Memories of Kenny

My Life with Kenny

Kenneth Wayne Farmer  (1960-2023)

Memories of Kenny
____________________ 

by Carolyn Farmer

It was very early in our dating - I'm guessing it was the summer of 2014. Although we had known each other since high school, we didn't start dating until March, 2014, after each of us had gone through painful divorces. But together, we overcame, kept each other company, and became each other's sounding boards.

I was working at St. Mark's Evangelical Lutheran Church at the time as organist and choir director. Kenny and I had volunteered to work that summer at Vacation Bible School (VBS). As a smaller congregation, our VBS was held in the evenings, most likely somewhere between 6:00 to 8:00. So Kenny and I firstly went out for dinner. For whatever reason, I decided to leave a review for the restaurant, and I started it with saying that I was having dinner with my best friend. Kenny picked up on this and did not let it go. Until we married a few years later, he always referred to me as his best friend.

After our dinner, we arrived at St. Mark's, and we went to work at our station, which was held on the newly renovated patio. Because our station was outside, we were in charge of the exploding diet coke bottle trick. This is where you put Mentos into the diet coke bottle, and it becomes a geyser. The kids loved it and so did Kenny. He was having a blast, and I was having fun watching him having a blast. He was very good with the kids.

I didn't have anything to do with planning VBS or the activities. Still, when the pastor saw what we were doing on "his" newly renovated patio, he also - like the coke bottle - erupted. 

One of the things that attracted Kenny to me - I'm sure of it - was my love of Star Trek. I was a huge trekkie growing up, but I had only ever watched The Original Series. He was excited to introduce me to all the newer Star Trek spin-offs. My favorite was Star Trek: Voyager. Kate Mulgrew and Jeri Ryan? Get out of here! We were so excited to watch everything together. In a previous blog, I had written that Kenny and I had watched every Star Trek ever made in order twice, and that is true. But we also watched it the first time out of order, starting with The Next Generation.

One of the first stories I told Kenny was about how I went through a phase, as a child, of trying to talk with a Russian accent like Lt. Chekov in The Original Series. My mother once asked me if we needed anything at the store, and I told her we needed bread. She asked what kind of bread to get, so I said - very confidently - Vonder Bread! And she was like, "What?" Kenny thought that story was hilarious. He also was very impressed that I could play on the piano by ear the song that Spock sang in the episode entitled Subspace Rhapsody.

After we were married, I decided one year to have my own birthday party, and so I invited my dear friend, Carol, along with my daughter and her fiancé to breakfast. The menu was one-sided. When my daughter arrived, she and her fiancé sat down and started to look at the menu. Kenny said to the table, "there's more options on the back of the menu," I, knowing Kenny pretty well by this time, was stoic and did not touch my menu. My daughter, however, believed him and turned her menu over and saw for herself that there was nothing on the other side. Kenny thought this was hilarious and so did Stephanie's fiancé. Strike one up for the boys!

At another time with Stephanie and Chris, the four of us were at Bob Evans for breakfast. Kenny got his usual biscuits and gravy with a side of bacon. And not just a side of bacon, but it had to be chewy bacon. We were all talking and having a good time and Kenny was munching away on his chewy bacon. Then, when that plate was empty and full of bacon grease, he poured the bacon grease into his gravy and stirred it up. Stephanie and I had the biggest, widest eyes, but Chris whispered into Stephanie's ear, "Let the man live." Then Chris turned to Kenny and said, "You now how to live, don't you?" And Kenny replied, "Yes, I do!"

Kenny was quite the character and was always just doing things. He would turn the lights off in a room if there wasn't anyone in it, even if you had just left for one moment to grab something. He had this sense when there was a light on in a room that no one was in. If you left that room, you'd come back to it in the dark. He also couldn't sort laundry to save his life. I can't tell you how many times I had to take the washcloths out of the dish towel drawer and take them to the bathroom. Or how many times he put his Deaconess Hospital pin code into our front door keypad. And he would just giggle and shake his head whenever he did this, because, of course, the Deaconess pin code didn't work at home.

He loved turning my pages when I was playing the organ or piano at church, even though I could've done it on my own just fine. I used those little post-it tabs to mark my places on the music and one Sunday, with huge grandeur, he grabbed that tab to turn my page. The tab, of course, came off, and my page didn't get turned. 

But more than anything, Kenny was good in a crisis. How many times did he swoop in and save the day? I can't count them. He loved his dogs and his tomatoes, and his big green egg. He loved to sing, and he was good at it. We spent many an evening just singing together in our living room.

It has almost been a year since he's been gone. I have done pretty well as a widow, thanks to my support groups - which consists of my friends, my family, my students, and my church. But as a memorial to my late husband, I have made a new subset for this blog called My Life with Kenny. I will remember him the best way possible by writing his stories as best as I can remember.

© 2024 by December Moonlight Publishing, LLC

My Day as a Guest at Crane Naval Base

Beautiful Martin County, Indiana

My Day as a Guest at Crane Naval Base
____________________

by Carolyn Ann Howard

Its been over ten years from the date of writing this post that I visited Crane Naval Base as their special guest. I have to confess that I didn't handle the event as I should have. My apologies to any whom I offended. Let me explain.

I spent many hours during the year of 2012 researching and writing Blood of My Ancestor. It was personal. My husband of 27 years had left me for another woman while, at the same time, I lost my good paying office job. This is the point where I went back to being a musician, a profession I never should've left to begin with. That's another story. I also had started researching my family tree and had stumbled upon my 2x grandaunt Adaline Cannon Lyon. Her story is what inspired me to write Blood of My Ancestor, because it is her story. The book is now out-of-print. In my grief, I pulled all my books after my third husband died.

But at the time of 2012, I was newly divorced and was finally working to write my first novel! This is what I had wanted to be from my youth - an author. And now, I was going to achieve that.

While researching for Blood, I ran into roadblock after roadblock. I had no idea what a controversial subject my Aunt Adaline was in her home county of Martin, Indiana. The historical society - run at that time by the "old guard" - would not let me research her life. They jammed the door of the records room shut so that I couldn't get in. They hid the coroner's statement and his report of her murder. They refused to let me look at any newspapers they might have had. I had to use Lawrence County's historical society as well as Washington, Indiana's library to get the information I needed to write the book. I learned, after I published the book, what push-back truly was, for I was highly criticized for daring to write a story that exonerated Adaline's husband, Joel Lyon, in her murder.

Something else. Adaline's original tombstone had been taken down and a new one erected. The person who did this spelled her name wrong - Adeline. I learned from Dale Carnegie's book How to Win Friends and Influence People that a person's name is the most important word to them, and that you need to get it right. That is something I've always carried with me. Not only that, this same person purchased a stone for Adaline's murderer with the caption "Come to the Hidden City." The connotation was that this murderer was in heaven and that his death was tragic, because it was his father's doing - not Arthur - that Adaline was murdered. This is the belief held by many people, but Joel did not murder his wife. His son Arthur did. I have proof, and I do now have the coroner's statement.

