Bertha Caroline Shoup was born Sept. 13, 1884. She died May 6, 1981. She lived, really lived, 96 years. And in those 96 years she developed into a truly remarkable human being. She acquired all the qualities everyone strives for, but few achieve. She was kind, honest, sincere, a worker, and a fighter.

I have many wonderful memories of my Grama. Memories of the fun times that make me smile, and memories of her courage and determination that give me strength. This short eulogy of Grama will never do her justice, and I'm sure you all have your own special memories of Grama. I would just like to share a few of mine.

Grama had a sense of humor. I remember visiting her. My parents and my brothers slept upstairs and Grama and I slept downstairs in her bed. We would spend hours lying in bed talking. I learned a lot about life in that bed with Grama. . . Anyway, having the four boys upstairs in one room tended to bring on a lot of rough-housing. One time Dad yelled in and told them they'd better quiet down or they'd get it. Gram giggled and said, "It's a good thing he can't hear us or we'd probably get it too." For some reason that cracked us both up.

I said she was a fighter and she was. One night, when Grama was in her 80s, someone broke into her house. That was a mistake. Grama woke up and rather than run out, as I would have done, she followed him, with one bad leg, up the stairs. She tried to open a closet door, but someone was holding it shut from the inside. "What are you doing in my house?" she yelled, but she got no answer. She went downstairs and locked the doors — so he couldn't get out. This person had no business in her house, and he wasn't going to get away with it. That was Grama.

She loved living and she loved life. She was the first to laugh at a joke and the last to stop. . . and some of her favorite jokes were on herself. Once, when Grama was in her 70s, Cindy and she decided to exercise with Jack Lelane on TV. Grama threw her leg back and broke her toe on a chair. She was in tears, more from laughing than from pain. She told Cindy that it hurt, but if anyone found out what they were doing, they'd think she was crazy. That was Grama.

Grama wasn't afraid of old age. She took it lightly. Her first walker was named Charlie and he became a part of the family. We decorated him at Christmas and everyone called him by name. At 90, Grama had more of a social life than I do at 23. She was always on the go, and the welcome mat at Grama's really meant WELCOME.

She lived and loved for 96 years, and though it's hard to see her go — she left all of us with many beautiful memories, and touched each of us in a special way. Though she may be gone in body, her spirit will never die. It's been planted in all who knew her.

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It was while we were gathered for the funeral that we had the idea of putting our combined memories on paper because we recognized we would be memorializing one who'd had a great influence on each of our lives.

The following is the result of that decision, but I feel the need to explain that it is being compiled by Fern. Thus an "I" will creep in, and a reference to "Mother," whereas if it had been done by someone else, it might have been "Aunt Bert" or "Grandmother."

I would also apologize if the writing seems weighted heavily from Underwood viewpoint. Answers came back from the invitation to everyone to submit ideas often saying, "My memory of her is more general than specific," as her grandson Bob put it. Van, who wrote some specifics, also said, "I have lots of memories but surprisingly few events." That seemed to speak for quite a few persons.

But a writing has to include some specifics and thus it comes down to some personal memories of my own and of others who will be quoted by name, who were able to pull some from the past and share them.

It would be a surprise to Mother to know we are doing this. She never would have thought there was anything to write. Her hearing loss in the last months of her life isolated her. She gave evidence that she spent a lot of that time reminiscing. One day she said, "I was thinking the other day I have never done anything special — and then I thought of being Reinbeck's Centennial Queen. It was very special that I was given that honor when there were so many-others who might better have had it."

She was very proud of her children and grandchildren and how well they had done, but it would never have occurred to her that she had any part in it. We tried from time to time to tell her, but she would have no part of it. Mike Rowley, for instance, in 1974, had an assignment for a class at Ohio State University. Rae Carol sent her a copy but she didn't keep it. It was too "flowery." She thought of it as an assignment Mike had fulfilled but did not accept the high praise it offered. It follows:

A SUMMARY OF AN INTIMATE RELATIONSHIP WITH AN ELDERLY PERSON:

My grandmother has got to be one of the most remarkable people in the world. Although I've only spent several weeks each year in her company since she lives in Iowa, she's had a great deal of influence in my life because of her attitude and the example she sets.

Her disposition and sense of humor are unique. I've never seen her mad nor have I ever heard her utter a cross word or say something unkind about anyone. You'd never catch her writing Ann Landers to get a "putdown" answer because she'd never want to put anyone down.

She has the patience of Job and endless energy. She is never too busy or tired to entertain the grandchildren with a game. When a child interrupted an adult conversation, Gram always listened intently. She really knows how to make a person feel loved and interesting.

At the age of 89, she lives alone, does her own cooking and entertains at least once a week. She bakes her own bread and always has a supply of fresh-baked cookies for drop-in company or for the neighborhood children who stop to see her.
Several years ago she lost control of her right leg and now she walks with a cane, which she calls "Charlie." She and Charlie make quite a team.

She doesn't expect or want anyone waiting on her. If she wants something from another room, she gets it without a word to any of the children or younger adults who might be there. The closest I've ever heard to a complaint is that she feels like she's inconveniencing other people since she can't walk as fast as she once did.

