Lindberg Family History, January 1970

In January, 1970, I was a senior in high school. I had had my 17th birthday in December. Ken had been in Viet Nam for seven months. We were writing letter back and forth nearly daily. We had already talked about marriage and dreamed about taking that step a year or so after his safe return.

On Saturday, January 3, 1970, my mother woke me up and said, "They don't expect my dad to live and I have to go. Can you help get the house ready for meeting?" My Grandpa Joe Seyler had had surgery for bleeding ulcers in a hospital at Coudersport, PA a week or so prior to that time. He had been doing fairly well for a man of 83, but now he had taken a turn for the worse. Lois, at 23, was home for the weekend from Erie, where she was going to Gannon College. She and I worked together to try to fill the place of our mother.

On Sunday we had our meeting in the morning as usual. I remember Daddy's testimony about the parable of the talents. He spoke about the one who had received the one talent who buried it in the earth. He said, "Some people think if they can't do anything great, they are not going to do anything at all." His desire was to do the little that he could.

I was a member of the photography club at school and had the school camera home with me to take pictures over Christmas vacation. I had one picture left on the film and said, "Hey, Dad, I need to take the last picture on this film." He was sitting in the chair in the dining room in his suit, and I snapped a picture of him.

That afternoon Daddy decided to drive Lois back to Erie instead of letting her go on the bus. He decided to ask his retired buddy, Claude Zimmerman, to ride along so he would have company on the way back. Daddy loved to drive and enjoyed just "going for a ride". Snap, 19, and Glenn,13, and I spent the day at home. Glenn and I would be starting back to school the next day. Snap would be going to his work at a car garage in Johnsonburg. No doubt I wrote a letter that day to Ken, full of love and dreams and hopes.

When Daddy got back from Erie that evening we talked about our day. I asked him if he wanted a bowl of chili, and he said his stomach felt a little off and he thought he would just go to bed early. I knew he had an appointment with a chiropracter first thing on Monday morning.

I was full of the sense of New Year's resolution and set my alarm before I went to bed. I intended to get up earlier than usual, get a bath, and start the day and the year off right! It went off at 7 AM, but I decided not to get up just yet. about 7:15 I awoke again, and it seemed to me that the house was cold, and I decided I did not need that bath too badly and could catch a few more winks before I HAD to get up for school.

7:45 Honk, honk, honk! I was awakened by the honking of a horn. The man who gave Snap a ride to work was there waiting for him! We had overslept, and it would be hurry, hurry, hurry, to get to the bus on time now. I rolled out of bed on my knees, said a quick prayer, and ran to the foot of the stairs to holler up the steps to wake up Snap and Glenn. (I slept downstairs in the bedroom between the kitchen and the living room).

From the foot of the stairs, I saw into the dining room that Daddy was sitting in the dining room reading his Bible, as he always did in the morning. He was dressed in his suit, and his top coat and hat were over the bannister in preparation for his appointment with the chiro. He appeared to be sleeping, which he sometimes did in that chair at other times of the day. "Dad, wake up! We have overslept!" No response, and I looked at him a little closer. His feet were extended out in front of the chair, and the toes were pointed inward, which looked unusual. Then I noticed that one part of his false teeth had fallen our and were laying on the front of his suit. "Dad, dad, wake up!" I looked to see if he was breathing, something I had done when I had seen people sleeping. Then instinct told me to reach out and put my hand on his forehead. Then I called to my brothers, "Oh, you guys, get down here! He's cold!" Snap showed up in the typical nighttime attire of a 19-year old and I said, "Your boss is out there waiting for you, let's tell him to come in." We went to the back porch and beckoned him, and he came to the porch and we told him what happened. He told Snap he did not need to come to work that day, and off he went. I don't know if he offered to help or not, but that's the extent of his input that I remember.

In crisis, there is always someone to call. My first thought was Aunt Bertha. So, 965-4181. No answer. Later I found out she and Uncle Max were still upstairs and could not hear the phone from up there. Next choice, Gertie, their daughter who lived behind them. 9654185. "Gertie, the most awful thing has happened. I just found Daddy dead." I can still hear her saying, "Oh, darling, I will be right down." (They lived 2 or 3 miles away) She must have told me she would call Dr. Bennar (there was no 911 in those days!) I remember her telling me not to touch him. She also called Jane Grady to tell her.

