KENNETH ROY HELLE, 16g (Donald 15, George A. 14, Frederick 13)
b. 20 Nov. 1943; Princeton, IL
m. 30 Nov. 1963; Tiskilwa Mennonite Church; Tiskilwa, IL; dv. ANN SHARON "SHARON" GREEN, daughter of Orville and Juanita Gladys
(Mahan) Green; b. 2 July 1947; Leachville, AR
d. 31 May 1990; Princeton, IL
br. Mount Bloom Cemetery; Tiskilwa, IL
Kenneth and Sharon have three children:
DON CHARLES HELLE, 17g
b. 08 Aug 1966; Princeton, IL
JEFFERY SCOTT HELLE, 17g
b. 06 Aug 1968; Princeton, IL
AMY MARIE HELLE, 17g
b. 30 Sept 1974; Princeton, IL
b. 20 Nov. 1943; Princeton, IL
m. 30 Nov. 1963; Tiskilwa Mennonite Church; Tiskilwa, IL; dv. ANN SHARON "SHARON" GREEN, daughter of Orville and Juanita Gladys
(Mahan) Green; b. 2 July 1947; Leachville, AR
d. 31 May 1990; Princeton, IL
br. Mount Bloom Cemetery; Tiskilwa, IL
Kenneth and Sharon have three children:
DON CHARLES HELLE, 17g
b. 08 Aug 1966; Princeton, IL
JEFFERY SCOTT HELLE, 17g
b. 06 Aug 1968; Princeton, IL
AMY MARIE HELLE, 17g
b. 30 Sept 1974; Princeton, IL
Kenneth, Sharon and baby Don
Kenneth, Don, Sharon, Jeff, Amy Helle
Kenneth Helle and step-father, J. Still
girlfriend, Toni, with Kenneth Helle in British Columbia, CANADA
Kenneth Helle
Died 31 May 1990
His Obituary read in part;
Services for Kenneth R Helle 46, of rural Putman, who was killed in a car-truck accident near Princeton Thursday morning, will be at 11 a.m. today at Norberg Memorial Home in Princeton. The Rev. Bob Monts will officiate.
Kenneth was born Nov. 1943 to Donald L. Helle and Jean Underwood Helle.
Surviving are his mother, Jean Still of Princeton; his fiancee Toni Parian of Putman; two sons, Don with the Navy in Japan and Jeffrey with the Navy in Sicily; one daughter, Amy Marie Helle of Putman; two brothers, Terry of Princeton and James of Marion; three sisters, Marilynne Helle of Princeton, Mrs. Ralph (Donna) Barker of Wyanet and Beverly Sue Oesch of Congerville; a half brother, Charles Lee Helle of Spokane, WA.; and nieces and nephews.
Kenneth was preceded in death by father Don Helle and his stepfather, J. Still.
A Tiskilwa High School graduate, Kenneth owned and operated a land improvement business and also was a timber buyer
Died 31 May 1990
His Obituary read in part;
Services for Kenneth R Helle 46, of rural Putman, who was killed in a car-truck accident near Princeton Thursday morning, will be at 11 a.m. today at Norberg Memorial Home in Princeton. The Rev. Bob Monts will officiate.
Kenneth was born Nov. 1943 to Donald L. Helle and Jean Underwood Helle.
Surviving are his mother, Jean Still of Princeton; his fiancee Toni Parian of Putman; two sons, Don with the Navy in Japan and Jeffrey with the Navy in Sicily; one daughter, Amy Marie Helle of Putman; two brothers, Terry of Princeton and James of Marion; three sisters, Marilynne Helle of Princeton, Mrs. Ralph (Donna) Barker of Wyanet and Beverly Sue Oesch of Congerville; a half brother, Charles Lee Helle of Spokane, WA.; and nieces and nephews.
Kenneth was preceded in death by father Don Helle and his stepfather, J. Still.