After I published the book, I was forced to take all the criticism and hate that came with it. I grew stronger for it. And then someone who was not offended by the book contacted me. She said, "First of all, I loved the book." This wonderful person was the wife of one of the higher-ups at Crane Naval Base. Her question was: Would I come to the naval base for a luncheon and book signing? Especially since Joel's home had been, prior to the construction of the base, behind it's gates? My answer was yes, of course!

In the meantime, I had met a man from Shoals, Indiana, named Neal Sheetz. He was an employee of Crane Naval Base and was very popular there. He was certainly popular with me. We had a whirlwind romance and married after only knowing each a little more than a month. Living with him on his 80-acre farm in Martin County was a dream come true, and he and I together wrote my second novel, Pioneer Stories. I could not have written it without him.

I don't remember a whole lot from over ten years ago, but I know the the day before the book signing, I had become ill with flu-like symptoms. It was in March, and I was pushing Vitamin C like crazy, trying to make myself well for the next day. Neal didn't understand that it was just Vitamin C, and he thought I was over-medicating. He became quite angry over it. I honestly think that he just didn't want me to go, because it was a Friday, and he was off that day. In hindsight, he could've gone with me. My Martin County friend, Marie Hawkins, was there, so I know Neal could've gone, too.

I had to get up very early the next morning. I was still sick, but I got ready anyway. The drive to Crane Naval Base took a bit longer than I thought it would. I don't know why. Neal drove it every morning and every evening, and I certainly knew how long it took him.

The security is tight at the naval base. I had to park my car off-site and was picked up by Cathy, who escorted me onto the base. This sign greeted me:

The book signing event was first, and I started my slide show. This was my offense: the slide show. I called out the man who had switched my Aunt Addie's stone with a new one, and who had spelled her her name incorrectly. I should not have done this, and I'm very sorry for it.

A lot of people who worked from Crane came to the book signing. Many of them came just to see the person Neal Sheetz was going to marry. It was me! I don't remember how many books I sold that morning, but that wasn't important to me at all. What was important was that Addie and Joel's story was being celebrated by so many people - in the very area where their story had taken place!

The details of that day are pretty sketchy in my head. It's been so long ago now, and I've been through so much more since that day. I remember it being a wonderful, wonderful day. After the book signing was the luncheon, attended by many, and then I did a presentation. I don't remember preparing for the preparation, and I don't remember what I said. It's not like me to not prepare, and surely I did, because I had slides to go with my talk. However, I also was in a new relationship that was going very fast, and I was commuting from Shoals to Evansville for work. I didn't have a lot of spare time right then. But I do remember that by the time of the luncheon, I had become well again. Was it the Vitamin C?

The best part came after the presentation, however. A select few of us, my friend Marie included, were driven from the event hall to the property where Joel and Addie had lived. Cathy had researched and was able to find the property. We also visited the cemetery where Joel was buried with his first wife, Malinda, and their son, Arthur, the murderer of my aunt Addie. It was emotional. Writing Blood of My Ancestor was emotional, and I cried over Adaline's death quite a bit. And now, here I was, where Joel and Adaline lived together. The log home with it's two box additions had been on the very property where I was standing. It was a bit overwhelming.

And then, it was over. Just like that. After our van returned to the event site, Cathy took me on a tour of the naval base and the residences. I don't think she wanted the day to be over, either. But then, around 4:00, I said my good-byes. I couldn't believe the day was over. Just like that. Just like that, I was back in my car, driving back to the farm in rural Shoals.

I don't remember Neal's reaction to the day. I think he was proud that I was his fiancé, for he knew how many people had come to see me because of him. (And perhaps a bit of time away from work!) I was just as proud of Neal, and I was happy to meet so many of his work friends. The day was certainly magical, and I would love to be able to do it again.

I wrote this blog post for my daughter. As a genealogist, author, and keeper of many people's family stories, I know that once someone has passed, they take their stories with them if they aren't written down. And so, I have written it down.

Many thanks to Crane Naval Base and its employees for giving me one of the most precious memories of my life. It was a wonderful day, and I'm very grateful for it.

All photos were taken by Crane Naval Base personnel and cleared by security. I have permission for their use in my blog posts.

© 2024 by December Moonlight Publishing, LLC

My Husband’s Final Three Days

My Life with Kenny

Kenneth Wayne Farmer  (1960-2023)

My Husband’s Final Three Days
____________________ 

by Carolyn Farmer

The University of Louisville Hospital, as you may have guessed, is a teaching hospital. Doctors round each day with their students, and it felt like Kenny had a different doctor every single day while he was there. Every single day, the diagnoses and prognoses would be different. I would send a text out telling everyone what the doctor had said and quite literally, the next minute, another healthcare worker would tell me something completely different. I believe the disconnect was the copious amount of wine Kenny had been drinking. Drinking oneself to death is pretty common, actually. I know it now, but not then. Nor was this a diagnosis some wanted to accept, and I understand. Even so, alcohol abuse was listed on his death certificate as the contributing cause of his death. His severe outbreak of psoriasis didn't help.

Friday, March 17, 2023

U of L is BUSY. The Neuro ICU, where Kenny died, was a bustling hub of activity. Still, everyone there was sure to be quiet, because it was the Neuro ICU. People are trying to recover and noise can hinder that recovery, particularly those with neurological disorders.  And so I sat with my husband, as I had been doing the past 3 weeks, quietly reading and talking to him, even though he was unresponsive. Lunch was sushi in the cafeteria. I have a laundry list of foods I cannot eat, and I was ever so grateful for that sushi. Afternoons again were for quiet reading. Noise of any kind was strictly prohibited.

I cannot drive in the dark, because I cannot see in the dark. And this was a particularly dark March, I felt, not to mention that Louisville is an hour ahead of Evansville. I wouldn't be able to get on the interstate from my hotel to the hospital until nearly 7 am, because of the dark. Believe me, I tried. I decided to drive in the dark to the hospital one morning, and it was a disaster. I will never do it again. I nearly wrecked the car and thank God for his grace, I didn't, but I came awfully close. In the afternoons, I would leave the hospital around 4, so that I could be in the hotel room and settled before the darkness set in.

Saturday, March 18, 2023

Saturday morning, I received great news!!! After many back-and-forth conversations, Kenny was approved for in-home hospice care. I was told to immediately leave for Evansville, where hospice would meet me, so that we could get the bedroom set up with a hospital bed and everything else I would need to take care of my husband. I was very excited on the drive home. Kenny was going to be able to come home! How grateful I was that he had finally been approved. I was going to bring Kenny home!

I wasn't back in Evansville for a minute when hospice called. The hospital, they said, had changed its mind - again. And then the hospital called to tell me that Kenny had taken a turn for the worst. That meant getting right back into the car and heading right back to the hospital - another 2-hour drive. Fortunately my daughter and future son-in-law decided to come get me and take me to the hospital, so that I wouldn't have to drive any more that day. And that's what we did. We drove back to Louisville.