More recently she developed cataracts on her eyes. While she was waiting for them to reach the stage when the doctor could remove them, she adjusted to her semi-blindness by taking positive steps to make it less a burden. Her children got themselves and her Cassette tape recorders so correspondence could still go on. She arranged cooking supplies so she knew exactly where everything was located, and continued to fix her own and company meals.

Because she couldn't see well enough to read or watch television, arrangements were made with an agency for the blind to send her tapes of reading material she was interested in, and her daily routine required very few changes. She loves to play cards, and fortunately, her sight remained good enough that she could still distinguish one card from another provided it wasn't a faded deck.

Probably the most typical example of her philosophy of taking things in her stride is told in this story: Recently Gram's younger sister, age 72, had to be put in a nursing home. Her daughter said to Gram, "I hope you won't hate me for doing this." Gram's reply was, "Nonsense, I expect to go there someday myself. "

Mike's remark about never having seen her mad has since struck me. I don't remember, either, ever having seen her mad. Isn't that incredible - all the years, all those situations, all the people coming and going in her life and never angry?

Sue picked up another aspect Mike referred to: "I think it's worthy of mention that Gram had ten grandchildren ...and ten favorites. She had a remarkable ability to treat each of us with the same constant affection and, at the same time, to know us each so well as individuals. When all of us would be together there was never a need to vie for Gram's attention — we all had it in equal shares, and yet we could each sit down with her and have very personal conversations in which she displayed the fact that she knew us so well, our achievements, our disappointments, and our separate and distinct personalities. None of us ever felt jealousy seeing her devote attention to one grandchild or another — we knew our turn would come and that every one of us in her eyes was equal but unique.

"It was not only the children who were hers by blood relationship. She loved children! She knew and loved family, neighborhood, all children, personally and individually. They came to her because of the cookie jar Mike spoke about. They came because she had time for them, to make popcorn for them after school, to listen to what was going on in their lives. She had time for an arm-around and a special pat."

When Van was coach of a swim team he took a girl from Chariton and a boy from Osceola to a meet in Cedar Falls. It required an overnight and they stayed with her in Reinbeck. He says, "Gram immediately picked up on the 12- year-old-away-from-home situation and did a really remarkable job helping the kids relax." Such was her sensitivity.

While the rest of us note our diminishing patience and tolerance as time goes on, she never lost hers. Rae Carol remembers when our house was between Grandma Rickert's home and the business district. A family member who stayed with Grandma never went to town that she didn't take a shortcut through our house, no matter how many times a day. Sometimes she spoke, sometimes not. The rest of us became impatient with this. Dad really cringed! But Mother's attitude was, "What does it hurt?" It never bothered her in the slightest.

She had a special place in her heart for those who were a little naughty — those who had the extra energy and imagination that could get them into trouble. For years she remembered and chuckled about one such child who continued to be a favorite of hers as she carried her enthusiasm into adulthood, becoming a wonderful wife, mother and community citizen.

She was a neighborhood playmate the age of Rae Carol and Bob. She would come through the house like a whirlwind. Her impishness caused her to find any possible excuse to say a bad word. She kept to the admonition that she was to respectfully call adults by Mr. and Mrs., but she found ways to shorten them. "Mrs. Shoup" became "Mizzuoop." Flying through the house she would callout "Mizzuoop" and yell her message as she went on through. There was a day Mother remembered when her call was, "Mizzuoop, Mizzuoop, you know what Bob let?" Her obvious answer trailed after her as she dashed out the other door.

The response to this could vary from being shocked, offended, irritated, to feeling the need to tell her mother. Mother's way was to love her and enjoy her and consider it as an incident that was fleeting and a tiny part of a day.

LAUGHTER

Of all our memories, probably laughter will continue to be the greatest. On the way to Reinbeck where we would all gather for the funeral, I had a sudden recollection that put together two separate incidents. The first happened when I went to see Mother for what became the last time. She was sitting in the doorway to her room, and as I approached her she said with some urgency, "I don't think I have much more time." I said, "For what?" and she said, "I think they are going to kill me." I answered, "Oh I don't think so." but she went on, "They do that here when you don't pay." All this while I had been helping her back into her room and at that point I said, "Well, then, Mother, you have nothing to worry about. You are all paid up."

Later in the day I said, "Now, you will remember, you don't have a thing to worry about? I write your checks. Whoever you owe sends me a statement and I send a check right back for whatever you owe." She got the familiar twinkle in her eye and said, "Oh, I wouldn't care if you gypped them a little." (This from a woman who was so truthful people learned, for instance, not to ask how she liked what they were wearing.)

During the next week I received a very apologetic letter from the nursing home. They explained the obvious - Mother was needing more care. They charged so much a day for her room and board, then additionally so much a day according to the amount of care received. It had been $3 a day, it would be $6 — beginning May 7th. She died on the 6th. Driving to the funeral, in the midst of my flow of tears as the enormity of my loss struck me, I swear I heard her whisper in my ear, "We gypped them a little."

