A Quest for Treasured Memories

A QUEST FOR

TREASURED MEMORIES

CONSTANCE TAYLOR

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©

Copyright 2013 Constance Taylor.

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without the written prior permission of the author.

This is a work of fiction, based on true life events as recalled by Ernest A. Scheibert. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

ISBN: 978-1-4907-1471-4 (SC)

ISBN: 978-1-4907-1473-8 (hc)

ISBN: 978-1-4907-1472-1 (e)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2013916983

Trafford rev. 10/31/2013

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Contents

Preface

A Seed Is Planted

The Beginning

Birth Of A Preacher’s Kid Hans Alvin Zimmerman

Gathering And Growing

Childhood Events Revisited

Young Maturity

Moving On To A New Home

Keeping Up With Chores, And Music, And Pets

Love Shines Through Every Struggle

Bonds Grow Through Work And Fun

He Ain’t Heavy—He’s My Brother

No Pain, No Gain?

Adjusting To A New Lifestyle

The Life-Changing Letter

Finding A Sense Of Self

The Love Of A Lifetime

Conclusion

Curriculum Vitae

This is for My Mother and Father,

for giving my ideas the wings to fly.

I express endless gratitude to:

My father, for offering me his golden memories to create this book;

My mother, for storing and keeping our history in safe keeping;

My sister, for her historian work for our side of the family;

My son, for his enduring support through this endeavor;

My daughter, for her professional advice and gentle critiques;

My friend, who lacks the sense of hearing and continually inspires me with her strength.

PREFACE

I t is early spring 2010. The trees are just beginning to show signs of life again. On this particular day I am walking through a nearby park, silently evaluating my life. My heart is pining to embark on an adventure, the adventure of bringing my father’s childhood back to life.

Through the years I’ve heard bits and pieces of some of his experiences as a boy and a young man. I can recall many times when my mother, his wife of fifty-five years, would encourage him to be silent. She seemed to know that we, as children, would need to experience life ourselves before we could fully appreciate the experiences of our elders. Admittedly, as well, we have been a traditional family of sort, in which the father works outside of the home and mother handles most of the family situations and affairs. We’ve seen the scenario in many classic movies, such as Mary Poppins and Meet me in St. Louis. In between the hushed aspirations of my father, there would be breakthroughs at the family dinner table or in the family car of I remember when and Back when I was just a kid. These little excerpts we all remember well and treasure more than he will ever know.

I must stress now that the journey into my father’s childhood is not just and only for my own notoriety. It is my sincere hope and prayer that readers who step into this journey with me find excitement, adventure, and most of all, become acquainted with a young boy who still lives behind the twinkle of my father’s eyes.

A SEED IS PLANTED

W e know not from whence our deepest desires are born, only that they do exist and keep returning to our innermost thoughts, urging action toward some form of fulfillment.

I don’t rightly know where or when my desire came to be for taking on the task of writing this novel. I only know that somewhere among these first pages of the book a seed was planted, a seed that lay dormant for many years after my childhood but then sprouted into a wonderful branch of adventure and intrigue.

Memories of the not-so-distant past return to my mind, a little hazy, in the likeness of an old home movie. It is a hot August day in 1963 when our family car pulls into the pebbled driveway of a small cottage situated near a silvery lake in upper Michigan.

Let’s get the girls in for a swim in that nice cool water, my father suggests to my mother as he strips down to his swimming trunks. My father is a slender young man with a slightly receding hairline and a sparkle in his eyes that emanate the look of a quest for fun and adventure.

As mother holds a towel high, my sister, Crystal, and I change into swimwear. We run to meet father on a squeaky wooden dock that connects the cottage property to the shimmering lake.

Now, don’t forget that Nibblers, the monster, lives in this lake! father reminds us. Suddenly Crystal and I have bellies filled with butterflies, anxious to flee from the scary sea monster.

Mother glances up at the sky. Her knee-knocker shorts and bobbed hairstyle with soft loose curls blow gently in the breeze. She is the perfect picture of beauty and practicality all at once.

The clouds are rolling in quickly, Hans, she informs my father. We really should unload the suitcases first. But the gentle ripple of small waves against the old wooden dock was much too inviting to change course now.