I also had reached out to one of our church's vicars, Jason, to see if he could come deliver what you might call "last rites." I knew for certain by this time that my husband's death was imminent, and it was going to take place in Louisville. Jason was pleased, he said, to drive to Louisville to minister to my husband. When Jason got there, it was a quiet jubilation, a true celebration of Kenny's life and Kenny's Lutheran faith. We prayed together, Jason quietly played hymns on his phone, he blessed my husband, and "gave" him last communion - which, of course, Kenny could not ingest, so Jason improvised the best he could. The nurse thought Kenny would die the minute they took him off high-flow oxygen. So, while Jason was there, she turned it off. But he didn't die. He started breathing on his own.

After two hours, Jason headed back to Evansville. Later, Stephanie, Chris, and I got a hotel room together. We would go back the next morning to the hospital.

Sunday, March 19, 2023

Just a repeat of the same. Sitting with Kenny. Listening to him breathe. Praying. But Chris had to work the next morning, so we, unfortunately, had to leave the hospital later that afternoon. I was dependent on Chris for my transportation; I had no choice but to come back to Evansville. We had gotten to Corydon - about 40 minutes from the hospital - when the hospital called to tell us to please come back, because Kenny's passing was imminent. And so, we went back, but he wasn't passing. We sat with him nearly two more hours, but he looked exactly the same as when we had left the first time. Chris was desperate to get back to Evansville, because of his work. And so, we left once more. Kenny was not alone, however, because thankfully his children had come to be with him.

Once I got back to Evansville that Sunday evening, I checked in with Kenny's nurse several times, and I was assured that Kenny was going to live through the night. The nurse was positive of it. And so, I reserved a hotel room for the next evening and planned to once more head to Louisville the next morning as soon as it was light outside. Unfortunately, Kenny passed that evening. The nurse called to let me know.

Evansville is essentially a small town and gossip travels fast, especially on social media. People were and still are angry at me with how I handled my husband's illness and death. Some also didn't understand that U of L has a no tolerance policy for visitors who, in their grief, get a bit out of hand. People were demanding answers from me, and I just didn't have them. On those last 3 days, all I knew was that my husband indeed was going to die, and that I was going to become a widow. I didn’t have room for anything else. Not only that, the hospital didn't have the answers, either. Again, so much of what happened was disconnected. One day it was like this, and the next day it was like that.

I loved Kenny very much. He came back into my life at a time when I really needed him. And he needed me, too. I can't tell you how many hours I held onto that man while he was crying over his second wife leaving him. He never got over it, but he did get through it. I know how much Kenny did for me and is still blessing me to this day.

We only ended up with 9 years together as a couple, but in those 9 years, we were truly helpmates to each other. I miss Kenny dearly and will continue to miss him the rest of my life. But I know where he's at, and I know he's safe, and I know we will be together again, even though, if I could have my way, Kenny would walk through the front door this very minute.

© 2023 by December Moonlight Publishing, LLC

Kenneth Wayne Farmer, My Beloved Husband

My Life with Kenny 

Kenneth Wayne Farmer (1960-2023)

My Beloved Husband
____________________ 

by Carolyn Farmer

I met my third husband, Kenny Farmer, in 1977 when I was 16. We had just moved to Evansville, Indiana, and I enrolled for my junior year at Benjamin Bosse High School. Kenny and I were both in the jazz band, and we were friends. Not great friends, mind you, as I almost immediately hooked up with someone after moving here. But friends nonetheless.

After graduation, he went the way of finding a career as a union electrician while I myself went onto college. And that was that. When Facebook came along, though, Kenny friended me, and we had a ball catching up - through Facebook - not only remembering all the things that happened during jazz band at Bosse, but also everything that had happened the past 40 years since. And once again, that was that.

It wasn't until 2014 that we found each other once again. My second husband had filed for divorce and Kenny's second wife had left him. We were both lost and were both seriously pretty beat up. It made sense for us to get together and try to help each other through. And that's what we did. And we had a blast - not only reminiscing about our high school days but also talking through an entire lifetime of things that had happened since. We were a good match. We both loved to sing. We both loved going to church. We loved the same kind of TV shows and the same kinds of foods. We found that we had the same sense of humor. We were both Trekkies, and we watched every single Star Trek episode ever made IN ORDER. Not once but TWICE. Our chemistry together just worked.

I was working at St. Mark's Lutheran as organist and choir director at the time we got together, and it was a very good job. Kenny was going to Redeemer Lutheran, and he asked if I would quit St. Mark's and accompany him full-time to Redeemer. I had to think about it long and hard, because it was a good sum of money that I'd be walking away from. But he promised he would support me financially, and with that, I joined Kenny in the music program at Redeemer. It was magical. Honestly, it really was. Watch Kenny sing a small portion of "This Little Light of Mine" in this short clip with the Redeemer choir. I am first row, way over in the corner, in a black sweater and white pants, standing next to my dear friend, Monica Karsten.

It wasn't long after that Kenny asked me to move in with him. My daughter needed a place to call home anyway, and this was the perfect solution. Stephanie could live in the house I own with her boyfriend, and I could live with my friend, Kenny. We had become inseparable as it were, so I was glad to be able to be with him day and night. This arrangement continued for a while.

It was during this time that I wrote my third and last novel. It was also during this time that Kenny and I started The Uplifters Choir.  Our goal with the choir was to sing at a nursing home at least once a month, particularly to the homes that care for the Alzheimer's patients. Kenny's mom had Alzheimer's by this time, so it was something very dear to his heart. The Uplifters Choir was a smashing success, and Kenny and I had so much fun just being with these wonderful people, going out to eat with them and singing together. (Click on photos to enlarge.)

The Uplifters sing Heaven Bound. Notice Kenny at about the 2:08 mark, and you'll see for yourself how much he loved to sing!

I was so proud that Kenny was a union electrician working out of IBEW Local Union 16. He spent most of his 38 years as an electrician at Mel-Kay Electric. I loved hearing the stories of the old days when Mel Kallenbach was the head guy, who had founded Mel-Kay Electric in 1951. Kenny always spoke with such nostalgia about how hard the "old guys" were on him as a young man. He looked forward to the days when he would be one of the "old guys." I didn't quite understand then how much his entire identity was wrapped up in being a union electrician. I understand it now, unfortunately, very well.

Kenny and I continued on with our life together, eventually marrying in 2017. 

We got a cat together.

We went to the IBEW/JATC dinners - what fun!

And this was our life together. We sang together, even at home. He cooked meals for me, and I cooked meals for him. He always lamented that we didn't get together in high school. He loved me very much, and I loved him back just as much.

Kenny was also very proud of the three books I had written, and he always accompanied me to all those events. He was such a great helper, setting everything up for me. Every single time.

In 2018, I decided I would like a last hurrah as an organist at a church. Concordia Lutheran Church on the north side of Evansville, at the same time, was looking for an organist. I applied, and Kenny and I started going there together. Their set-up was much different than Redeemer, in that the organist is on the same floor as the congregation and could be seen by most of the congregation. I have never been one to have a page turner, but Kenny wanted to turn my pages. So I let him. He enjoyed being seen, so he loved it. He would secretly record my playing on his phone. And everyone at Concordia absolutely loved Kenny, and we thrived there.