A Tiskilwa High School graduate, Kenneth owned and operated a land improvement business and also was a timber buyer
Kenneth Roy Helle
As told by his oldest son, Don Charles Helle
January 25, 2000
I've wondered privately for along time just "What" I'd tell my children about their grandfather. Those that knew him understood that there were many sides to this man. Not only did I have the opportunity to view Kenneth Roy Helle as a father but also the depth of his personality as a friend. Of course nobody ever considers, "What folks will say about him or her after they're gone". Dad most likely wouldn't have written many words in his behalf if he were here today. He would want me to tell my children that he was a proud man, honest and hard working. "Who could just so happen, shoot a coyote at 300 yards on the dead run and hit'em every time". Then he'd
crack a smile and his piercing blue eyes would sparkle and confess, "Well maybe not every time".
A large part of Dad's personality was his emphasis on first impressions. I can remember being in the third grade when Dad and Grandpa Gene (Still) taught Jeff & I how to shake hands. First you look him in the eye, extend your hand and give him a good "firm" handshake. Looking a person in the eye was the point, he figured if you couldn't look a person in the eye, you must be scared or hiding something. He didn't believe in either. He basically felt that he could probably take most any man "except for maybe Muhammad Ali" and besides he never had anything to hide.
Jeff & I would roll our eyes at hearing Dad's endless stream of "Old Sayings" but they were a part of his character. (Call a spade a spade)
basically meant to speak the truth regardless of popularity points. (The Boss may not be right but, he's the Boss) translates into sometimes you're going to have to do things you don't want to do however, you'll do them until you become the boss. Then my two all time favorites: #1. As long as you live under my roof, you'll abide by my rules. #2. Don't do as I do, do as I say. You see these two "Golden Oldies" show a difficult side to express. Dad loved us kids with all of his heart; he just wasn't an effective communicator. Dad was strict and very disciplined he had standards for everything. You did things to meet his standards and if it wasn't good enough, you did it again.
Now as a bullheaded boys go, I had double of most any kid you've ever met. I did what I was told however; I liked to know "why?" I was doing it. This is where we had our difficult times; his standard answers were one of the two favorites listed above. To which this bullheaded son couldn't understand, this was one of Dad's only faults in my view. Please take this message to heart; I'll assume that you're bullheaded also; fact is that if you're a Helle you've likely got more bullheadedness in you than most. Communication would solve many problems within and outside of immediate family, if you've got a bullheaded Helle in your house simply explain the logic behind your wisdom. Enough said.
Life was good for us kids; I have a younger brother Jeff and sister Amy. We grew up in Putnam, IL on a 60-acre farm just south of Tiskilwa. Dad's careers were always timber or heavy machinery related however, he couldn't teach us (his) lessons there so he tinkered with farming a little. We grew some corn & beans plus had a few chickens nothing large though. I believe this is how he wanted to teach us his "Work Ethics". We'd walk behind the tractor and disc picking up sticks, or gathering ears of corn the combine would miss. Everything had a purpose, the sticks were so we could extend the edge of the fields and the corn was free chicken feed. Dad's standards were met in everything; he'd walk the fields and if he could find five ears of corn that we missed, we'd have to walk the field over again. It's amazing how out of a field more than a few acres large he could get out of his truck and nearly walk right to six or seven ears. (Old Saying) "If the
jobs worth doing, then it's worth doing right the first time". We learned to be more thorough and pay attention to detail.
Combined with work ethic is "Vigor". Dad would wake us up more than I'd care to remember to the sound of a chainsaw. We knew what was in store for us; we had a word burning stove, which was replaced by a wood-burning furnace, we went through allot of firewood. Each piece had to be cut to a certain length, which Dad did with the saw. When the wood needed to be split and you've got two strapping teenage boys there, out come the splitting mauls. This is one of my favorite stories, Dad had bought Jeff & I each a splitting maul (8lbs.) with hickory handles. The first time we broke a handle it was quite by accident, then we figured out that when the handles were broken work stopped. So in the next few weeks we went through some handles, Dad got wise fast and ordered a remedy. A few phone calls
later and Dad said he had the cure for broken handles, The Zott's Monster Maul (18lbs.) solid steel from head to handle with a reinforced neck. "Break this" he smiled when it arrived, he liked it so much he bought another one the "Ladies Maul" (12lbs.). We never broke another handle and we've split wood for years, I believe Jeff still uses them today. Splitting wood with vigor is different than "just" splitting wood. Dad wanted to be impressed; he wanted to see us split wood (Old Saying) "Like you're beating snakes".