How she did love to laugh! She had a repertoire of jokes she loved to tell! And she loved the very telling of them. She prolonged them as long as she could, almost reluctant to get to the punch line and the laugh because then it would soon be over. So she would tell the punch line again, or possibly explain it, or comment about it.

I agree with Kathy that she loved those on herself and one of the favorites was a year when Bob sent her a Christmas present very early. There was a note on the outside saying she was not to open it until Christmas, and also "refrigerate immediately." She complied with both. Into her very small refrigerator went the unopened box. Now, her refrigerator in itself will conjure up memories for all of us who knew her because the appearance of its size had nothing to do with the abundance she kept there. However, storing that box for several months required a lot of rearranging after every new supply of groceries came in, or after each spree of baking.

On the eve of Christmas, when we were ready to open our gifts, she could hardly wait to get to the refrigerator and open the curious package. How she laughed when it turned out to be a box of stationary! The joke he had played on her was the best part of the gift and she loved to describe how much bother it had been as she waited for Christmas to arrive.

One time when Mother and Dad were visiting in Osceola, she and I went uptown and I parked in a space too small for her to open the door on the passenger side. She was perfectly willing to crawl out on the driver's side, but in doing so, instead of sliding across, she turned. With her knees on the seat, she intended to scoot across, but she was not a small person. She became wedged between the seat and the steering wheel, unfortunately activating the horn. Then she got tickled. All up and down the street people turned to look for the reason for prolonged horn-honking and could see only a very large bottom, shaking with laughter, and me beside the car, holding my sides and knowing nothing else to do. I have no idea how the story ended, but we often laughed ourselves helpless. Given the job of moving something nearly too heavy, for instance, always took much longer because we had to stop to laugh.

Sue commented about Kathy's memory of her and Gram lying in bed talking and Gram's comment that it was a good thing Bob couldn't hear them or they'd get it.. She wrote, "When Gram came to stay with us, she and I always shared the bed in my room, just down the hall from Mom and Dad's room. On more than one occasion we did get it — Dad would have to call in and ask us to please hold down the  giggling.

"I'm sure Kathy agrees that it would be priceless to have tapes of those late-night conversations with Gram. I have no idea what specific things we talked about or what was so funny — but it was no accident that when we would all gather at Gram's house, each of us would secretly hope that when the sleeping assignments were passed out, we would be the one to occupy that honored spot beside her.

"Gram was so totally devoid of vanity, incidentally, that one of her means of entertaining me was, at my urging, taking her teeth out. When I was very young the sight of her without her teeth sent me into hysterics . . . and sent her into hysterics watching me laugh.

"Her ability to laugh at the fact that she was growing old made it much easier on all of us, I'm sure. During the time when she was making the transition from her walker to her wheel chair she once said to me in a letter, 'I don't get around very fast any more. But then, what's my hurry?'

"She didn't need prepared jokes. Her wit was so keen that it crept into every conversation. There would be no way to recreate all her clever sayings because they were injected into every situation. I remember, for some reason, while we were visiting there, someone called quite early morning to tell her that one of the fellows in the community had committed suicide. He had gotten up and gone through the usual morning routine, had breakfast, then went to the basement and took his life. Tn the discussion she commented, 'Well, at least he didn't go hungry.'

"She sometimes complained that she forgot some things - for example, a birthday until the very day and then it was too late to do anything about it. I offered to take her family book and make her a birthday book from it. She said, 'Oh, that would be nice. Then when I remembered it was somebody's birthday, I could try to remember where I put the book."'

But parenthetically I would say that she did remember the family birthdays faithfully for years! Will any of us have one without remembering a card with check enclosed that she sent year after year? I still have a note that Tommy sent her: Dear Gramma Bert. Thank you for the birthday money. I spent it on the ice cream man. I love you. Tommy

On one of my last visits I took her in her wheel chair to Aunt Vi's apartment where they visited about people they had known. In one case they were talking about a couple and Mother observed, "Well, he married her for her money,"and then added, "and that's all he got."

The last time I was there I told her a couple of jokes. By this time they had to be very short because she didn't hear well enough to catch a detailed one. This one was a husband who said he planned to leave his brain to science, and his wife's comment she didn't know they would accept anything that small. Mother said, "I thought you were going to say she wanted a refund."

So, Mother loved to laugh and kept us laughing all those years. She didn't lose that sense of humor as long as she lived, and as I mentioned, it seems to me that even in the timing of her death, she had the last laugh.

HONESTY

But recalling that incident about gypping the Nursing Home brings to mind another of her qualities - honesty. She would never have gypped anybody in her whole life! In fact, her honesty was never varying. Things were as they were! Truth was truth! There were no compromises! I had occasion more than once to say. "Mother, nobody needs to be that honest!" It was not a matter of degree with her. If you preferred not to know if something you were wearing was unattractive, you didn't ask what she thought, just in case.