You can't see his face in this short video clip, but you can hear his beautiful voice. He is in the turquoise.

Before the pandemic hit, Kenny and I went to Martin County, Indiana, and spent the entire weekend with some of my cousins. It was truly a magical weekend.

And then the pandemic hit. Kenny and I were very careful, more careful than most, I think. We still got Covid together in December, 2020. He was sicker than I, but he recovered. To this day, I still cannot smell. My daughter - Kenny's bonus daughter - took care of us. She went to the store for us and made sure we had everything we needed. The price she paid was getting sick with Covid herself.

Kenny spent a lot of time with my daughter, Stephanie. He loved her fiercely and she loved him the same. He saved her 21st birthday party after having been dumped by her long-time boyfriend. He took us to Louisville, and we ate at Joe's Crab Shack. She usually came over on Sundays and spent the afternoon/evening with Kenny and I, and, after she enrolled in Ivy Tech to become a chef, she started cooking for us as well. We called it "Sunday Dinner," and Kenny looked forward to it every week.

Kenny was so proud when Stephanie graduated and became a bona fide Chef. (Note on the photo: I gained 20 pounds sitting on the couch with my husband!)

This is Stephanie's tribute tattoo in memory of the only man she called Dad. Kenny loved his big green egg, and he loved his tomato plants.

Somewhere around 2021, Kenny and I made the decision to leave Concordia, and we weren't sure where we were going to land. Of course, we wanted to go back to Redeemer, but again, we were the careful ones. We watched Redeemer on-line for a time, but then, finally, early in 2022, we went back in person. I also started to notice at this time a mental decline in my husband. He was getting confused at things that shouldn't be confusing. I would tell him a grand story with much animation, and he would answer with "OK." He had become forgetful, and, to that end, he started declining at work. His work. His 38 years as a union electrician, and he wasn't getting the job done anymore. He had become moody and was snapping at people, so much so, that they told him over the phone - and I heard it - that "nobody wants to work with you anymore." This upset him greatly.

I also asked him to change out light fixtures in the kitchen of the home I own. He couldn't do it. He was looking all over the house for the instructions on how to change the light fixtures out. A union electrician of 38 years was looking for instructions on how to change out a simple light fixture.

And then, in August 2022, Mel-Kay laid him off permanently. He just wasn't getting the job done. An estimator, for example, might tell the client that the job would take 2 days, and it was taking Kenny 5 to get it done. And they weren't very nice about it, either. It was pretty much "don't let the door hit you on the way out." And I get it. I know that a company has to make money, and that the estimates have to be correct or they'll lose credibility. Believe me, I get it. But how about this? Thanks for 38 years. We're having a retirement party for you on Wednesday after work. We'll provide all the food. And here's an engraved watch! A huge thank you and shout out for 38 years of service! Happy retirement, Kenny! You deserve it! How about that? There was nothing. It was "Here's your final check. Goodbye."

Kenny was devastated. He talked for three weeks on the phone to anyone who would listen about how wronged he had been. And then an offer to work for the city came through! All was saved! Or so it seemed for a little while. Kenny, however, was unable to pass the physical. And then, his psoriasis came back with a vengeance, and the doctor seemingly could not help him to get rid of it. He was doing light therapy, and all it was doing was burning his skin. He went to see our nurse practitioner, and I'm kicking myself to this day for not going with him, but he didn't like me going to the doctor with him. I have no idea what happened at that appointment, but nothing was done to help. Kenny was a very good actor, though.  If he wanted her to think that nothing was wrong, he could make her think that. With great ease.

But more than that, Kenny was drinking. A lot. In the mornings, he had started to pour glasses of wine, and sat on the couch all the day long, watching TV. This started occurring on a daily basis. From the time he got up in the morning to the time he went to bed, he would drink. Even in the middle of the night, I might get up to pee, and there he was, sitting on the couch, drinking.

Let me clarify, since I was told after his death that Kenny didn't drink wine but only beer. (I was also told that he didn't drink.) I'm a wine drinker. I love wine, and I don't like beer. Kenny and I would have a few glasses of wine together before bed, and so, he became a wine drinker. But this was different. He began to drink so much that he was drunk all day long. He would nap, and then get up and drink some more. He stopped eating. He stopped going out, except to buy more wine. He stopped doing anything except going to church. He always wanted to go to church, even though he could hardly muster the energy to even shower. I tried to make his favorite foods, but he just wasn't interested. I bought an RV hoping we could travel together since he was forced to retire. He was excited about it at first, but when it came time to actually doing the travel, he wasn't interested.

I pleaded with him. I begged. And then, when that didn't work to get him off the couch,  I decided that I would be the best wife I could possibly be under the circumstances and just love him the best I could, take care of him best I could, and to be kind no matter what. Even when he was so intoxicated, he was unable to get off the floor. And Kenny was fairly heavy. There certainly was no way I would ever be able to get that much dead weight off the floor. I would have to wait for him to sober up enough to get himself up. Besides, he was combative anytime I did try to help.

I started sitting down with him everyday in the afternoon and watching TV with him on the couch until it was time for bed. We watched the entire One Chicago series from the beginning, and I believe that's saying something! We watched Jeopardy on a daily basis. And Yellowstone. And Shark Tank. And he absolutely loved watching Pawn Stars. He was so looking forward to the third season of "Picard." I would tell him every morning what time I would be able to sit down with him and watch TV that particular day. And when that time came, he would holler to me saying, "Let's get to watching!"

And that's what we did every afternoon and every evening for months until the day I was forced to call an ambulance. He didn't want to go in the ambulance, either. He was very combative, yelling and resisting, that the paramedics had to restrain him. They were, at least, nice about it.

At first, when St. Vincent life-flighted Kenny to Louisville, I was hopeful that I would bring him home. After a few days, I realized the man I would bring home was going to be mentally deficient. I was ready and willing to take care of him no matter what. But after three weeks with no improvement whatsoever, the doctor told me they wanted to put him back on the ventilator for the third time, which was going to lead to a tracheotomy, and that he would never be able to eat again. Because the fluids kept building up in his lungs, they needed to continually suction the fluids off, which was obviously quite painful for Kenny. The nurse had to put the suction pretty far down his throat, and his eyes would get so big every time they did it - once every few hours. He would look at me with those eyes, and I felt like he was asking for help to make it stop. He had become nonverbal by this time, and the way he communicated with me was with his eyes. They continued to poke and prod him, pricking his fingers, trying to find ways to get blood from veins that kept collapsing. At one point, they came in and put leads all over his head, looking for signs of a stroke. I finally said no more. Hospice wholeheartedly agreed with me. It was hospice, with my permission, who took him off all the machines, and we allowed him to die with dignity.

The doctors were unsure of what was wrong with him. They knew his condition was caused by excessive alcohol consumption - sometimes Kenny would drink an entire box of wine in a single day - 170 ounces of alcohol. But exactly what was wrong, they were unsure. And I'm pretty sure that is consistent with a patient who has drank way too much alcohol for way too long. I was told time and time again, usually in amazement, about how full he was of alcohol when he was first admitted.