Oh, I thought, how can I tell Mother? Well, I will just do it. I went to the phone, dialed the number at Grandma Maud's. Mother happened to be in the kitchen and took the call, thinking it was the hospital calling that her father had died. But, no, it was me with a different message. I cannot remember what all she said, but I do know she had the presence of mind to tell me to get Ubel Funeral Home. (Gertie later took care of that call for us.). Mother was in Port Allegany, and said she would call Ben, her oldest son, who was working there in town. Snap called Punk in Wilcox. I called Ruth in Canada. She was about 5 months pregnant with Garrett at the time. Gertie later called Lois, who was in a college class.

There we were, three teenagers in the house with our father's body. We were anxiously looking out the windows for help to come. Some one pulled in, and lo, and behold, it was the Marhoefer breadman! He came two or three mornings a week, brought in a tray of his bread, doughnuts, and other goodies, and my mother would buy from him. At first, I thought, "Go away, I cannot talk to you!" but then I thought that we would probably make good use of a loaf of bread. Mother had left money behind so I decided I would get bread from him. He came in all cheerful and happy with a "Good morning!!". I don't think I was crying, but he could tell by looking at me that something was very wrong, and he said, "Not so good, huh?" I replied, "Well, sir, I just found my father dead in the next room." He began to kind of sputter and said, "Well, I guess that's life!" "No, sir," I said, "It's death!"I am not sure where the "sir" came from, because that wasn't a word we typically used, but it just came out that way. I told him I would take a loaf of bread, and gave him the money. When I was putting the change back into the little wallet Mother left for me, I am quite sure he short-changed me a nickel, but I remember thinking, I am not going to make an issue of it, it's not important! (Bread was under 50 cents in those days) Later that morning we found out that he was one of the managers who was substituting for the regular driver. His next stop was up the road at Kay Yonker's, and he was so rattled when he came into their house that they made him sit down until he could get himself settled. Kay later showed up at our house with food and helping hands. Her daughter was my playmate.

We were still waiting for real help. Glenn, 13, went over and picked up the accordian in the living room and began to play. "Oh, Glenn, how can you play the accordian?" He looked at me with such a look of anguish that I said, "Oh, go ahead and play!"

Finally, here came Gertie and Elbert, and I am pretty sure Aunt Bertha was along. I don't remember Uncle Max being there. At last, we had help. Soon, Dr. Bennar came. Had he been sick, he asked me. I said, "He had high blood pressure, but I think he was over that." He said, "My dear, you never get over high blood pressure." Later we would discover that Daddy's high blood pressure testing kit was all covered with dust, so he had not been taking it. I do not know if it was a heart attack or a stroke that killed him. Dr. Bennar reached out and took the open Bible from Daddy's hands and said, "The fifth chapter of John. That's a good chapter." (John 5 was our Bible study for the upcoming Wednesday night. I often wonder how far he got in the chapter before his call came.) Dr. Bennar called the coroner for us from our phone, and I remember him saying, "No, there is no evidence of foul play, I know the family well." Mother doctored with him for herself and us children, but my dad didn't doctor with much of anybody except the chiro.

I feel that it was merciful that I knew right away when I touched my dad that he was gone, and there was nothing I could do to help him. Those were the days before CPR and EMT's.

Somewhere along the line, Don and Jane and Martha Grady came. Ben, Ethel, young David, and Mom arrived from Port Allegany, but I told them not to bring little David in, and Mother opted not to come in, so they all went up to Aunt Bertha's. Punk and Dorothy also came, but I do not remember any details about that.

We were still waiting on the undertaker, whom Gertie had called. Finally, she called him again, and he said he was waiting on some help for him. She told him there were people there who would help him, so he finally came. Don Grady and Elbert Walters helped the man. They emptied his pockets of all the things that were pertinent to this life and put them on the dining room table. I did not watch, but stayed in the bedroom with the ladies. I do remember being aware of them carrying him through the kitchen and out the door.

(Years later, when Don died at home of cancer, and we went, I watched as the loaded him on the stretcher, and followed them out to the hearse. I was remembering what he did for us, and wanted to pay him tribute for that.)

The day of January 5, 1970 went on. And, life went on. We functioned in a state of shock, supported by God and the kindness of others. My Grandpa Joe Seyler died 13 days later. Ken arrived home safely from Viet Nam on April 30. On August 13, his father, Joe Grady, was raking up apples and had a heart attack and died. The next week we went to Newry convention, and on Friday night, my Uncle Max Bumpus got sick and died.

Such was life when I was 17. All these experiences are part of who I am, and I am grateful for the help of a very present God, and others whom He used, to hold up our hands.