Sue wrote, "I was on more than one occasion the brunt of Gram's guileless honesty, and I'm willing to set aside a small twinge of embarrassment to share the stories. I have been wearing eye make-up since my high school years, sometimes rather heavily. It was something Gram commented on more than once, but I was undeterred. After our car accident in 1973, I had suffered a minor head injury that resulted in two very black eyes, most of the bruise below the eyes extending rather far down onto my cheeks.

"Gram arrived on Saturday morning for Dad's funeral. She came walking into the house, took one look at me and, in a voice filled with exasperation, said, "Oh, Sue, that just looks terrible!" I explained that these were legitimate black eyes and not some new make-up experiment I was involved in and she was actually relieved.

"And then there was the day I took my then-fiance Richard to present him to Gram for her consideration. At that time I was into thinking that extremely long fingernails were very attractive. (Those of you who don't know me or haven't seen me for several years must be getting quite a mental image.) I'd had very long nails for a long enough time that I really gave no thought to them. As Gram and I sat at the kitchen table discussing the engagement it suddenly occurred to me that she might like to see my diamond. I held out my left hand ... which she promptly grabbed, focused on my nails and said, "Oh, Sue, those just look awful!" I tried to shift her attention to the diamond and finally she did kind of glance at it. "That's nice," she shrugged nonchalantly, "but those nails! I just think that's awful!" Again I was reminded of the long­standing family motto: If you don't want to know what she thinks, don't ask.

"It might help to balance out any mistaken image that Gram's honesty was ever rude by pointing out that she was very vocal about her dislike for Don Rickles — she couldn't stand the fact that he insulted people to try to be funny.

Mother expected everybody to be as honest as she was. There was many a trip back to the store to correct an error. Perhaps the wrong change had been given. Perhaps there was an error on the cashier's tape, which she always checked. In whosever favor the error was made, it had to be corrected. She assumed that differences were an error unless the same person consistently made a mistake, which aroused her suspicions. And once she began to suspect someone, that person was never totally trusted again. It made her sad that it was necessary to draw up a will. She was shocked at the details the attorney insisted on including. She knew her three children. When she was gone they would divide everything three ways. What was the problem? She left his office saying, "Why, he thinks everybody is crooked!" Mother didn't like to think anyone was. Granted. some were, but it was wrong!

GOODNESS

Life was supposed to be good and people were supposed to be good. I remember one time when she mentioned that she didn't read much and she thought she might enjoy a good book. I had recently read a novel I enjoyed so I gave it to her. But she gave it back unfinished She wanted a hero or heroine who was ideal. The other characters might be less than that for comparison, but there would always be one in shining armor. Her comment when she gave it back was, "I don't want to read that! There isn't a good person in it!"

Her life was good. Her niece Eleanor Kirkby wrote she'd had a letter from Mother in reply to one she had written. It said, "Every day something good happens - today it was your letter." But she didn't just wait for good things to happen to her. When I was on a trip to Holland I received one letter — from Mother. It was fun for her to surprise me with it and fun for me to receive it.

Her life was full of people. She had grown up with eight brothers and sisters who had fun together. She was accustomed to lots of people around and seemed never to tire from the resulting noise and confusion. "What noise; what confusion?"

She had an incredible memory for names. One time two friends went with me to visit her. I had been trying to put together a book about the family. We sat down together and she went through the whole group. She listed from memory her brothers' and sisters' children, who each had married, their children by names, who they had married and their children. I was not as surprised as the ones who had gone with me, but for all of us it seemed like a remarkable feat. Not to her. They were her people.

And they really were. It may have been a German custom to gather for Sundays and holidays at the grandparents' house. Because Grandpa Rickert was not living, the family all went to "Grandma's house." When she died, Mother made it known that she hoped they would then come to her house — and they did. It was very nice for her, but I believe also very nice for them. Never would they go anywhere they would be more genuinely welcomed! Never were people more catered to than at Mother's. Hospitality included, or centered around eating. You ate when you arrived. You had to eat again before you left — no matter how recently you had eaten.

She loved parties! When she was no longer able to attend card parties away from her home, she appreciated so much that the ladies came to her house. Freida Bern (next door neighbor) enjoyed remembering that unlike those who houseclean before a party; Mother would say, "I live in it all week. They can surely stand it for a couple hours." She was not a meticulous housekeeper but the dishes were always done. She loved to wash dishes and never left even a few sitting around.

She loved to cook and bake. She had books and drawers full of recipes and was always interested in the newest ones, cutting them out of a newspaper or magazine, trying them out, usually with her own particular twist that she thought would improve on it. It was impossible to get a recipe from her. She would give it as stated but then add, "But I don't do that." She improvised and came up with wonderful food that I could never replicate.

Her party schedule was something else! Even though she protested it was not true, I used to kid her about having to make an appointment with her regarding which day I could go visit. "You have a party every day." "Oh , I do not!" And then she would begin to review her week and often conclude, "Well, that was my full week - 'but now next week - well, I'll have - -" the upcoming one turned out to be a full week as well.

Van and Jenifer and the boys made one quick trip through Reinbeck on their way to Illinois in order that Mother could meet Jenifer and vice versa. They had in mind a sitting-down-to-visit-in-the-living-room type of stay. But even though it was not meal time, Mother insisted they have a meal there. That was the highest type of welcome she knew.