When you're swinging an 18lbs maul like you're beating snakes you become strong. "Strength" was always a measuring stick in our house. As kids we could use two hands to arm-wrestle Dad, as we got older we graduated to only one. We'd arm-wrestled weekly it seems; I can remember the different levels of intensity and as the years passed he had to put forth more effort to win. Then one day while I was 16yrs old it happened I won!! I beat'em. That day will last forever in my memory, not for the win but rather how Dad changed. He didn't appreciate getting beat by his son; it was an acknowledgment that he was getting old, we never arm-wrestled again.
"Pride" is another word you must use when describing him. He was proud of his appearance and his possessions; he liked to look neat and professional because that's how he felt about himself. He loved his parents, brothers and sisters and often told us the (When I was a kid) story, which usually ended by walking uphill both ways to school, in the dead of winter with a six-cell flashlight. He grew up hard, as I believe every previous generation can claim but he was proud of where he came from and at what level he stood. He believed in standing tall with your head held high, anything less would be shameful.
Dad was one top-notched shooter; we frequently had shooting contest to see who was the better shot. We'd start off with dots drawn on a paper plate, then move to driving nails and finally hitting 22.cal casing sitting on a board. Dad took great pride in being a great shot, not many men ever matched Dad's shooting skills and nobody ever beat him. He was also a dedicated hunter of all season and preached "safety" with every step. Dad did everything with "Focus & Passion " he seemed to be able to walk silently through the woods and hear stuff not audible to us kids. He taught us many lessons hunting and I will forever have great memories there.
Around this time in our lives Jeff & I were both working after school and on weekends. Mom and Amy were out and Dad was going through some changes. His stubborn pride and lack of communication skills lead to very sad time in our life. He wasn't happy anymore and Mom and he divorced. This was the "mother" of all shocks, nobody expected it, saw it coming etc our parents never even argued. Too frequently divorces become nasty; ours was no exception, there are many feeling hurt and sour memories there. I won't go into detail other than to say (Nobody "Wins" in divorce especially kids, occasionally adults remarry but children's scars last forever).
I joined the Navy out of High School and had my first dealings with the world. I laid in bed that first night at Great Lakes and wondered just what I had gotten myself into. Mom & Dad never set academic standards too high on us, he often said that he wasn't a "genius" and didn't expect us to be however; nothing would be tolerated below a "C" average grade. But now things have changed; I'm on my own with nobody to "please" but myself. I ended a nine-year Navy career graduating in the top 3% of every class I'd ever taken. Always first promoted in the fleet why? Because nobody had the same work ethic, vigor and attention to detail as I had. I came home on leave after completing a school and went to see Dad and his fiancée Ms. Toni Pairen. There was a whole new glow about him now. I thanked him for
raising me in the method that he did; I finally understood "why?" he was so hard to please. His wisdom looks me in the mirror every morning as I shave.
Before the divorce Dad was a big Country Western music fan, the sad type. Dad enjoyed listening to the lyrics of songs and the stories they told. Some of his old favorites were "Footsteps in the sand" and "Cat's in the Cradle" he would always say," Shhhh listen to the words". When I met Dad & Toni and spent the night in their place, the following morning he woke me up to the "Top Gun" Soundtrack. I asked him, what happened and whose music was this? He said that (he) bought it, "Life is too short to go through being sad, upbeat music makes me smile". He then asked me to sit down and listen to his "new" favorite song, (Bob Seger - Like a rock). He enjoyed music although we never saw Dad dance, "it wasn't his nature". We didn't know for years that he kept two violins hidden under his bed. He said that as a child his father (insisted) that he learn to play the violin, Dad hated to be forced into anything. (This trait we strongly share) He did enjoy picking up the guitar though, and taught himself to play many tunes. I will always recall the hours spent in the kitchen learning to play "Ghost Rider's
in the Sky". He was so proud when he finally mastered it.