Just one quick dip, father insists as he helps Crystal to slide down into one of the inner tubes he had just finished inflating. Don’t worry, girls—I’ll protect you from Nibblers.

C’mon, Coral, he then motions to me. You’re going to like swimming in this nice cool water.

My mother helps to position me into the second inflated inner tube. She then sits on the dock so she could cool her feet in the water while she splashed and played with us.

I paddled my feet and turned the inner tube with my arms but couldn’t find father. Suddenly I felt something touching and holding my feet. Shrieking, I kicked free only to see my father’s head pop up out of the water.

What’s wrong, Coral? he asked innocently as he wiped water from his eyes. Did Nibbler’s babies get your feet? After that initial scare, Crystal and I both knew if we saw father’s head disappear beneath the water, we could expect to have our feet captured. We took turns giggling and screaming.

Soon we began to see and feel droplets of water that were not the result of splashing. And the gentle breeze had evolved into a light wind which began to gust at times.

Oh-h, dog-gone-it! mother exclaimed as she helped father to get us safely out of the water. I knew we should have unloaded our suitcases first!

We all ran for the cottage now, with wet sandy feet, since the rain had started so suddenly. Mother ran through the cottage searching for blankets to warm us and a broom to sweep the soiled floor.

Wrap up in these, girls, she suggested and went about helping to dry us with some woolly blankets she had found. You’ll have to bundle up in these blankets just until we can get your dry clothes out of the suitcases. I don’t want anyone catching a chill.

Father tried to console mother while she was wrapping a warm blanket around his own shoulders, but it was useless at this moment. He found an old newspaper and worked crossword puzzles with Crystal and I to pass the time.

My family used to go on vacation at Matterhorn State Park, he told us as we searched for words. We played behind sand dunes there and had lots of fun.

With everything back in order, Crystal and I said our prayers and were tucked into bed. As mother sipped on a cup of warm tea, my father put a gentle arm over her shoulder and they gazed out of the cottage window together. The darkened lake glimmered from the reflection of shimmering stars in the clear night sky. Shadows of a very old tree that stood on the cottage property danced with the light breeze and a dim outdoor cottage light illuminated an old rubber tire leaning against the cottage wall.

Candace, father began to inform my mother of a plan he was brewing up. In the morning I’ll use some rope to tie that rubber tire from the old tree out there. He pointed toward the branch which he thought would best hold a tire swing.

Well, please make sure the knots are good and tight, mother remarked. We don’t want anyone breaking an arm or leg during our vacation.

The following day father hung that tire from the tree branch with plenty of strong knots. Crystal and I swung high and long with no broken bones suffered on this vacation.

In the late fall of that same year, father had to attend an out of town business convention. I can recall mother taking Crystal and myself downtown by bus to shop for food and clothing. As we completed our shopping, the wind and rain began. Mother struggled incredibly to manage the bags of needed items along with keeping us safely beside her.

Hello, Crystal. Hello, Coral, father soon greeted us by means of our rotary telephone. I love you and I’ll be home soon.

We love you, daddy, Crystal and I would chorus into the telephone together.

I’ll bring you each a surprise when I come back, he added as we gave the telephone back to mother.

Hello, Hans. I’ll need you to stop at the store and buy some gravy on your way home this afternoon, mother requested before his return. I’m out of flour and cornstarch, both, since I’ve been doing so much baking lately. We had only one family car, so she was in somewhat of a fix without transportation.

Alright, Candace—I’ll stop by a grocery on my way home, he answered. I love you sweetheart and I’m looking forward to being at home with all my girls.

We love you, too, honey, she added delicately. The girls and I are very anxious for you to be here with us.

Mother grasped father tightly as he walked in the door much later than expected that evening. Being exhausted from the drive, he had forgotten to stop at a grocery, and stores were not open 24 hours at this time. After our dinner prayer, father began to converse.

I’ve been told that I’ll need to climb up a pole on the roof at work—as much as several times a week during allergy season—to collect the pollen count, he informed mother as we endured some dry chewy meat at dinner that night. His work as a Medical Technologist meant doing many things to help people control their allergies. This included providing the count of irritating pollen molecules in the air.

I’ll not hear any tales of valor this evening, my mother insisted and walked out of the room. She, herself, had already had to risk life and limb earlier in the week when she took her two young daughters downtown by bus to shop for food and clothing.

