.
Nine of the 56 fought and died from wounds or hardships
They signed and they pledged their lives, their fortunes, and their sacred honor. What kind of men were they?
Twenty-four were lawyers and jurists. Eleven were merchants, nine were farmers and large plantation owners; men of means, well educated, but they signed the Declaration of Independence knowing full well that the penalty would be death if they were captured.
He served in the Congress without pay, and his family was kept in hiding. His possessions were taken from him, and poverty was his reward.
Walton, Gwinnett, Heyward, Ruttledge, and Middleton.
The enemy jailed his wife, and she died within a few months.
Their 13 children fled for their lives.
So, take a few minutes after enjoying your 4th of July holiday
Thursday, July 2, 2009
On June 8th I received an email from a friend in Elkhart stating . . .
As I have said before, we taught in Tribune after leaving Paradise and Kit Carson and before going to Elkhart. So this made it even more meaningful to me.
Infamy and Memory
By Carrie Schroeder in memory of her Grandfather
There are times, more and more frequent as I age, that I stumble along that overgrown path of my memories. When I was younger, memory lane was a clear path, free of debris and well marked. As the years go by, I find that there are far more stumbling blocks and access to those long held memories is far more difficult. I tend to walk along this path and get lost. The sign posts that used to guide my way have fallen to disrepair and over usage, no longer pointing a direct route.
But by chance, be it a scent, a song, or a history lesson, I find myself walking down memory lane with a clear destination. Today, the path was clearly defined. A history lesson led me directly through the tangle of memories and straight to a kitchen table with my Granddad.
It was an afternoon in November. The late autumn sun was shining through the windows making columns of light and dust. I had my notebook and pencil in hand, furiously trying to come up with a report for an 8th grade class. I had better things to do with my day. There were boys to call, friends to gossip with, and a mall to hang out in, but this report on WWII was due in two days and I hadn't even started.
My Granddad was living with us at the time. He was recovering from heart surgery, but more important he was fighting off a deep depression that started the day he was wheeled into the recovery room to find that his wife was two floors above him, dying. With Grandma gone, Granddad's care fell to Dad and me.
He sat across the table from me, thin and frail, hardly the man who let me drive the tractor just a few short years before. Yet, his eyes were steely and bright.
"What do you know about WWII Granddad?" And that is where it started. My pencil fell from my hand and I listened, awe-struck, to a man who lived through what was then the most brutal attack on U.S. soil.
He started by telling me how he ended up in Hawaii . Just an 18 year old kid, joining up so that he could go to college. He was an Infantry man, stationed at Schofield Barracks. He told me about his room and his locker. He described his friends and the awe a Kansas boy experienced on a tropical island. He smiled at the memory of the shock of color that surrounded him then. "It was nothing like the flat brown fields of Kansas . I was in a different world altogether."
On the morning of December 7, 1941, my Granddad was in his room. He said the first wave of bombs shook the building as though there was an earthquake. He ran outside to see the sky fill with smoke.
Confusion was rampant. None of those boys, let alone their commanders, knew what was taking place. The sounds of Japanese aircraft filled their ears and then just as quickly were gone. In their wake was the call of a thousand shearwater birds.
Granddad shook his head at this point of his recounting. He looked at me with tears in his eyes and said, "It was the birds that got to me Carrie Ann. Their cries sound like babies screaming and they only cry at night. But it was daytime. All around me it sounded as though there were hundreds of babies screaming. I thought I was losing my mind. It was a nightmare. Those birds, Carrie Ann. It was those birds." He paused and collected himself. He shook his head again as if to clear his ears of the sound.
Granddad ran from the housing unit over to the armory. There was a mad dash of men clamoring to arm themselves. The smoke was so thick in the air; it made the morning look like night. Granddad was given two rifles. It was confusing and unorganized. Soldiers were running all about in circles.
The Japanese continued to bomb and moved from the harbor, inland. Everywhere men were running for cover and all the while the birds screamed their infant wail. And then abruptly, it was over.
Night fell and the lights were shut off, leaving the entire island under a blanket of darkness. The blackout silenced all but the birds, which gave away their position and wailed through the night, perhaps mourning the catastrophic loss.
I cried and cried that autumn afternoon. My Granddad was a survivor. And like the column of sunlight that marked the passage of that afternoon, my Granddad gave me the memory of his passage from boyhood to manhood.
Today I make that slow thoughtful walk from that kitchen table to a cemetery in Miltonvale , KS ... Through the mist of my tears, I can still clearly see the 7 young uniformed soldiers and the one stoic officer. An honor guard, charged with the duty of seeing Granddad safely to the other side.
His coffin was blanketed under the American flag. I have never before witnessed the extreme reverence that was before me that day. Slowly, methodically, and lovingly, that flag was folded and carried over to my family. "On behalf of the United States Army and the people of the United States , I present you with the flag that symbolizes the enduring freedom your father fought for. Thank you for his service. His memory is our legacy."
Pride and patriotism are words that are thrown around so carelessly. But I know Pride - I know it to my core. I felt it overwhelm me while the lonely refrain of "Taps" rang through my ears. I am intimate with Patriotism. It grabbed me and held me with every rifle shot as 21 pieces of my heart broke.
Pride and Patriotism are not just words or contrived emotions felt only for the purpose of stirring political speeches. They are the stuff kitchen table memories are made of. They are the sign posts along memory lane that assure me that while the path is overgrown, the memory of my Granddad is not lost.