Servel Refrigerators and the Pfingston Brothers Three

John Heinrich Pfingston Family Line

Servel Refrigerators and the Pfingston Brothers Three

Orville "Ellwood" Pfingston (1906-1986)
Harry Edward Pfingston (1911-1987)
William "Owen" Pfingston (1914-1970)

____________________

by Carolyn Ann Howard

Servel may not now - 67 years later - be such a well-known word here in Evansville, Indiana. However, in 1957, it was a household name. Servel, short for "Serve Electrically," was a refrigerator factory that, in 1953, employed 14,000 people in the greater Evansville, Indiana area. It's demise in 1957 brought this city to the brink of despair and beyond. About the same time other factories also left town, including Chrysler Corporation, International Harvester, Cook's Brewery, and Atlas Laundry. [1]

Originally begun as The Brighton Buggy Company out of Cincinnati, Ohio, Colonel William McCurdy brought the company to Evansville in 1902 and changed its name to Hercules Buggy Works. This factory was responsible for buggies and wagons, as its name suggests. As technology advanced, it changed its focus to making auto and truck bodies. [2] At the same time, The Electrolux Company was working on gas absorption refrigerator technology. In 1925, Servel purchased Hercules Buggy Works after McCurdy's health had begun to fail. They then purchased the patent for the Electrolux Gas Absorption Refrigerator and began production. This was in 1926. [3] (Click on photos to enlarge.)

Hercules Buggy Company
Courtesy Historic Evansville

Hercules Buggy Company
Courtesy USI Collections

Men outside Servel c1930
Courtesy of Willard Library

Purchasing a refrigerator in 1926 was quite a bit different than it is today. According to Pete Ruthenburg, grandson of Servel's president Louis Ruthenburg, "The old SIGECO [Southern Indiana Gas and Electric Company] had a showroom downtown in the Hulman Building, and you could go pick out a fridge, and they would install and hook it up to gas." According to Ruthenburg, the fridges were very heavy and weren't so easy to move into your house and have it hooked up. [4] The refrigerator had no moving parts and was so unlikely to break down that it came with a 10-year warranty. Later Servel products included electric refrigerators, gas water heaters, gas air conditioners, and automatic ice makers. [5]

It was into this industry that at least five of my granduncles and one grandaunt made their living: Homer Pfingston, Tom McLean, Charlene VanHooser, and the Pfingston brothers: Ellwood, Harry and Owen. The latter three were born on a farm in Henderson County, Kentucky, in what was called, on the census, Scuffletown Precinct. Scuffletown is a ghost town that was located on the Ohio River. It was a layover spot for “riverboat men” who worked on the barges. You can read more about that subject here. (Opens in a new window.) These three boys were born to my great-grandfather Ed “Pop” Pfingston, who worked quite a large farm operation in rural Scuffletown, and my great-grandmother Flora “Mom” Vogt. Ed and Flora were second cousins. Read more about Ed here. (Opens in a new window.)

Harry is on the left and Ellwood is on the right
That is possibly my mother sitting in the window
Carolyn Ann Howard Family Collection

In the 1930 census, my great grandparents were living on their farm in Scuffletown along with their son, Owen. The two other boys, Ellwood and Harry, are absent from any 1930 census that I could find nationally using all search engines, including Family Search and Ancestry. However, by 1931, according to the Evansville City Directory, they were living in the famous Pfingston home at 505 N. Weinbach in Evansville, Indiana. The rest of the family - their parents (Mom and Pop) and their brother Owen - would soon follow, along with their brother-in-law, Tom McLean. The four boys would all become employees of Servel Refrigeration. (Click on photos to enlarge.)

