The headline read, "Missouri man killed in wreck with semi," and that is what happened. The story was brief, and it listed the man's middle initial wrong. I know this for sure - the man was my dad. He kept my pocket knife sharp.
It happened about 11 a.m. on January 28. As near as we can tell, he had made an early stop at the grocery for some potatoes, onions and cookies (he loved his sweets!) and was returning from a circular route when he crossed the center line of the highway. Why? We don't know, probably never will. And that's not important.
More important was one of the "gifts" we received after Pop's death - a story - one he'd never tell, because it was about himself.
After serving in the Korean War (and having to come back to help his Mom during the Elwood flood of, I think, '53), he started work at Seitz packinghouse. He worked at Seitz for 32 years, then took the "buyout."
He tried several different things, kept meticulous notes of job searches and get-rich-schemes in what apparently was a tight economic time at the home in the late 80s, then down to a population of just he and Mom. But like he was always known to say, "Better days are comin'."
As one of the ladies at Baisch & Skinner (which was then Stuppy's) shared, it was a single, memorable action that lead to another 20 years of work for a man who had to be told to take his vacations.
She said there were about 50 men waiting around in the warehouse, hoping for a chance at the one position, and she didn't know how she would choose. Then in came Pop, went right up to the desk, saw the stack of blank applications, and aid, "Well, I guess I better help you hand these out."
A co-worker said, "You better hire that guy!" And the rest is history.
The day Pop died was a cold day. It would have been a nice evening for a big bowl of potato soup.