Van had some particular memories in regard food: "I remember particularly a Thanksgiving when there must have been a large gathering (or a small gathering of large eaters). There were two birds, probably 30# each. There was some connection with the restaurant because we spent the morning shuttling between Park Street and downtown checking on the birds. And she loved every second of the preparations.

"There were the traditions which perhaps she didn't even notice. There was always scalloped oysters at Thanksgiving. There was always an excellent salami and Ritz crackers at Christmas or the days before Christmas. There were Delicious apples and nuts sitting around. There were Cokes and 7-Ups kept on the back porch - unless it was too cold and they had to be moved to the refrigerator so they wouldn't freeze."

Mother was also involved in the church organizations. She continued, almost as long as she was able to go, to take her turn at giving lessons. For roll call each one was to answer with Bible verse or a saying, and even though others would often just answer, "present," and in spite of my having no recollection of her ever reading the Bible, she had a stock of them in her memory and would respond with one. How we loved it that in her late years, when names of the "elderly" were distributed for the members to call on, she would also take several!

She put a lot of stock in her friends. It used to drive Clifford up a wall when she would tell something of questionable logic, prefaced with, "Well, they say..." Clifford would ask, "Who is 'they?"' "Everybody." Clifford would come back with, "It can't be everybody. I'm a body and I don't say that." But she wasn't deterred by such as that. Her friends said it and that was all that mattered.

Friends! Who could say how many she had - of all ages! In the summer prior to September 1974, the family planned an open house to celebrate her 90th birthday. Feeling that she should have some warning, she was told about it several weeks ahead of time. She was appalled that plans were being made for two- to three-hundred people, saying, "Why, I don't even know 300 people!" Rosemary remembers that it was right at 300 who came, besides those who called to regret and others who were out of town for the day. But an interesting fact was that there were people of all ages. Children, teens, adults, the elderly came to congratulate her. And she called them all by name!

The following is the news story which made that announcement. It appeared in the Waterloo Courier, Grundy Center Register, Conrad Record, Osceola Sentinel and the Reinbeck Courier:

There will be an open house in honor of the 90th birthday of Mrs. R. C. (Bertha) Shoup, Saturday, September 14, from 2:00 to 4:00 p.m. in the Legion Room of the Community Building, Reinbeck Iowa. This is being hosted by her children, grandchildren and great-grandchildren. Mrs. Fern Underwood, Osceola, Iowa, Mrs. Rae Carol Rowley of Indianapolis, Indiana, and Mr. and Mrs. Robert Shoup and family of Winona, Minnesota expect to attend. They cordially invite their mother's relatives and many friends to celebrate this occasion with them and respectfully request there be no gifts.

Mrs. Shoup was born in Grundy County to Carl and Emma Rickert and has lived most of her life in the Reinbeck area. She had eight brothers and sisters of whom Mrs. Dorothy Paton, Park View Manor, Reinbeck and Mr. Frank Rickert of Denver, Colorado are still living. She was married in 1903 to Raymond C. Shoup, now deceased. The three above-mentioned children were born to this union.

The December 27, 1919 issue of the Country Gentleman magazine featured a story of this couple's successful farming; but they, along with many others, were victims of the economic crisis of 1929-30. They moved to Conrad, Iowa where they went into the International Harvester business.

They returned to Reinbeck in 1936, where Mr. Shoup became the bookkeeper for his brother, Fred, in a car dealership. In time he became the owner-operator of a feed business. He served as Reinbeck's mayor for some years.

Bertha Shoup is a member of the United Church of Christ, formerly the Congregational Church of Reinbeck. She served for some years as a Trustee of the church and has been active in the women's groups. She has been a member of several fraternal organizations and clubs and continues to be very active socially in the community.

Her immediate family now includes her three children, their two living spouses, ten grandchildren, two great grandchildren; but by interest is the "grand-aunt" to the offspring of her deceased brothers and. sisters.

The Reverend and Mrs. A. H. Boettcher were pastoring the church when Mother was serving on the Board of Trustees. They wrote at the time of her death, "She served on the Board of Trustees along with Alma Ohrt when having women on that Board was not a common practice. However, they were two of the best trustees we ever had. We send our love and sympathy to you and the family.We know you feel privileged to have had her for 96 years." Signed Alvin and Ruth Boettcher

At the time of the funeral one of her nieces, Lois Roberton,.wrote, "I am sorry I couldn't get home for Aunt Bert's funeral, but perhaps it's better to just remember her as a favorite. As I'm sure you know, she was very special to me."

Another, Eleanor Kirkby, wrote, "She was a rare person. I loved her as a relative before I really knew her as a person. It will always be a feeling of real appreciation that I got to know her that way."