Early in his hospitalization, he had actually been taken out of the ICU and put onto a regular floor, but that only lasted a few hours. The doctors believed that the stress of what he was going through caused him to have a stroke, maybe even a series of strokes, but they could not confirm it. He was quickly taken back to the ICU after that, and that is where he would die, even though I begged them to let me bring him home. The two-hour drive, even in an ambulance, they said, would just be too hard on him.

I'm not sure exactly how relationships work in heaven, but Jesus did say that at the resurrection, people will not marry. I have made the decision, however, that I will not remarry. And when my last breath here on earth occurs, I do want to see Jesus. But I also am looking forward to being with Kenny again, singing together once more with my husband and definitely going to church together.

Kenny's last words to me were, "I will never leave you." He said those words to me right before he had the probable stroke that left him unable to speak ever again. And he was right. Kenny is still in my heart, and the memories I have of him will continue to be with me until the day I see him again.

© 2023 by December Moonlight Publishing, LLC

Seaman John Raymond Lyon (1899-1918)

The Lyon Family of Martin County, Indiana

Seaman John Raymond Lyon (1899-1918)

____________________ 

by Carolyn Ann Howard

John Raymond Lyon was born 03 Oct 1899 to Joel Campbell Lyon and his wife, Adaline Cannon Lyon. He was Addie's eldest son with Joel, born in Goldsberry Hollow in Brown Township in Martin County, Indiana. This land is now behind the gates of NWSC Crane, called Crane Naval Base by the locals. I know very little about Ray's life growing up, or why he decided to sign up for the Navy.

Ray suffered a devastating loss in 1903 when his mother was murdered in cold blood by her husband's eldest son, Arthur. Addie's three young children were all witness to the murder. Joel found Addie just minutes later. The Lyon family, however, save for Arthur, were tight-knit. Joel's daughters, Sarah and Gertrude, were instrumental in helping to rear the three young children that Addie left behind.

Indeed, it seems that all the young men in Goldsberry Hollow were close to one another. We know that Joel's second son, Ed, did odd jobs in and around the area, including in Shoals and Loogootee, Indiana. Ray may have learned machinist skills from helping his half-brother with these odd jobs. It may also be due to their father having been killed in the 1915 tornado that devastated the area of Goldsberry Hollow. The house where he lived with his father, nieces and half siblings was totaled because of that tornado.

Ray enlisted with the Navy as a Machinist's Mate (MM) 07 Jan 1917. According to the web site Careers in the Military, a Machinist's Mate had many jobs. Machinist's Mates operate, maintain, and repair ship propulsion machinery, auxiliary equipment and outside machinery. [1] This is just to name a few of what his duties were.

In April that same year, U.S. President Woodrow Wilson requested from Congress a declaration of war with Germany. Thus, the United States entered into World War One. After that occurred, Ray was assigned to the ship U.S.S. Rhode Island. According to Wikipedia, the U.S.S. Rhode Island became the flagship of the Battleship Division 3, Atlantic Fleet. The crew of the ship also underwent extensive training to bring everyone to combat readiness before being assigned to patrolling off the coast of Maryland, specifically Tangier Island. [2] Click on photos to enlarge

U.S.S. Rhode Island BB-17
Public Domain via Wikipedia

This is where Ray became ill. It was prior to the pandemic that began in or around March, 1918, but his illness was certainly a precursor to that pandemic. He got sick while on board and was taken to the Naval Hospital at League Island, Pennsylvania. I have searched on-line for pictures of this hospital and have been unsuccessful. The hospital itself didn't open until 1917, locating itself on the property of the Philadelphia Naval Yard on League Island. As the pandemic continued to grow, temporary structures and field hospitals were built. [3]

Ray died from lobar pneumonia 23 January 1918. He was 18.

His body was shipped home to Martin County, Indiana, and he was buried next to his mama in the Mt. Calvary Cemetery. Later, his sister Carrie petitioned for a military stone, which was granted.

John's Find-A-Grave memorial is here. (Link opens in a new window.)

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1, “Careers in the Military.” Careers in the Military, www.careersinthemilitary.com/service-career-detail/navy/marine-equipment-mechanics/machinist's-mate. Accessed 20 Nov 2022.

2. “USS Rhode Island (BB-17).” Wikipedia, Wikimedia Foundation, 24 Oct. 2022, en.wikipedia.org/wiki/USS_Rhode_Island_(BB-17). Accessed 20 Nov 2022.

[3] “Naval Hospital League Island, PA..” Naval Hospital League Island, PA. - Navy Unit Directory - Together We Served, navy.togetherweserved.com/usn/servlet/tws.webapp.WebApp?cmd=PublicUnit&type=Unit&ID=22697. Accessed 20 Nov 2022.

© 2023 by December Moonlight Publishing, LLC

Carrie Mae Lyon (1901-1972)

The Lyon Family of Martin County, Indiana

Carrie Mae Lyon (1901-1972)
____________________ 

by Carolyn Ann Howard 

Carrie Mae Lyon was born 29 July 1901 to Joel Lyon and his third wife, Adaline Cannon Lyon. Joel's other two wives were deceased by the time of his marriage to Adaline. Because of the brutal murder of Adaline in 1903, Carrie probably knew very little about her mom, even though she was present at the time of the murder, as an infant. My hypotheses is that she was reared not only by her father, who didn't marry again after the murder, but also by her stepsisters, Sarah and Gertrude Grace. Sarah and Gertrude were very close with their father. Carrie was born in a little hamlet called Goldsberry Hollow or "Holler" as the locals say. This was located in Brown Township in Martin County, Indiana. By the way, Adaline's murderer was Carrie's step-brother, Joel's eldest son, Arthur. He killed himself 5 days later.

The first census we have for Carrie is 1910. She was listed as living with her father there in Brown Township. Joel's daughter, Gertrude, was with them as "Gertie." She was listed as married. Indeed, she was also listed on the 1910 census Mitcheltree Township in Martin County, Indiana, along with her husband and two children, Alma and Mable. Those two little girls were also on the 1910 census with their grandfather, Joel. It has been my observation that neither Sarah nor Gertie had the ideal marriage nor the "traditional" type of household. It seems like, after their stepmother's murder, they felt obligated to care for the three babies she left behind. Carrie's brothers were also on the 1910 census - John and Everett.

Joel Lyon's 3 beautiful children with my grand aunt Adaline
Carrie is on the left
Photo courtesy of Beth Willis

I have often wondered how Carrie made it out of childhood without serious mental trauma, but I really think it was her stepsisters as well as her brothers who made it happen. It seemed to be one tragedy after another, for Carrie's father was killed when a brutal tornado went through Goldsberry Hollow in 1915. It not only took Joel Lyon's life, but it also leveled their beautiful home. And then, in 1918, her eldest brother, John, died from pneumonia at a naval hospital in Pennsylvania. He had been a sailor with the U.S. Navy. So, at the age of 16, she had already lost both of her parents, a brother, and a step-brother.