As adults Dad opened up to me unlike he ever had before. Maybe it was because of his age? They say that when you get older you can reflect on life with more clarity, things done & mistakes made. Dad told me things about his past, present and future, deep thoughts with allot of emotions. Dad was from the (Old School) "Men don't cry it's a sign of weakness". He told me many stories and for one of the first times in my life he said that he loved me. To hear sentimental words coming from a man made of stone was moving for both of us. We became great friends, with more of a bond than just father & son.
In summery I'd suggest looking at the italicized words I used: Work Ethic, Vigor, Strength, Pride, Focus and Passion. These words describe him well both personally and professionally. I believe he'd agree with the words I've chosen here and feel proud that his messages didn't fall upon deaf ears. Dad stunned all of us when he wrote a poem for the Helle Book; I read that poem now with great pride (Quote from the last sentence of his poem) "If my kids are as proud of me as I was Dad, the good Lord knows I won't be sad". That is a great line, which I'll happily pass along to my children. I'm very proud of my Dad for the father he was, which influences the man I've become.
Fathers
It doesn't matter who my father was; it matters who I remember he was.
Anne Sexton (1928 1974)
Don Charles Helle
As told by his oldest son, Don Charles Helle
January 25, 2000
I've wondered privately for along time just "What" I'd tell my children about their grandfather. Those that knew him understood that there were many sides to this man. Not only did I have the opportunity to view Kenneth Roy Helle as a father but also the depth of his personality as a friend. Of course nobody ever considers, "What folks will say about him or her after they're gone". Dad most likely wouldn't have written many words in his behalf if he were here today. He would want me to tell my children that he was a proud man, honest and hard working. "Who could just so happen, shoot a coyote at 300 yards on the dead run and hit'em every time". Then he'd
crack a smile and his piercing blue eyes would sparkle and confess, "Well maybe not every time".
A large part of Dad's personality was his emphasis on first impressions. I can remember being in the third grade when Dad and Grandpa Gene (Still) taught Jeff & I how to shake hands. First you look him in the eye, extend your hand and give him a good "firm" handshake. Looking a person in the eye was the point, he figured if you couldn't look a person in the eye, you must be scared or hiding something. He didn't believe in either. He basically felt that he could probably take most any man "except for maybe Muhammad Ali" and besides he never had anything to hide.
Jeff & I would roll our eyes at hearing Dad's endless stream of "Old Sayings" but they were a part of his character. (Call a spade a spade)
basically meant to speak the truth regardless of popularity points. (The Boss may not be right but, he's the Boss) translates into sometimes you're going to have to do things you don't want to do however, you'll do them until you become the boss. Then my two all time favorites: #1. As long as you live under my roof, you'll abide by my rules. #2. Don't do as I do, do as I say. You see these two "Golden Oldies" show a difficult side to express. Dad loved us kids with all of his heart; he just wasn't an effective communicator. Dad was strict and very disciplined he had standards for everything. You did things to meet his standards and if it wasn't good enough, you did it again.
Now as a bullheaded boys go, I had double of most any kid you've ever met. I did what I was told however; I liked to know "why?" I was doing it. This is where we had our difficult times; his standard answers were one of the two favorites listed above. To which this bullheaded son couldn't understand, this was one of Dad's only faults in my view. Please take this message to heart; I'll assume that you're bullheaded also; fact is that if you're a Helle you've likely got more bullheadedness in you than most. Communication would solve many problems within and outside of immediate family, if you've got a bullheaded Helle in your house simply explain the logic behind your wisdom. Enough said.