505 N. Weinbach Ave Present Day
Pictures taken from road or sidewalk
Carolyn Ann Howard

Servel offered much more security for these young men than farming. Along with security, however, Servel was more than just a job; it was a community. In 1934, Servel offered their 5700 employees many opportunities, such as membership in Toastmasters International, opportunities to play sports on their bowling and baseball teams, or to be a part of their gun club. They also had a stamp club and groups that played different card games together. Some of the employees put on a minstrel show each year, which evidently was a very good show. These were held in the auditorium of Bosse High School. The company had parades and held family picnics at their field, located on "Outer Pollack Avenue." They also had yearly Christmas and New Year's Eve parties for their employees and their families. [6] An interesting side note, I lived for 8 years on Pollack Avenue, and so did many of my Pfingston and Caze ancestors during their lifetimes.

The oldest boy, Ellwood, seemed to be the most pragmatic and, interestingly, I was told that Ellwood did not drink. Those of you familiar with my stories, particularly those about my late mother, know her aversion to alcohol. Somehow she had been affected by her uncles, Harry and Owen, in that they had been drinkers, not to mention the amount of drinking that went on with the riverboat men in Scuffletown, where she grew up. I believe my mother herself was fearful of becoming an alcoholic. Being a strict Baptist pastor's wife took that possibility away, but she did get addicted to prescription diet pills in her younger years, thanks to her physician. She later became addicted to prescription pain medicine. That is to say, addiction runs deep in our family.

Harry was an avid baseball player who had once tried out for the professional leagues and, as an employee of Servel, was the team manager on one of the Servel leagues. As one who is not good with sports, except for perhaps track... perhaps... I was unaware that so many of my relatives were and are actually very good ball players. In a discussion with relatives, it appears that what held Harry back from the professional leagues was money. He just didn't have enough to pay his way in. He continued to play ball into his adult years, even as a left fielder on a team of his own making called "Pfingston," as well as playing on several different leagues in the area. [7] 

Owen must have been the real character of the three. In his photographs, he just looks funny. From what I understand, the hoots and hollers began anytime these three were together. From my own experiences growing up in this family, I understand, though, that it was a difficult family to become a part of. They frequently made fun of others, most likely not understanding how hard that was on some, especially since they also mercilessly made fun of each other without seemingly any hurt feelings. Owen and Harry both were also extremely gifted as Servel employees and made great contributions to the company, Owen as a machine operator and Harry as a foreman. Ellwood also was a machine operator.

Uncle Owen carving a turkey
Carolyn Ann Howard Family Collection

Ellwood married Mary Fetter Dremstedt, a widow with two young children, in 1935. After their honeymoon, the now Mrs. Mary Pfingston and her children moved in with the rest of the family at 505 N. Weinbach. This was customary at that time. Harry married Martha “Charlene” Van Hooser in 1940. She was also a Servel employee at the time of their marriage, and they also joined the family at 505 N. Weinbach. Lastly, Owen married Alyce Willingham in 1939. After their honeymoon, they moved in with her parents two doors down at 501 N. Weinbach. My mother talked frequently about Alyce, but I don't remember why or even what the mentions of her were about, unfortunately. I honestly think Mom just wanted to go see her and Owen after they moved to California. My dad did not like traveling, so no trip ever materialized. Interestingly, Dad did love taking drives around town, in his retirement years, just so long as he was home in time for dinner.

Pop Pfingston (middle) with whom we believe to be
Aunt Charlene (L) and Aunt Alyce (R)
Carolyn Ann Howard Family Collection

The president of Servel Refrigeration was Louis Ruthenburg. Servel brass had recruited Ruthenburg from Dayton, Ohio, where he worked for Delco. Ruthenburg was a pioneer in the car industry, having been part of a group of men that jumpstarted the gasoline engine. According to an article in The Evansville Press, Ed Klinger writes, "Ruthenburg was confronted by a ramshackle operation developed from a buggy and gas engine plant." Furthermore, the country was in the grips of the Great Depression. Ruthenburg did the extraordinary. He called together all the industrial leaders of Evansville and told them, with their approval, he would give raises to all his workers and pretend as if there were no Depression at all. They approved, and therefore, Evansville saw record growth during that time period. [8]