I don't know how she met her husband, Wayne Bogard. It might be that she was living in Washington, Indiana, after her childhood home had been destroyed from the storm. The children didn't rebuild, although I think it was her step-brother George "Ed" who ended up with it. I have a query in at the Martin County Historical Society concerning this and will update this blog as soon as I find anything out about that. It also occurred to me that her brothers did odd jobs in construction. Wayne Bogard also worked in construction.

Carrie Lyon with her brother Everett
She has the build of a Cannon, just like her mother did
Taken shortly after her marriage to Wayne
Courtesy of Jim Lyon Family Collection with many thanks

Carrie and Wayne were married in December 1918 in Washington, Indiana. In the 1920 census, Wayne was a "concrete worker" at "concrete yard." He would be in this line of work his entire life. It makes me happy to know that Carrie understood that her father was born in New Jersey. On her death certificate, the informant, which was one of her children, didn't know her mother's maiden name. He also stated that her father was Joseph Cline. He really was Joel Lyon. Carrie's mother-in-law was a Cline. There are 4 different Bogard households on their census page. Carrie was 7-8 months pregnant for this census. They lived at 1308 East Grove Street in Washington.

Wayne and Carrie's first child, Wayne II, was born 29 Feb 1920.  How happy her father, Joel, would have been to have yet another grandson. Joel loved children. Carrie would go on to have 6 children who lived to adulthood: Wayne II, Norman, Mardenna, Noel, Joan, and Wilma. Her daughter, Geneva, who was born 01 May 1926, died 11 months later of measles. What a sad occurrence for any mother. Measles vaccines weren't available until 1963.

Something very interesting occurred in the 1930 census. Wayne and Carrie Bogard were no longer in Washington. Indiana. They, along with their living children, were in Parker Township, Clark County, Illinois on page 3! Wayne was listed as a "laborer" on a "general farm". On page 5, we have Carrie's step-sister, Gertrude, living with her third husband, Andrew Barbee, and her daughter from her first marriage, Helen. Helen, who was born in or around 1912, had gotten scarlet fever as an infant that left her blind and hard-of-hearing. She had other disabilities as well, but I don't understand fully her condition. I do know that she was loved. On page 10 is Carrie's niece, Gertrude's daughter, Alma, living with her husband and their three children. I have no idea why Wayne and Carrie would have moved to Clark County, Illinois or what might have been occurring with Gertrude that may have needed their help.

Wayne and Carrie were back in Washington, Indiana by 1935, according to the 1940 census.

In 1939, more tragedy struck. Wayne and Carrie's son, Wayne II, ran over a bicyclist with his car, who died. In the Washington Herald of 07 July 1939, the accident was THE headline. "BOY ON BICYCLE FATALLY INJURED." It's been a long time since I took Highway 57 into Washington, Indiana. With the building of Interstate 69, it's just now a straight shot from Evansville. I don't remember a hill, either, but that, too, could've been leveled since 1939. At any rate, a bicycle was slowly going up a steep hill. Do you remember going up steep hills on your own bike? It's been a long time since I've been on a steep hill on a bike, but I remember swinging side to side first on my left and then on my right, just trying to get the momentum going. Wayne Bogard II just so happened to be behind that bicycle in his car with another friend, who was riding in the passenger seat. Wayne said, "[the bicyclist] was weaving slightly back and forth as he rode slowly up the hill," and the bicyclist came over in front of his car, and Wayne hit him. The boy died at the hospital a short time later. I'm sure Carrie was just beside herself over it.

When I was first married in the early 1980s, I worked at Target on the north side of Evansville, Indiana. To get home, I had to drive my little Datsun up a steep hill that ended with a stop light. I hated that stop light, because I'd have to be on my brakes and on the gas at the same time to be able to "go" when the stop light turned green and not roll backwards down the hill. It was very much of a jalopy, that car. I don't imagine the car Wayne was driving that fateful day in 1939 was much better, as cars were still quite new. I remember my late father talking about their car as a child in the 1930s and how they would have to get out and push it whenever they came to a hill. 

The deceased boy's mother filed a lawsuit against Wayne II for personal damages, asking for $5325. She was awarded $2500 after Wayne defaulted, not attending the trial. I'm guessing he was busy with his Air Force duties at the time, but I have no idea why he didn't attend. He may not even have been stateside at that time. All the information about the accident came from the Washington, Indiana newspapers, which are available at NewspaperArchives.com.

On the 1940 census record, we learn that Carrie only had a fourth-grade education. That is better than some in her generation. Wayne completed eighth grade. They lived on Veale Creek Road, and their home value was $2,000. Pretty good for 1940. In 2023, Washington has no Veale Creek Road, but on Google Maps, I see a Veale Creek Church and a Veale Creek Theater. The old Veale Creek Baptist Church Cemetery is on Indiana State Highway 257. On this census, Wayne was listed as a contractor of "building construction." His worker class was "own account," which means he was self-employed. Their eldest, Wayne II, was, as stated before, away from the home serving in the military. The next eldest, 17-year old Norman, was working as a gas station attendant. Mardenna, 16, was doing housework in a private home.

In 1941, Carrie's son, Noel, was hit by a car. Noel was 12 at the time. This accident was on the front page of the Washington [Indiana] Democrat. The headline that same day was "Soviets Slow Down Nazi Advance." What a terrifying time! The article stated that Noel hurt his knees and that the bicycle had some damage as well.

Then the unspeakable happened. Carrie lost her 43-year-old husband to heart disease. I couldn't find a long obit which floors me, as I'm sure the Bogards were prominent citizens of Washington. A short obit in the Evansville, Indiana newspaper yields no new information. Wayne left behind two daughters at home, 10-year-old Joan and 7-year-old Wilma.

In the 1950 census, Carrie is in Indianapolis, living with her daughter, Mardenna, along with Joan and Wilma. Clues as to how they got there, though, are not forthcoming. It may be that it was a family decision to move there, as Norman and Noel followed.  Wayne would eventually get there as well. A search on NewspaperArchive - because they are the ones that have the Washington, Indiana newspapers - give a few clues. In 1944, Carrie and Mardenna attended Wayne II's ceremony where he received his pilot's wings and commission. They returned home to Washington. In 1945, a short blurb states that Mardenna was back in Washington after visiting Wayne II in Texas.

Mardenna had married a soldier, Oral Collins, 13 Jul 1940. They were stationed in California, and she filed for divorce in San Bernadino 24 Jan 1942, right before the death of her father. She may never have gone back to San Bernadino after her father died, taking care of her mother instead. I'm sure this was a godsend to Carrie, and perhaps to Mardenna as well. One can't know for sure what goes on behind closed doors, but it doesn't appear that this marriage was going great. Ancestry, however, shows that Mardenna married Oral once more in 1957. Ancestry has documentation that she then married Louis Salvaggio  09 Mar 1958 and also Richard Hayes on 23 Dec 1958. Talk about a whirlwind! We'll have to dive into all that at a later date! So interesting!

Back to the 1950 census, Mardenna was listed as divorced, waiting tables in a cafe. Carrie was "at home." Joan, 17-years-old, worked in "hosiery manufacturing." The youngest, 15-year-old, Wilma was listed with no occupation.