Life was good for us kids; I have a younger brother Jeff and sister Amy. We grew up in Putnam, IL on a 60-acre farm just south of Tiskilwa. Dad's careers were always timber or heavy machinery related however, he couldn't teach us (his) lessons there so he tinkered with farming a little. We grew some corn & beans plus had a few chickens nothing large though. I believe this is how he wanted to teach us his "Work Ethics". We'd walk behind the tractor and disc picking up sticks, or gathering ears of corn the combine would miss. Everything had a purpose, the sticks were so we could extend the edge of the fields and the corn was free chicken feed. Dad's standards were met in everything; he'd walk the fields and if he could find five ears of corn that we missed, we'd have to walk the field over again. It's amazing how out of a field more than a few acres large he could get out of his truck and nearly walk right to six or seven ears. (Old Saying) "If the
jobs worth doing, then it's worth doing right the first time". We learned to be more thorough and pay attention to detail.
Combined with work ethic is "Vigor". Dad would wake us up more than I'd care to remember to the sound of a chainsaw. We knew what was in store for us; we had a word burning stove, which was replaced by a wood-burning furnace, we went through allot of firewood. Each piece had to be cut to a certain length, which Dad did with the saw. When the wood needed to be split and you've got two strapping teenage boys there, out come the splitting mauls. This is one of my favorite stories, Dad had bought Jeff & I each a splitting maul (8lbs.) with hickory handles. The first time we broke a handle it was quite by accident, then we figured out that when the handles were broken work stopped. So in the next few weeks we went through some handles, Dad got wise fast and ordered a remedy. A few phone calls
later and Dad said he had the cure for broken handles, The Zott's Monster Maul (18lbs.) solid steel from head to handle with a reinforced neck. "Break this" he smiled when it arrived, he liked it so much he bought another one the "Ladies Maul" (12lbs.). We never broke another handle and we've split wood for years, I believe Jeff still uses them today. Splitting wood with vigor is different than "just" splitting wood. Dad wanted to be impressed; he wanted to see us split wood (Old Saying) "Like you're beating snakes".
When you're swinging an 18lbs maul like you're beating snakes you become strong. "Strength" was always a measuring stick in our house. As kids we could use two hands to arm-wrestle Dad, as we got older we graduated to only one. We'd arm-wrestled weekly it seems; I can remember the different levels of intensity and as the years passed he had to put forth more effort to win. Then one day while I was 16yrs old it happened I won!! I beat'em. That day will last forever in my memory, not for the win but rather how Dad changed. He didn't appreciate getting beat by his son; it was an acknowledgment that he was getting old, we never arm-wrestled again.
"Pride" is another word you must use when describing him. He was proud of his appearance and his possessions; he liked to look neat and professional because that's how he felt about himself. He loved his parents, brothers and sisters and often told us the (When I was a kid) story, which usually ended by walking uphill both ways to school, in the dead of winter with a six-cell flashlight. He grew up hard, as I believe every previous generation can claim but he was proud of where he came from and at what level he stood. He believed in standing tall with your head held high, anything less would be shameful.
Dad was one top-notched shooter; we frequently had shooting contest to see who was the better shot. We'd start off with dots drawn on a paper plate, then move to driving nails and finally hitting 22.cal casing sitting on a board. Dad took great pride in being a great shot, not many men ever matched Dad's shooting skills and nobody ever beat him. He was also a dedicated hunter of all season and preached "safety" with every step. Dad did everything with "Focus & Passion " he seemed to be able to walk silently through the woods and hear stuff not audible to us kids. He taught us many lessons hunting and I will forever have great memories there.
Around this time in our lives Jeff & I were both working after school and on weekends. Mom and Amy were out and Dad was going through some changes. His stubborn pride and lack of communication skills lead to very sad time in our life. He wasn't happy anymore and Mom and he divorced. This was the "mother" of all shocks, nobody expected it, saw it coming etc our parents never even argued. Too frequently divorces become nasty; ours was no exception, there are many feeling hurt and sour memories there. I won't go into detail other than to say (Nobody "Wins" in divorce especially kids, occasionally adults remarry but children's scars last forever).