My father followed her into the kitchen to find her bent over the sink, sobbing. Leaning on the countertop, himself, he put his head in his hands.

What would you have me do, Candace, he begged of her. Please tell me what you want of me. Composing himself, father then stood up and grasped her arms to bring her closer to him. He looked deeply into her hazel eyes, searching… searching for answers.

"Please, please—tell me what you would have me do, he begged of mother again. You know I would do anything for you and our girls."

"There’s nothing you can do, she concluded between sobs. We have no family in town to help us. We’ll just have to make do."

So he proceeded to pull her even closer into the kind of warm hug that melt two people together. There they consoled each other in love for only a few moments when they quickly realized their circumstance. They separated to care for their two young daughters.

I have some fresh apple crisp warming in the oven, my mother announced as she brushed her hair back out of her eyes and opened the oven door to release the sweet aroma of her homemade apple crisp.

Following a scrumptious dessert, father motioned Crystal and I to his side.

I promised you both a little surprise, he reminded us and we watched with interest while he pulled two small blackboards with sponge erasers from a gift store bag.

Crystal and I played games until it was time for prayers and bed. These things helped to erase the taste of dry meat we had experienced at our evening meal.

Those memories of the year 1963 fade from my mind and another warm summer morning, now in 1965, comes into view.

My sister and I are giggling in the backseat of our family car when my father’s voice breaks through our quiet laughter.

When I was just a young boy, somewhere around your ages, my family had to move from Detroit to Chicago, he began.

Hans, my mother stopped him in mid sentence and patted him gently on the leg, as though to console him. They can’t hear a word you are saying right now.

Crystal and I were quite involved in our own games and giggles—that was true. But my father had quite a tendency toward storytelling and tales of the past that could really frustrate my mother at times. You see, he was capable of forgetting all matters and tasks of the day during these ventures.

Father sighed a little, but then quickly pointed ahead at our destination.

Look—there’s sixteen hundred, right up the street from us, he was referring to the house number of our grandfather’s chapel house.

It appeared to us as an old square brick building, yet boasted taller windows on the second of three levels, as a church chapel often does. The residence of our grandparents, Hans and Adeline Zimmerman, was located on the third level, above the chapel room.

C’mon, Coral, Crystal beckoned me as she grabbed my hand and we jumped down out of the car. Stumbling a little, Crystal had to pull me back up on my feet.

I was only six years old but I remember well the long staircase we had to climb up in order to reach our grandparent’s kitchen. Grandma Zimmerman was there, busily preparing meals for the day, but she greeted us with open arms.

Hello, Hans. Hello everyone, she said cheerfully. Bring your luggage up and make yourselves at home. My father had five sisters and a brother, so welcoming her children back home was a very familiar thing to Grandma Zimmerman.

We were led through the dining area to a small living room that was warm with memories. Photographs, books and games could be seen all around the room. A chair and a small sofa complimented the atmosphere quite well.

Here’s a photograph of me when I was drafted into the Service, father mused. I remember I saluted a General in a parade once. Later I learned it was not a proper thing to do.

Father gave us girls a silly salute as he was beginning a story of the past. This time it was our grandmother who steered us into a different direction.

Yes, Hans, there are many memory books in this room—all of them filled with interesting happenings, she concluded. Father will be glad to know that you’ve arrived safely. Why don’t you take the children downstairs and wait for him in his study.

Back down the long staircase the four of us trod, but this time we were able to stop at a middle landing. From its doorway we could view our grandfather completing a baptismal worship service in the beautiful church chapel room.

Now that you have renounced the devil in all of his forms, Samuel John Kuntz, I baptize you in the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit, grandfather hand-signed the words and spoke them all at once for the young deaf family. Grandpa Zimmerman was a minister for the deaf.

Come this way, my father whispered smartly, as these surroundings were very familiar to him.

We turned to continue down a rather long hallway and soon caught a glimpse of grandfather’s study. An ornate Tiffany lamp gave a gentle glow to the office. It had probably been a gift from his parishioners. During grandfather’s generation, the church still stood quite firm against owning frivolous material goods. I have a great-grandmother who was told that having lace curtains in her kitchen was a sin.