Kaye Humphrey wrote, "Though I know you'll miss her, as we all will, I find it not quite right to write in sympathy. Rather, I feel a great joy and pride that such a special person with her special way of living, was a member of our family. She enriched all our lives with her energy, personality, and outstanding character." Kaye's sister, Eleanor, wrote, "We will all miss her - just knowing she's not there leaves a real empty feeling. She was always 'there' when we needed her. What a great ladyl"

These were typical of the expressions received at the time of her death, but this letter says a great deal about why. The writer was Henry Ramsey, a Reinbeck man who brought joy to the Nursing Home people very Tuesday and Friday mornings when he brought apples, quartered and peeled for them, and passed them out up and down the halls. Mother was very appreciative and I promised her I would write and thank him. He replied: "A little history will no doubt help to explain how I feel about your mother.

"At the age of six, in 1898, I began going to the country school where all the members of the Rickert family got their education. I was very small for my age and just as bashful as I was small. There were two big boys about Bertha's age who made life miserable for me and a couple of other lads my age, and your mother came to our aid by giving them tongue-lashings whenever they needed it, and keeping the teacher informed as to what was going on. Of course it is easy to understand why Bertha quickly became one of our favorite persons. And in my case, that is what she is today."

STRENGTH

I suppose, to me, the most admirable quality about Mother was her strength. Whatever happened to me all my life, Mother was always there! So steady, so dependable, so strong. Never injecting herself— but there!

A most unbelievable aspect of this was in regard to her cataract surgery. In those days, it involved a specialist whom we saw in Iowa City. It also required she lie perfectly still, flat on her back for a week, with sand bags on each side of her head to prevent any movement. I went with her and was eager for the week to be over, but at that time she said, "I think I will have the other one done while we are here." She went through another week of the procedure and went home to Osceola with us before going home alone. There was a serendipity to this as it revealed to me a side of Clifford I had not seen. Drops had to be put in her eyes throughout the day and Clifford was the one who took care of doing it. Mother remarked it was then she came to know Clifford. This was in 1972 and he was killed in 1973, so I am very grateful for the sequence.

Just before our father died, we had brought him to Dr. Harken's nursing home in Osceola. We brought him by ambulance on Saturday before he died on Monday, October 12, 1959. For a year he had been suffering from lung cancer. He had gone downhill steadily. His care in progressive stages included the need of oxygen. The supplier brought the tanks to their home and Mother rolled them in, as needed, over the threshold between back porch and kitchen, to his bedside. It included her sleeping on the couch in the living room for months. She was then 75 and our concern for the whole situation included how much she could stand. He did not want to go to the hospital. She did not want it for him and was willing to do what she could to prevent it. She would have considered doing nothing else.

The "coincidences" attendant upon the weekend just referred to are numerous. They brought about the situation when Rae Carol and Mother were with our family at lunch when Dr. Harken came to tell us that Dad had died. The immediate details to be taken care of included notifying people, arranging for him to be returned to Reinbeck — but Mother thought of Clifford's mother in the hospital, the result of a devastating stroke. She wanted to see her before we left town. While she was leaning over, trying to explain to her what had happened a nurse stood by me. This was Hazel, a very large, masculine type woman who gave an appearance of towering strength. I commented to her that Dad had just died and we were leaving. She looked at me in shock. "Your Dad just died? That lady's husband has just died?! And she is here telling Blanche about it?" To her that was incredible!

Van was 13, and as we were in the car on the way to the funeral he said, disturbed, "I can't understand why nobody is crying." It was Mother who turned from the front seat to say, "Van, he could only have gotten worse. He could have suffered teuibly. He had already suffered a long time. It is good that he could go."

But there were other aspects to that strength. I used to kid her about being so stubborn. But I did it admiringly, because without that stubbornness I am not sure what our family would have done. It brought us through the depression. When Dad lost the farm after they had done remarkably well, had established great respect and tangible assets, we moved to another community where he went into a farm machinery business. From a beautiful, two story farm home, electrically lighted and with indoor plumbing in a time when that was unusual for farmn homes — to a miserable house that had stood empty for some time. She made the best of it.

In later years when we moved back to Reinbeck and Dad was making $25 a week, making payments on a car, paying rent, she managed for the five of us. She sewed our clothes and mended and mended. She cooked low cost foods. She supplemented the income by baking for other people. A friend, Connie Bicket, remarked about her memories of coming home from school with Rae Carol and into the house that smelled of bread baking, and finding freshly made coffee-sticks. How good they were! And how many others must remember this, because Rae Carol says it was not only Connie who went home with her but others as well. They devoured stacks of coffee sticks and even though times were hard, Mother never restricted what they could eat. Rae Carol remembers it as a daily event.

Her strength which could be akin to stubbornness saw Bob through school which he detested to the utmost! She noted a report card never came that didn't say, "capable of doing better." He left reluctantly every morning all those years, and when he was in high school a buddy wanted them both to quit and join the Navy. Mother said,"No!"and when Mother said, "no," you might as well forget it. "When you get out of school you can do whatever you want, but you are going to finish high school!"

Of course no one knows what would have happened if Bob had quit. It isn't productive to go around what-if-ing. But he did finish high school, he did go into military service. He did gain from somewhere a desire for more education, and was still taking courses for his C.P.A. accomplishment after he was married and a father.