I joined the Navy out of High School and had my first dealings with the world. I laid in bed that first night at Great Lakes and wondered just what I had gotten myself into. Mom & Dad never set academic standards too high on us, he often said that he wasn't a "genius" and didn't expect us to be however; nothing would be tolerated below a "C" average grade. But now things have changed; I'm on my own with nobody to "please" but myself. I ended a nine-year Navy career graduating in the top 3% of every class I'd ever taken. Always first promoted in the fleet why? Because nobody had the same work ethic, vigor and attention to detail as I had. I came home on leave after completing a school and went to see Dad and his fiancée Ms. Toni Pairen. There was a whole new glow about him now. I thanked him for
raising me in the method that he did; I finally understood "why?" he was so hard to please. His wisdom looks me in the mirror every morning as I shave.
Before the divorce Dad was a big Country Western music fan, the sad type. Dad enjoyed listening to the lyrics of songs and the stories they told. Some of his old favorites were "Footsteps in the sand" and "Cat's in the Cradle" he would always say," Shhhh listen to the words". When I met Dad & Toni and spent the night in their place, the following morning he woke me up to the "Top Gun" Soundtrack. I asked him, what happened and whose music was this? He said that (he) bought it, "Life is too short to go through being sad, upbeat music makes me smile". He then asked me to sit down and listen to his "new" favorite song, (Bob Seger - Like a rock). He enjoyed music although we never saw Dad dance, "it wasn't his nature". We didn't know for years that he kept two violins hidden under his bed. He said that as a child his father (insisted) that he learn to play the violin, Dad hated to be forced into anything. (This trait we strongly share) He did enjoy picking up the guitar though, and taught himself to play many tunes. I will always recall the hours spent in the kitchen learning to play "Ghost Rider's
in the Sky". He was so proud when he finally mastered it.
As adults Dad opened up to me unlike he ever had before. Maybe it was because of his age? They say that when you get older you can reflect on life with more clarity, things done & mistakes made. Dad told me things about his past, present and future, deep thoughts with allot of emotions. Dad was from the (Old School) "Men don't cry it's a sign of weakness". He told me many stories and for one of the first times in my life he said that he loved me. To hear sentimental words coming from a man made of stone was moving for both of us. We became great friends, with more of a bond than just father & son.
In summery I'd suggest looking at the italicized words I used: Work Ethic, Vigor, Strength, Pride, Focus and Passion. These words describe him well both personally and professionally. I believe he'd agree with the words I've chosen here and feel proud that his messages didn't fall upon deaf ears. Dad stunned all of us when he wrote a poem for the Helle Book; I read that poem now with great pride (Quote from the last sentence of his poem) "If my kids are as proud of me as I was Dad, the good Lord knows I won't be sad". That is a great line, which I'll happily pass along to my children. I'm very proud of my Dad for the father he was, which influences the man I've become.
Fathers
It doesn't matter who my father was; it matters who I remember he was.
Anne Sexton (1928 1974)
Don Charles Helle
My brother, Don, asked me if I would write a story about our dad, so I did and here it goes.
First, I had Don send me a copy of the poem Dad wrote. When I got the poem, I couldn't read through it without getting choked up. On the third time, I made it through. That poem means a lot to me for many reasons. It tells one hell of a story. If you knew dad, he could tell some tall tales and leave you wondering if he was pulling your leg or not. Dad was a little mysterious to most with those piercing blue eyes and a big smile. Lee tells about Grandpa Don, and the boys driving nails with a 22 rifle. Dad done the same thing with us boys. He took a lot pride in his shooting skills "pistol or rifle". I remember standing in the lane shooting walnuts as fast we could from the top of that tree.
Dad always had a lot of dogs. Some good, and some not so good. Dad took his dogs very serious. He lost some so called friends, because of what they said about those dogs. "Jerry Philips" being one of them. He did everything imaginable to those dogs to get them to quit running deer. Nothing ever worked. He finally started to "play ball" so to speak. Three strikes and your out. "Dirt Nap". Dad and mom even went to Highland Kansas to get dogs. Don and I both made trips to the airport to pick up dogs. Harold Stabb told Dad that in every mans life he would own one dog that was above and beyond the rest. That dog would become a measuring stick, and no other dog would ever measure up. Apache was that dog for Dad. See footnote
When we were kids, we used to split a lot of wood in the summer and winter. Hell it seemed like that's all we ever did. Don and I would never tell Dad that we were going to catch up with him, so we could go mess around. But low and behold we would wakeup to the sound of a chainsaw. We would get dressed and go outside and there Dad was standing, grinning ear to ear. He'd say you boys swing those malls like your beatin' snakes. Now that I am older and have kids of my own . I look back and those were the good ol' days. I often think of the good times Dad, Don, and I had splitting wood .