Louis Ruthenburg
Courtesy USI Collections

Servel was the marvel of the modern world. Servel Electrolux refrigerators had impressive displays at both the San Francisco Golden Gate International Exposition in February, 1939 as well as The New York World's Fair. At the New York exhibit, a gas-only model home was on display, complete with the Servel refrigerator. The display, according to the organizers, would “set many new standards for home arrangement, decoration and convenience.” [9]

Overshadowing these successes though, especially for Ruthenburg, who was staunchly anti-union, was that some Servel employees were trying to form a union. Under no circumstances was Ruthenburg going to let a union come for his company. His first act to try to head all this off was to form his own type of union within Servel called “The Servel Worker's Counsel.” He also tried various other tactics, making lists and taking pictures of those who were pro-union, posting them so that “everyone would know just who had caused the trouble.” He fired people who were pro-union and had pamphlets made and distributed to his employees hyping up the Servel Worker's Counsel. Because of this, Servel was sued by the United Electrical, Radio, and Machine Worker's Union. On March 27, 1939, the decision came down from the National Labor Relations Board. Servel would be required to dissolve its Worker's Counsel and rehire all those who had been fired for participating in union talk. [10]  The report against Servel was quite damning. Ruthenburg, however, truly believed that unions would create labor barons that would leave workers in worse shape than before. According to grandson Pete Ruthenburg, of this time period, “It marked a change in the somewhat paternalistic management attitude to a very negative atmosphere about the union assuming a role between the workers and the company.” [11]

Ellwood had different things in mind for his family and himself other than joining a union or even working in a factory. After he married Mary, they almost immediately moved from 505 N. Weinbach to Mt. Vernon, Indiana. Although he continued to work at Servel for a time, by the 1950 census, he was listed as a farmer working his own business. He was done with Servel, building a life with his wife and children on the farm of his own making. The land that he purchased, which included the old Darnell School, remains in the Pfingston family to this day. Ellwood died in 1986.

By 1939, it appear that the company may have already been floundering a bit, just naturally, as refrigerator technology continued to advance outside of Servel. Ruthenburg, perhaps noticing this, had started vying for valuable government contracts. By December, 1940, Servel had received an order for 10,000 gasoline pressure vapor burners by the US Army Quartermaster in Jeffersonville, IN. [12] The year 1940 closed out with $22,300,000 in sales with a line of gas refrigerators for homes and apartments, kerosene refrigerators for rural homes and farms, all year gas air conditioning and heating systems, commercial gas refrigerator units, and electric refrigerators. [13]

And then the unthinkable happened. The Japanese bombed Pearl Harbor December 7, 1941. According to esteemed Evansville historian James Lachlan MacLeod, quoted from his book Evansville in World War II, “[Evansville] labor leaders used their national union connections; politicians called in favors and used their relationships, all the way up to the Oval Office; and businessmen used their nationwide networks. The synergy this produced was to transform the city.” [14] Ruthenburg had his hand in all this and soon, Evansville was made into a war machine of productivity with Servel as one of the leaders.

Unfortunately, that put Evansville in another bind. Word soon got out that Evansville had lots of work available and people began pouring into the city. According to long-time resident Claude "J" Wertz, "Evansville was a furniture manufacturing town until the great depression, and then it diminished and refrigeration became the principle industry. Apparently the furniture industry was staffed by local people, who by and large were German. The city overgrew itself in WW2. In 1940, Evansville was listed as 97,000 [population]. Allegedly, by 1950, the population was 150,000, or maybe that was a few years before 1950. It was a desperate situation [as far as housing]."

My great grandparents, Mom and Pop, continued to live at 505 N. Weinbach, along with Harry and his family. Owen had moved with his family to Chandler Avenue. While the men worked, with apparently quite a bit of overtime, Charlene and Alyce stayed busy taking care of their families and participating in many church activities at Central Methodist Church, located in downtown Evansville. Harry and Charlene had two children, one girl and one boy, while Owen and Alyce had one son, Gary Ray. Gary would go on to become a highly decorated Chief Master Sergeant of the United States Air Force. In 2014, The Pfingston Reception Center at Joint Base San Antonio in Lackland Texas was so named in honor of Gary Ray. (Click on photos to enlarge.)