And, once again, that's about it for documentation on Ancestry. How I wish we had the 1960 census records, too! I have a few city directory entries for Carrie, but all-in-all, it looks like she did really well, even though I'm sure she missed her husband greatly. Her two sons, Noel and Norman, were also in Indianapolis having started United Home Improvements, Inc., working as contractors. Ah! They followed in the footsteps of their father. Carrie started drawing her Social Security at 65, and I'm positive that she was surrounded by her family most of the time.

Carrie's son, Noel, in his obituary, it is stated that he had a boat in Cape Coral, Florida. Apparently the family frequented this location, and Noel never seemingly turned anyone down for a boat ride. How fun!

Carrie died 15 May 1972 in Indianapolis at St. Francis Hospital of heart disease. She was 70, and the last of her five siblings and step-siblings to go.

In loving memory of Joel Lyon (1853-1915) and Adaline Cannon Lyon (1872-1903). Their descendants are grateful, and Joel and Addie would have been very proud.

© 2023 by December Moonlight Publishing, LLC

Arthur "Edward" Pfingston (1882-1967)

 John Heinrich Pfingston Family Line

Arthur "Edward" Pfingston (1882-1967)

____________________

by Carolyn Ann Howard

Arthur "Edward" Pfingston was born, he stated on his World War II draft registration, on "Green River Island" in Kentucky in 1882. That already is interesting. Located on the banks of the Ohio River, it may have been, at one time, an actual island. Present day, however, it is home to Ellis Park Racing and is the area just before you cross the south bridge taking you over the Ohio River into Henderson, Kentucky.  The area before you get to the Twin Bridges feels like Indiana, but it is definitely Kentucky. In fact, in 1890, Indiana sued Kentucky for the land, resulting in a Supreme Court hearing. The Supreme Court sided with Kentucky, stating that the river's ebb and flow throughout the years had caused boundaries to be changed physically. [1] Click on photos to enlarge.

Looking North from The Twin Bridges
Ellis Park is in the background
The Ohio River is on the left
Photo Courtesy Google Maps
Proper Attribution Given

Pop, as he was affectionately known, was the son of John Lewis Pfingston and Emma Beach. Two years prior to his birth, in the 1880 census, John Lewis and Emma lived with quite a conglomeration of people. On the 1880 census, we have as head of the family William Beach, Pop's grandfather, listed as a farmer, along with his wife and 6 children. After that are 2 borders, whose occupation was "works on farm." Then we have Pop's father, John Lewis Pfingston, along with his wife and daughter. He was also listed as a farmer. Then Mary Reece, who was listed as a daughter, but she wasn't. She might have been a cousin. Then we have another boarder who "works on farm." The next family to be listed on the census is Lewis Beach, also listed as a farmer, along with his wife and children. That is why I think that the Pfingstons and the Beaches were working a huge farming operation. On a side-note, all of the adults are listed as being illiterate. Illiteracy was a huge problem at this time with the rural farmers, and they were embarrassed that they were unable to read or write. District schools would soon fix this problem for the younger ones.

The first document we have for Pop is the 1900 census record. The family was living in "Upper Henderson County." Pop's father, John Lewis, had done really well for himself, working his own big farm. They had 3 farmhands living with them. The two younger ones could read and write; the older one could not. However, each child has had 3 months of school, and everyone in the household, except for the younglings and the older farmhand, can read and write. Yay! Pop's dad rented the farm, but even so, he looks to be pretty successful.

On 02 Aug 1903, 21-year-old Pop married his second cousin, Flora Alice Vogt, who was 15. Their common ancestor was Pop's paternal great-grandfather, Johann Heinrich Pfingston. This man, according to other Ancestry family trees, came to Evansville, Indiana from Hannover, Germany. For my readers unfamiliar with my neck of the woods, Evansville and Newburgh, Indiana, and Henderson and the ghost town Scuffletown, Kentucky are all so close together, that today they are adjacent to each other. The only thing that separates the Indiana and Kentucky cities is the Ohio River. And so, the Evansville, Newburgh, Henderson and Scuffletown Pfingstons all are descended from Johann Heinrich Pfingston, as far as I have been able to tell. Flora, who was lovingly called Mom, and Pop's marriage announcement was posted in the Evansville Journal. It is quite likely that they lived with Flora's mom, as was the custom at that time. She lived, funnily enough, on Lover's Lane, close to Green River Road, very near to the Ohio River.

By the time of the 1910 census, Pop and Mom were in Scuffletown, Indiana with the rest of the rabble. It is funny how Pop's brother, John Louis Pfingston, spoke so fondly of the place where he grew up and how not so fondly my mother remembered it.

I've written about Scuffletown before on this blog, the main post being here. (Link opens in a new window.) It was a drinking town, a rowdy, rambunctious, drinking town full of riverboat men. My grandmother bragged about how much alcohol was sold in their store - well, it wasn't their store. They ran it, but it belonged, as did most everything in Scuffletown, to one man: Will Dempewolf. The Pfingstons ran the ferry that went back and forth from Scuffletown to Indiana at a place called Cyprus Beach, where the impressive Newburgh Locks and Dam now stand. And with that, many of my relatives on my mother's side were at Scuffletown, making their livings, laughing, learning at the new school, and, for my mother, somehow being traumatized. She took her refuge with Mom and Pop.

From L to R
Mom, my grandmother Anna Bell, my mom, Pop
On the front porch of my grandmother's house
In or around 1957
Carolyn Ann Howard Family Collection

Pop did what all young men were required to do in 1917, he registered for the draft. On his draft registration, he stated he lived in Reed, Kentucky, which is very close to Scuffletown. Since he was a farmer, this makes sense that he didn't live "in town." For his next-of-kin, he didn't list his wife but his mother, Emma. Interesting. His height was 5' 6" with brown hair and dark eyes.

Pop lost two sisters after this, Sally in November, 1918, and Hattie in February, 1919. I don't have any information on Sally, but Hattie died from peritonitis from a ruptured gall bladder, according to her death certificate. My mind immediately goes to the Spanish Flu anytime an ancestor has died between the years 1918-1920.

In the 1920 census, Pop and Mom were still at Scuffletown. The census record says "Point." That was another name for the town at that time. They are there with their children: Ellwood, my grandmother Anna Bell, Harry, and Owen. A daughter, Hazel, had already died in infancy. Poor Mom. Pop was still farming.

Pop's father, John Lewis, died 07 Jan 1924 at the age of 65 of stomach cancer. This was so common at the time. Canned goods, lack of refrigeration, and lack of government regulation over foods were just part of the problem. After his father's death, Pop's mom, Emma, moved permanently into the home of her daughter, Percie, who lived in Evansville.

In the 1930 census, we learn from that "E" in the column "work class," that Pop ran his own farm. The "E" stands for "employer." He's there on the census with Mom and just Owen. Anna Bell and Harry are married by now, but where is Ellwood? Here's the census record problem with Ellwood. In the 1910 census, it shows him as being born in the 1906-1907 time frame. But then in 1920, it shows him as being born in the 1916-1917 time frame. My only guess is that the census enumerator misunderstood Ellwood's age, that he was 15 and not 5 in 1920, and that his birth date of 22 Nov 1906 is absolutely correct. Ellwood wasn't there in 1930, because he was married and out on his own. (Click on photos to enlarge.)