After I joined the Navy Seabees, there were lots of miles between us, and we seemed to grow closer. I guess that's where the boy became a man. I started to see things differently. Seeing all those other guys "those lazy S. O. B.'s". I really started to appreciate the hard work ethic that Dad had preached to us. I remember coming home on leave and working with Dad. He would help me fix a saw or anything I needed, and I would ask him what I owed him, and he always said "it's a fathers' responssibility". When I had to go back to the Navy, he always took me to the airport. On the way, he'd asked me what he owed me, and I'd say "Nothing, it's a son's responsibility.
Dad and I spent a lot of time hunting deer and coyotes together . Dad always liked going deer hunting, in the anticipation of " the big one". We drank alot of coffee and ate a bunch of peanuts that's when we would talk . You name it, we talked about it. He was very observant person he would notice the littlest things, a spec of blood in the snow, or even a leaf that was moved.
One thing Dad didn't like was snakes. He'd say he " hated them with a passion". The only good one was a dead one. On the other hand, one thing he loved was the feeling of power. When we were kids, Dad and Mom took us to Florida, and at the airport we watched fighter jets take off and land. He always said he'd love to fly one, just so he could "buzz" over Jerry Phillips while he was cultivating corn and hit the after-burners and peel the paint off the hood of the tractor.
But to make a long story short. Apache died in the prime of his life. Dad also died in the prime of his life. I know that Grandpa Don and Dad have met in fox-hunter heaven.
Jeff Helle
Kenneths dad (Don) also had that one fox hound that stood head and shoulders above the rest of the pack. A black and tan hound named "Daisy" we lived back in the lane so the time period would have been 1942 thru the early 1950's.
Lee
First, I had Don send me a copy of the poem Dad wrote. When I got the poem, I couldn't read through it without getting choked up. On the third time, I made it through. That poem means a lot to me for many reasons. It tells one hell of a story. If you knew dad, he could tell some tall tales and leave you wondering if he was pulling your leg or not. Dad was a little mysterious to most with those piercing blue eyes and a big smile. Lee tells about Grandpa Don, and the boys driving nails with a 22 rifle. Dad done the same thing with us boys. He took a lot pride in his shooting skills "pistol or rifle". I remember standing in the lane shooting walnuts as fast we could from the top of that tree.
Dad always had a lot of dogs. Some good, and some not so good. Dad took his dogs very serious. He lost some so called friends, because of what they said about those dogs. "Jerry Philips" being one of them. He did everything imaginable to those dogs to get them to quit running deer. Nothing ever worked. He finally started to "play ball" so to speak. Three strikes and your out. "Dirt Nap". Dad and mom even went to Highland Kansas to get dogs. Don and I both made trips to the airport to pick up dogs. Harold Stabb told Dad that in every mans life he would own one dog that was above and beyond the rest. That dog would become a measuring stick, and no other dog would ever measure up. Apache was that dog for Dad. See footnote
When we were kids, we used to split a lot of wood in the summer and winter. Hell it seemed like that's all we ever did. Don and I would never tell Dad that we were going to catch up with him, so we could go mess around. But low and behold we would wakeup to the sound of a chainsaw. We would get dressed and go outside and there Dad was standing, grinning ear to ear. He'd say you boys swing those malls like your beatin' snakes. Now that I am older and have kids of my own . I look back and those were the good ol' days. I often think of the good times Dad, Don, and I had splitting wood .