Mother's strength/stubborness saw her through the Night of the Prowler. I trust that Kathy will not mind if I elaborate on this, from the account as I heard it from Mother the morning after it happened. Marge Evans from Osceola and I had gone to see her. She talked off-handedly about the plans for the day and other generalities. Then she said, "I guess I had better tell you what happened last night. It was really kind of scarey."

She had gone to bed about 11:45 Thursday night. Parenthetically, no one locked their doors in Reinbeck in those years. She had just laid down when she thought she heard somebody walking; but she listened a little more and decided it must have been the house creaking. She didn't get up to check immediately but when she did, she noticed that the sewing machine, which she kept against the bathroom door, was out of place. Even that didn't disturb her too much. One of the ladies there for a party could have tried to go through that door. So she went back to bed.

Just then, something hit her on the head. She thought at first something had fallen off the headboard, but when she felt around she knew it was the box of tissues she kept on the radiator by the telephone. She realized, then, that someone had thrown it. She got up and turned on the lights. There was a pair of glasses lying where the box of tissues had been. Somebody was there!

SO SHE WENT UPSTAIRS! Nobody can realize what that says if they had not seen her walk in those last years. But she went up regardless, pulling herself by the handrail, and.turned on the light. She looked in each room but didn't see anyone. She went into what had once been a kitchen when Grandmother Shoup and Aunt Bess lived upstairs. There is a closet off that room and when she turned the knob, the fellow hiding inside held the door. She stood there and said, "WHAT ARE YOU DOING IN MY HOUSE! YOU'D BETTER GET OUT OF HERE!" He didn't answer so she went downstairs and LOCKED THE FRONT DOOR SO HE COULDN'T GET OUT! Then she called Arnold (Bern, next door neighbor).

It took him awhile to get there. Before he left the house he called the police. In the meantime the fellow came downstairs and tried to get out the front door, which he couldn't do. He had to walk past Mother to get out. This was the first she had seen him She said he had something over his head maybe a ski mask — so she could see just a little of his face, and she knew him. Just as he went past her to get out the back door, Arnold and Freida came in. Arnold was able to hold the fellow until the police came.

Mother had some concerns about this, but none for herself. She was concerned for his family, whom she knew. She hadn't intended to tell it at all, but in a small town word gets around. The police car at her house was enough to arouse questions. Secondly, she hesitated to tell me for fear I would think she should not live alone anymore. On the contrary, she had taken better care of herself and the situation than I surely could have done.

ADAPTABILITY

I wonder if it will seem to be a contradiction in terms to follow strength/stubbornness with adaptability. From the stubbornness came the resolution to adapt — to adapt to whatever was! She took care of things! She was resourceful. For physical problems, vinegar or salt would cure most any poisonous condition, external or internal. Sue loves to remember what she did about one nuisance:

"One of the difficulties in telling this particular story about Gram is the fact that she could come off sounding a bit sadistic. But those who know her will know she wasn't — she was just taking care of a problem and doing it with her special brand of enthusiasm and individuality.

"One afternoon when we were visiting there we strolled into the back yard. Attached to the back of the house were the old-fashioned-type slanted double cellar doors (down which one could almost believe Gram liked to slide when things got slow.) For some reason the cellar doors were covered with streams of ants. Gram, Mom, and I all spotted them at the same time, and Mom and I began discussing the fact that insect spray of some kind was in order.

"But Gram was already disappearing into the house, saying something about knowing just exactly how to take care of ants. A few minutes later she emerged ... carrying a steaming teakettle. With an air of nonchalance, mixed undeniably with glee, she walked to the cellar doors and began pouring boiling hot water on the ants while Mom and I looked on in amazement. It occurred to us this might be rather inhumane; but Gram, still gleefully scalding these ants to death pointed out, 'I don't know why. It's quick.' Who could argue?"

Mother always made do with what she had. If something sufficed and did the job, why replace it? She never yearned for the new things although she was not critical if the rest of us had them. Clifford was the opposite. He was fascinated with gadgets and took advantage of the first opportunity to have an automatic washer. When he was demonstrating it for her and Dad, with the awe he felt appropriate, explaining its various cycles and all that it did automatically, Mother wryly asked, "Do you ever find yourself talking to it?"

She could neither understand nor accept the new attitude of working persons. When she had her living room carpeted, for instance, she was evaluating the work as the men left in the afternoon. She commented, "I probably was foolish not to have had the steps in the hall carpeted as well." One said, "Oh , you are wise not to have done that. That is very expensive. It takes a lot of carpet!" I can just envision the wheels of her mind beginning to turn and by the time the workmen came back to finish their job the next morning, the stairs were done. She had gathered up the scraps they were going to throw away and did the job herself!

There could be no better example of her adaptability than when she went into the Nursing Home. When the inevitability of it seemed close, we tried to do everything we could to help her stay in her home as long as she could. It was painful to watch her go from cane to walker, to see how she had to pull herself across her kitchen by holding onto counter top. She fell a lot — not hard falls but just sinking down because the leg, which had become increasingly useless, gave way. Sue remembers one time she fell, and, unable to get up, pulled down on the floor the dish she was using to make jello. She finished stirring it and crawled over to the refrigerator and put it in. No use holding up progress.