L to R: Pop, Mom, Mom's Sister, Daughter Anna Bell
Carolyn Ann Howard Family Collection

Mom and Her Sister
1961
Carolyn Ann Howard Family Collection

Big changes were in store for the residents of Scuffletown, for it had been decided in 1932 to build a bridge between Evansville, IN and Henderson, KY. Most everyone was excited about the bridges, the Evansville Courier and Journal touting that, because of the bridges, "[Evansville] Now Nerve Center of Great Economic Empire." [2] According to Bob Schaub, quoted by Brad Awe in the University of Southern Indiana's Archives, Evansville's county of Vanderburgh contributed one-fourth of the cost needed to construct the bridges. Indiana put up another fourth. The bridge, in it's entirety, is located in Kentucky. The total cost of the bridge: $2,142,876. [3] 

I'm guessing the Twin Bridges might be what drove Pop Pfingston and his three sons to Evansville, for by 1933, they were all in a house together at 505 N. Weinbach Avenue. And it could be that they needed his farmland for the bridges. I'm just speculating here. I don't know what goes into building bridges and how much land is required. But I do know that Pop and his boys came to Evansville. The sons got jobs at the refrigerator factory called Servel. Pop had various jobs listed in the city directories that we have of that decade between the 1930s and 40s: laborer, carpenter, farmer. My feeling is that he was helping to take care of his mother, who lived with his sister, Percie, just a mile away at 1121 E. Virginia Street. She lived so close that he could've walked. I don't know which one of them owned the house on Weinbach, whether it was Pop or one of his sons.

Early in the year of 1937, the Ohio River overflowed, flooding our four sister cities, Evansville, Newburgh, Henderson, and Scuffletown. It has been said that this flood was the death of Scuffletown. Pop's brother, John Louis, worked tirelessly through the night transporting people and animals on his ferry from Scuffletown to Newburgh. His transcribed interview is here. (Link opens in new window.) According to a Wikipedia article on that great flood, the water at Evansville rose to 54 feet. I know that Pop had a boat, because he was an avid fisherman. I don't know if he kept it at his house, but I hope he did so that he could get around. What a heartbreak that must have been, especially the harrowing rescue his brother did at Scuffletown. (Click on photos to enlarge.)

Franklin Street Evansville After the Flood
Courtesy Historic Evansville via USI Special Collections

Pop in Boat
Carolyn Ann Howard Family Collection

Pop's mother, Emma, died 02 Oct 1937 at the age of 76 of myocardial degeneration or heart disease, another turning point for Pop, a substantial one really. In the 1938 directory, he was listed as a carpenter, but in the 1939, he was listed once again as a farmer. I believe his thoughts were turning back to Scuffletown. There seemed to be somewhat of a revival after the 1937 flood. Perhaps it was just nostalgia for all involved, but Pop did move back to Scuffletown. He was there in the 1940 census with Mom and also with his Uncle John Beach. Pop was listed as a "merchant" in the "grocery." John was listed as a "boatman" of "ferry." The Cypress Beach Ferry of John Louis Pfingston (also owned by Dempewolf) had been bought out by the Owensboro (Kentucky) Bridge Commission after the installation of it's own bridge across the Ohio River to Indiana. They wanted to reduce competition. The Bridge Commission protested the opening of the Scuffletown Ferry Company of Henderson, but they were shot down. Pop's son, Harry, was living with his wife - just them, no brothers - at the home on Weinbach Avenue. Ellwood had moved to Mt. Vernon, Indiana, to a farm. Owen was with his wife at their home 3318 E. Chandler in Evansville.

On Pop's 1942 draft registration for World War II, he stated that he lived in Reed, Kentucky. His emergency contact - and maybe it had to be someone outside of your own household - was his son, Harry, whom he stated lived at 505 N. Winebauch [sic, but I thought it was really cute]. He stated that he was a self-employed merchant at Scuffletown, Kentucky. He was 5' 5-1/2" tall, weighed 165 pounds with gray hair, gray eyes, and sallow complexion. He also wrote that his right arm was crooked. I wonder why. Maybe he broke it at an earlier age?

And this is where we run out of records, for the last is the 1950 U.S. Federal Census. I decided to comb the newspapers once more to see if I could find anything else. The only thing I did find was that Scuffletown again flooded in 1945. That may of been the end of Scuffletown for Pop and Mom and everyone else. In the 1950 census record, Pop and Mom are listed with their son, Harry, along with his wife and two children. They are located at Green River Road in Evansville close to Pollack Avenue, near the river. Pop was once more listed as a farmer and Harry was working at Servel Refrigeration. Both Pop and Harry were marked with "P" codes, which meant they worked for someone else. Harry was a foreman working 40 hours/week. Pop worked 30 hours.

And that's it for the documentation on Ancestry. But these are my great-grandparents, and I was born before they died, so I know a few things. Mom had rheumatoid arthritis, and her fingers were crooked and deformed, according to my mother. She died in 1967 of a rare condition called subarachnoid hemorrhage, a bleeding of the brain. It presents as a severe headache and help must be gotten right away. It was probably over quickly. Rheumatoid arthritis was given as a secondary cause of death.

Pop and Mom standing outside their cottage
Carolyn Ann Howard Family Collection

Back to the 1950s. I don't know the timeline or how it was maneuvered exactly, but my maternal grandfather - if I understand correctly - did something astounding. He purchased a tract of land across from where the new Newburgh Locks and Dam now stand and divided it. A parcel for a church. A parcel for Pop and Mom, two for Harry, and then another to the Mortimers. He moved a small cottage to the land for Pop and Mom to live in. Harry pulled a trailer in and built an addition on the back. I'm not sure if any money exchanged hands, but I'm guessing it did. My grandfather built his permanent home in or around 1953. Harry lost his job at Servel when they went out of business in 1957. Owen, who also worked for Servel, moved to California and Ellwood stayed in Mt. Vernon.

I don't have any memories of my great-grandmother Mom, but I have one of Pop. That was after he went to the nursing home. He wanted me to sit on his lap, and I absolutely refused. I was terrified of him, and as a probable 5-year-old at the time, it is totally understandable. Pop died 13 Nov 1967 at Baker Nursing Home in Boonville, IN from heart failure. He was 85.

© 2022 by December Moonlight Publishing, LLC

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[1] Twelve Mile Circle. “Green River Island.” Twelve Mile Circle - An Appreciation of Unusual Places, 07 Jan. 2022, www.howderfamily.com/blog/green-river-island/. Accessed 23 Dec 2022.

[2] Foster, Fred. “Bridges Enable Evansville to Fulfill Destiny.” Evansville Courier & Journal, 03 July 1932, pg. 6.

[3] Awe, Brad. “Twin Bridges over the Ohio River in Evansville, Indiana.” University Archives and Special Collections, University of Southern Indiana, https://digitalarchives.usi.edu/digital/collection/RLIC/id/25567/.