After I joined the Navy Seabees, there were lots of miles between us, and we seemed to grow closer. I guess that's where the boy became a man. I started to see things differently. Seeing all those other guys "those lazy S. O. B.'s". I really started to appreciate the hard work ethic that Dad had preached to us. I remember coming home on leave and working with Dad. He would help me fix a saw or anything I needed, and I would ask him what I owed him, and he always said "it's a fathers' responssibility". When I had to go back to the Navy, he always took me to the airport. On the way, he'd asked me what he owed me, and I'd say "Nothing, it's a son's responsibility.
Dad and I spent a lot of time hunting deer and coyotes together . Dad always liked going deer hunting, in the anticipation of " the big one". We drank alot of coffee and ate a bunch of peanuts that's when we would talk . You name it, we talked about it. He was very observant person he would notice the littlest things, a spec of blood in the snow, or even a leaf that was moved.
One thing Dad didn't like was snakes. He'd say he " hated them with a passion". The only good one was a dead one. On the other hand, one thing he loved was the feeling of power. When we were kids, Dad and Mom took us to Florida, and at the airport we watched fighter jets take off and land. He always said he'd love to fly one, just so he could "buzz" over Jerry Phillips while he was cultivating corn and hit the after-burners and peel the paint off the hood of the tractor.
But to make a long story short. Apache died in the prime of his life. Dad also died in the prime of his life. I know that Grandpa Don and Dad have met in fox-hunter heaven.
Jeff Helle
Kenneths dad (Don) also had that one fox hound that stood head and shoulders above the rest of the pack. A black and tan hound named "Daisy" we lived back in the lane so the time period would have been 1942 thru the early 1950's.
Lee
This was one of Kenneth's favorite songs
"Like a Rock" (by Bob Seger)
Stood there boldly
Sweatin' in the sun
Felt like a million
Felt like number one
The height of summer
I'd never felt that strong
Like a rock
I was eighteen
Didn't have a care
Working for peanuts
Not a dime to spare
But I was lean and
Solid everywhere
Like a rock
My hands were steady
My eyes were clear and bright
My walk had purpose
My steps were quick and light
And I held firmly
To what I felt was right
Like a rock
Like a rock, I was strong as I could be
Like a rock, nothin' ever got to me
Like a rock, I was something to see
Like a rock
And I stood arrow straight
Unencumbered by the weight
Of all these hustlers and their schemes
I stood proud, I stood tall
High above it all
I still believed in my dreams
Twenty years now
Where'd they go?
Twenty years
I don't know
Sit and I wonder sometimes
Where they've gone
And sometimes late at night
When I'm bathed in the firelight
The moon comes callin' a ghostly white
And I recall
I recall
Like a rock. standin' arrow straight
Like a rock, chargin' from the gate
Like a rock, carryin' the weight
Like a rock
Like a rock, the sun upon my skin
Like a rock, hard against the wind
Like a rock, I see myself again
Like a rock
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=enJF0q4bnDg
"Like a Rock" (by Bob Seger)
Stood there boldly
Sweatin' in the sun
Felt like a million
Felt like number one
The height of summer
I'd never felt that strong
Like a rock
I was eighteen
Didn't have a care
Working for peanuts
Not a dime to spare
But I was lean and
Solid everywhere
Like a rock
My hands were steady
My eyes were clear and bright
My walk had purpose
My steps were quick and light
And I held firmly
To what I felt was right
Like a rock
Like a rock, I was strong as I could be
Like a rock, nothin' ever got to me
Like a rock, I was something to see
Like a rock
And I stood arrow straight
Unencumbered by the weight
Of all these hustlers and their schemes
I stood proud, I stood tall
High above it all
I still believed in my dreams
Twenty years now
Where'd they go?
Twenty years
I don't know
Sit and I wonder sometimes
Where they've gone
And sometimes late at night
When I'm bathed in the firelight
The moon comes callin' a ghostly white
And I recall
I recall
Like a rock. standin' arrow straight
Like a rock, chargin' from the gate
Like a rock, carryin' the weight
Like a rock
Like a rock, the sun upon my skin
Like a rock, hard against the wind
Like a rock, I see myself again
Like a rock
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=enJF0q4bnDg