Soon Grandpa Zimmerman appeared at the doorway of his study. A wide grin came to his slender face. I recognized that grin well as I had seen it many times on my own father’s face.

Well, hello son, he first greeted father with a firm handshake and proceeded to grasp his upper arm in the form of a hug. My father was grandpa’s eldest son and had acquired his same name. Often times, although my father was now a grown man, his parents would still call him Sonny in order to differentiate who one was speaking to. This intertwined with his true name of Hans, to show respect for his years.

Grandpa Zimmerman turned his greeting to the rest of us, with open arms.

Hello, Candace. So very good to see you all arrived safely, he remarked cheerfully to my mother as he patted her upper arm, also in the form of a hug. He then bent down a little in order to extend his greeting to Crystal and myself.

And how are my grandchildren, Crystal and Coral? he continued.

Crystal and I just stood and nodded our heads as we glanced quickly around our grandfather’s study to absorb everything we could about this interesting room, house and hidden hallways.

Did your drive into Chicago, here, go well for you? Grandpa inquired of mother and father.

Oh, traffic was horrible once we reached city limits, father answered. But we got through it okay.

We will be heading over to Tiger Lily Place after lunch to check on the beehives, Grandpa then informed my parents as he slipped the formal white robe off over his head and hung it carefully in his closet. Would you like to come along and see how the property is progressing?

Following a fulfilling lunch, served in my grandparent’s dining room, we returned to our car seats and headed for Tiger Lily Place.

We’re going to visit the property where the folks are building their retirement home, father explained to us as he drove. He often referred to our grandparents as the folks. Perhaps it was a term of the times.

As we neared the property, an old wooden box that looked similar to a file cabinet could be seen in the field behind some of the new construction. It was a good long walk from the upcoming home. The beehives my grandfather spoke of were housed in this odd-looking box.

Soon father was stepping into a protective suit while Crystal was attempting to put the big headpiece over her little head. She looked like a Martian from outer space, only without the antennae.

We used to have a lot more beehives, father mentioned. But a neighbor’s cow got spooked once and broke through the fence. That cow ran right into the hives and, boy, did he get stung.

Hans, you may get overheated in this suit if you don’t get done quickly, my mother reminded him, worriedly, as she helped to tie the ankle, wrist and neck area snuggly. The outside temperature had already topped ninety-five degrees. Mother beckoned him again as she finished helping him to pull on the protective boots, gloves and then the protective pith helmet or headpiece.

Please hurry, Hans. We watched as father walked away using a smoker to help scatter the bees for a short while.

Enough honey was harvested during this trip to fill my grandmother’s needs and still allow a small jar to be sent back home with us. Mother used it for the baking of yummy after school treats.

I can recall the remaining days of the year between those early summer vacations to the chapel house as being very busy.

After your homework is done, I’ll need help setting the table for dinner, my mother would inform us. So, as the Big Show played on one of the three channels of our small screen television, Crystal and I helped mother with dinner and setting the table. Wonderful movies such as The Incredible Mr. Limpett and Mutiny on the Bounty played in the background as we did our chores.

Following our evening prayer and dinner, mother assisted us girls with making Christmas gifts and tags in the winter while father read the paper and garden magazines. Classic movies, such as South Pacific and Gone With the Wind, played in the background. Father began growing vegetables in small greenhouses very early in the spring. He would always show us the sprouts as they would grow, and tell us which vegetables he was growing.

We’ll be going to my folks’ new retirement home this year, my father soon announced.

Crystal and I ran across the property of the newly built retirement home and played king of the mountain on large piles of leaves and rocks. If I would stumble and fall, Crystal would always stop to help me get back up on my feet.

During the ride back to our home in Ann Arbor, Michigan, I would mention things that I would like to do and to make.

I want to build a little wishing well, I would say.

We’ll get the Popsicle sticks out when we get home, and your dad will help you to make one, mother answered. We could always make things out of household leftovers, such as boxes, Styrofoam meat trays that were washed well, or empty thread spools. However, buying things was much more difficult because both of my parents had been raised during the Great Depression and, therefore, knew how difficult times could become. Food, home and clothing needs had to be planned for first, leaving very little money for extras.

Crystal and I would settle back into a game