Pfingston Reception Center
Courtesy JBSA Photo Gallery

L to R: Anna Bell Pfingston McLean
Pop Pfingston
Aunt Charlene Pfingston
Mom Pfingston
Uncle Harry Pfingston

World War 2 changed many things in Evansville, Indiana, and across the country. Here locally, many new homes and roads were built for the influx of workers. Other families made money by renting out rooms in their homes to the workers at Servel, as well as the shipyard at Mead Johnson Terminal, the Chrysler plant, Republican Aviation, International Steel, Briggs - where my father worked briefly in the early 1950s - Hoosier Cardinal, and Faultless Caster. By 1943, Servel had grown to 12,560 employees, who were working around-the-clock making wings for the P-47 bombers, along with other war goods. [15] A friend at church told me that her late husband used to talk about how people would rent out rooms "by the hour." A person might sleep their 8 hours, then go to work, and the next person come in to sleep their 8 hours. “I doubt they changed the sheets in between!” she mused.

The war economy in Evansville was certainly something that had never been seen before but, unfortunately, it was not to last. In his book Lost Evansville, McLeod quotes local historian Jon Carl as saying, “All these factories that were making war goods quit making war goods. Literally overnight.” [16] Orders stopped coming in and existing orders were canceled. Over 10,000 Evansvillians lost their jobs overnight with many, many more to come. Servel's fate, unfortunately, was sealed.

During and after the war, particularly with the GI Bill that allowed veterans to secure low-interest financing with no money down, housing continued to move forward. This included a sweeping movement across the United States called The American Small House. The home I live in was built in 1943 by Luhring Lumber as a part of this movement, as was the road it was built on. Evansville is also home to several Lustron Homes, which were prefabricated enameled steel houses that buyers ordered and put together themselves. Two of them are located just one block away from my home!

My American Small House
Carolyn Ann Howard

Servel limped along as Louis Ruthenburg, who had become president in 1924, had planned to retire. Eventually, Duncan C. Menzies was brought in to try to turn the company around, with Ruthenburg's help. Pete Ruthenburg said of those times, "Those last years until 1957, when it was sold off and rationalized, were pretty discouraging and distressful times for my grandfather. He went through all that, but he particularly was noted for being brought in when Servel was previously on it's back and on the verge of failure. He made it profitable [again] during the great depression. Then he led the charge in WW2 to go to war production and then back to civilian production, but then the issues made the gas refrigerator less attractive: cost, weight, and how hard it was to hookup. Boys coming home from the war were interested in getting in housing quickly and easily." [17]

Bit by bit by bit, Servel was parceled up and sold. Bendix-Westinghouse purchased the rights to Servel's commercial refrigeration division along with two buildings of its massive complex. In 1956, Goodwill Industries bought another part of its building. Whirlpool acquired Servel's home appliance division in 1957 while ARKLA (Arkansas Louisiana Gas Company) bought its air conditioning division. [18] On December 21, 1957, Servel sent termination notices to all its existing workers. [19]

My mother and father were married in 1951, and, as a pastor who had just graduated from Southern Baptist Seminary in Louisville, KY in 1955, they were living in their first parsonage when Servel went under. Mom many times talked about this, as if the closing had somehow broken up the family. Although it was devastating, to be sure, Harry and Owen were not finished with Servel. I haven't studied the California connection, but both families moved to Redondo Beach, California, to continue working for Servel. Owen retired from Douglas Air Force Base as an industrial engineer. He died in 1970 at the age of 56.