She had a lady, Jean, who came to clean for her. However, Jean was less a hired person than a friend who came every Friday morning for coffee. Now, muscles that are 90+ years old don't function as they do for a younger person and one of Mother's problems was being able to get herself to the bathroom in time. The resulting problem for Jean was the ability to clean thoroughly enough to rid the house of the smell.

I was very disturbed by this, particularly thinking of the ladies who were still coming for their Saturday parties and other times through the week. I wanted to write and encourage Mother to mention to Jean that she might have to use stronger cleaner. I didn't want to hurt her feelings but I did want her to know that people coming in from fresh air, people who didn't live in it all the time, would surely be aware of it. I remember pausing in my letter, trying to find a word that would soften what I wanted to say. Certainly "stink," apt though it might be, was unacceptable. Even "smell" seemed harsh. "Fragrance" obviously was wrong. Finally I came up with "aroma." "There is an aroma," I remember writing, praying it was the synonym I needed.

I could hardly wait to open the letter in reply! Would I have hurt her? I tore open the envelope and no! She had. laughed and laughed! "Aroma" was not the right word! Aroma was the smell of coffee brewing, or bread baking - not what I was trying to describe! Once again laughter saved the day!

In the years when I was involved with many civic activities we worked very hard to get a Homemaker-Home-Health-Aid service for our County. This is an agency which provides and trains persons to go into homes where there is a need, and give physical and household attention to persons in order for them to stay in their own homes as long as possible. At Christmastime in 1979, I was able to discover that there was such a service in Grundy County and between Rae Carol and me, we arranged for Mother to make use of it.

What happened on the day she decided to go to the Home no one can quite explain. For someone like me, who refuses to believe in coincidence, it does not need an explanation. The lady who was supposed to come from that service to help her get up and ready for the day didn't come. A storm was somehow involved. Mother attempted to get herself up and fell, entangling herself in her wheel chair. There she laid, for about-three hours. The wheels cut into her legs. It was painful, frustrating, and probably frightening. But it was the deciding point. When Freida and Armold came for morning coffee, she said, "If I thought I could get in, I would go to the Nursing Home this afternoon."

I believe it was the previous weekend when Bob and Rosemary had gone to talk to the Director to find out what Mother could take if she would have to go there, to learn prices and what arrangements would have to be made, and all the rest. Those at the Home, then, did not find this unexpected news. They could take her that very day and she went.

Unlike the majority of Nursing Home residents, (1) she did not allow this to be a traumatic move. Cindy remembers the story about the ambulance coming for her. Because of snow drifts, it pulled into the Bern's driveway and the men came across the back lot to her door. There was a light-hearted remark about the possibility of them getting stuck in the snow and her reply was if they expected her to get off the stretcher and push, they could forget it. (2) Also unlike the majority of residents, she never looked back. She told us to sell her house and all her things. She would not be going back. She never whined for the life she had left but adjusted to the new. She took part in all the activities. She delighted the nurses with her humor and her upbeat thinking. Food was excellent! She loved the people! There was always something to do!

She was not tolerant of people whose minds didn't work well. She had known most of those people as children and young people. In fact, she had grown up with most of them. To see them in their mental state was very hard, and for that reason she wanted a private room. We were so grateful she could have one.

If for no other reason, we should be glad she could go when she did because her own mind had become confused in the last months. It was a terrifying time for her because she thought they had moved everyone to another community and she wanted to "go home," pleaded with everyone, "Will you please take me home?" She told me long stories about the killings that were taking place. I would ask, "Mother, don't you just think you had a bad dream?" Her answer was, "Oh, I hope so!" but later she refuted that. It was just too real! All of this was totally out of character for her, of course. She never dwelled on killings but some quirk of her mind, perhaps a stroke, had set her on a new track. It will be fascinating when science has learned more about the process of thought and motivations.

I have a precious memory when I was in the hospital in Waterloo with her for some tests (March 19-24, 1981.) The first couple of nights I stayed in a motel, but she was too confused, having no idea where she was or why people were doing all those things to her. From that time on I slept in her room. One early morning she had, apparently, one of her rare happy dreams — or was it a vision? (I choose to think so.) In her sleep she gave a joyful little chuckle and said, "Well! You're all here!" I hope so much she said those very words on the night of May 6th when, probably, a massive heart attack helped her from this life to the next one!

In anticipation of that time I hoped maybe she could just sleep away, that one night she would go to sleep and they would find the next morning she had died in the night. But I am very grateful it didn't happen like that. The nurse had responded to her call, had become concerned because of labored breathing, and called the doctor. He came immediately and they were both with her for the very short time of her passing. I like it that she was not alone. I like knowing that everything was done for her that could have been done. I like knowing she went quickly. At the age of 96, she had known good times and not-so-good. She had many friends, and watched a great number of them leave this realm and go on. I want her vision to have been a glimpse of what was ahead — the joyful reunion in which she exclaimed, as I'd heard her do, "You're all here!"

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