L to R: Mom Pfingston
Anna Bell Pfingston McLean
My mother, Mary McLean Howard
Pop Pfingston
Rural Warrick County, IN 1956
Carolyn Ann Howard Family Collection

Harry moved back to Newburgh, Indiana upon his retirement, living on a lot practically in his sister Anna Bell’s backyard. My parents also later became neighbors. I was afraid of Harry, even as a young adult, so I regretfully did not know him, although his wife, Charlene, was gold. My father, in Harry's last days, sat with him a lot and prayed with him. I remember my father feeling proud that Harry confided in him during this time. Harry died November 13, 1987.

------------

On an October morning in 2022, everyone in Evansville woke up to plumes of dark, dark smoke rolling ominously and ferociously through the clouds. Debris from the fire was carried through the air and deposited onto the yards of the homes in my neighborhood and many others. We were cautioned not to touch, because the pieces contained asbestos. Professionals were sent through the neighborhoods to do the cleanup. The fire, as it turns out, was coming from the old Servel plant. The fire burned so hot that it could be seen on weather radar.  One million-and-a-half square feet was demolished. It completely destroyed the old Servel factory. [20] To this date, no big cleanup has been done nor has a cause been given that I am aware of.

Photos of the Servel ruins 02 Oct 2024 from public roads taken by Stephanie Dawson. Click on photos to enlarge.

Many, many, many thanks to Pete Ruthenburg for allowing me to interview him for this article.

_______________

[1] Evansville Chamber of Commerce. “'Stop Worrying and Start Digging' Is C of C’s Advice to Evansville.” Sunday Courier and Press, 13 Oct. 1957, p. 15.

[2] Feel the History. “Servel: Making Evansville the ‘Refrigerator Capital of the World.’” YouTube, F.J. Reitz High School, 21 Oct. 2020, youtu.be/-HIyD9_HpJE?si=JcgzWSRcltyFYxmh.

[3] Runge, Mel. “Economic Fortune Rises, Falls with Manufacturing.” The Evansville Press, 31 Dec. 1998, p. 22.

Schleper, Anne. “Ex-Servel Employees Will Recall the Days When Evansville Was The World’s Refrigerator Capital.” The Evansville Courier, 7 Sept. 1992, pp. 1–2.

[4] Howard, Carolyn Ann. “Pete Ruthenburg Interview.” 04 Oct. 2024.

[5] White, Todd W. “How Absorption Refrigeration Works.” How a Servel Works, 2017, vintageservelrefrigerators.com/HowItWorks.html.

[6] Schleper.

[7] “Farmers Pride Nine to Meet Wallace and Servel Plays Democrats.” The Evansville Press, 29 May 1932, p. 10.

[8] Klinger, Ed. "Ruthenburg - A Giant in Our Town." The Evansville Press, 01 Nov 1969, p. 9.

[9] “Servel Electrolux To Be Shown at Two World’s Fairs.” The Sunday Courier and Press, 26 Feb. 1939, p. 4E.

[10] “Servel Loses Case Before Labor Board; Appeal Hinted.” The Evansville Press, 27 Mar. 1939, pp. 1–2.

[11] Howard.

[12] "Servel Gets Defense Order; Employment at 1940 Peak." The Evansville Press, 09 Dec 1940, p. 1.

[13] "Servel Sales in 1940 Top $22,300,000." The Evansville Courier, 23 Jan 1941, p. 13.

[14] MacLeod, James Lachlan. Evansville in World War II, The History Press, 2015, p. 27.

[15] MacLeod, James Lachlan. Lost Evansville, The History Press, 2023, pp. 63-65.

[16] Ibid, p. 70.

[17] Howard.

[18] Townsend, Paul. "Servel Deal Held Near." The Evansville Courier, 07 Dec 1957, pg. 1

[19] "Servel Notes Sent Servel Staff." The Evansville Press, 21 Dec 1957, pg. 1.

[20] Associated Press. “Evansville Warehouse Fire Spreads Several Blocks.” WISH, 1 Jan. 2023, www.wishtv.com/news/indiana-news/evansville-warehouse-fire-spreads-several-blocks/.

© 2024 by December Moonlight Publishing, LLC

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