A Eulogy for Alvin John Curtis
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My Grandfather Curtis died on July 13, 2014 at the age of 98. On July 19th, I had the honor of delivering the eulogy at his funeral. As I was thinking about my tribute in the days leading up to the funeral, the writing began to feel like a eulogy for a way of life and for an entire generation of people that are fading away into history. I think more than a few of us have had the opportunity to know someone who shared some of the characteristics of my grandparents.
From the Eulogy: I’m here today to talk a little bit about my Grandpa, Alvin John Curtis. The newspaper obituary has reported his age at death, his occupation, where he lived and which of his family members have already died and which live on. To me, it seems an impoverished account of a man who lived so long and so well. I’m standing up here today to fill in some of the details. |
Grandpa was born in Bethel Township of McDonough County in 1915. When he was a young boy, cars were rare, the combustion engine was a new and unusual thing and most people still traveled by foot or by carriage or on horseback.
When my grandpa was young, his neighborhood was a great patchwork quilt of small fields, hedgerows and farmsteads. The small towns and communities of McDonough County were lively, vibrant places full of local people and local commerce. On Saturdays, neighboring farmers and their families came to town to get their haircut, to buy supplies and to socialize. On Sundays, the churches were full of local people who gathered to hear the word of God and to meet up with their friends and neighbors. It was a good time and a good place to grow up in this area - maybe the best time in some ways.
When my grandpa was young, his neighborhood was a great patchwork quilt of small fields, hedgerows and farmsteads. The small towns and communities of McDonough County were lively, vibrant places full of local people and local commerce. On Saturdays, neighboring farmers and their families came to town to get their haircut, to buy supplies and to socialize. On Sundays, the churches were full of local people who gathered to hear the word of God and to meet up with their friends and neighbors. It was a good time and a good place to grow up in this area - maybe the best time in some ways.
Grandpa was nearly 99 years old when he died. That is a heck of a long time and it is an age that goes beyond respectable.
As much of a feat as it was to live to nearly a hundred years old, I know that living to such an age had its downsides too. Grandpa lost his parents, his brothers and sisters, all of his childhood friends and most of his adult friends years before his time came. Fortunately, he had Grandma with him to the end.
Perhaps the hardest thing about old age, for Grandpa, was the loss of his ability to work. Grandpa defined himself by his work and he was a man known for his work ethic or “working like a man” as he might have put it. Grandpa did a lot of physical labor in his time and was a physically powerful man well into his 70s. Imagine, if you can, hand harvesting and shucking corn from before sunrise to after sunset every day for weeks at a time. Now imagine doing that in December with the temperature below freezing all day. And then, at the end of that long day, the wagon had to be unloaded. And don’t forget all of the chores that needed to be done both before and after that long day! The horses had to be fed and cared for, all of the cows had to be milked.
As much of a feat as it was to live to nearly a hundred years old, I know that living to such an age had its downsides too. Grandpa lost his parents, his brothers and sisters, all of his childhood friends and most of his adult friends years before his time came. Fortunately, he had Grandma with him to the end.
Perhaps the hardest thing about old age, for Grandpa, was the loss of his ability to work. Grandpa defined himself by his work and he was a man known for his work ethic or “working like a man” as he might have put it. Grandpa did a lot of physical labor in his time and was a physically powerful man well into his 70s. Imagine, if you can, hand harvesting and shucking corn from before sunrise to after sunset every day for weeks at a time. Now imagine doing that in December with the temperature below freezing all day. And then, at the end of that long day, the wagon had to be unloaded. And don’t forget all of the chores that needed to be done both before and after that long day! The horses had to be fed and cared for, all of the cows had to be milked.
I am not afraid of a little physical labor. But, I have to confess that I am simply amazed by the idea of harvesting, shucking, loading and unloading 80 acres (or more) of corn by hand. In those days, Grandpa would buy specialized gloves for corn harvesting. Each glove had two thumbs. Grandpa would wear through one side of the gloves before dinner and then wear the “back” side of the gloves in the afternoon and evening. By the end of the day, the gloves were worn clean through and he’d have to start with a new pair of gloves the next morning. Again, he did this every day for weeks at a time.
My grandfather was a caretaker and a steward. Grandpa had a deep connection to his farm that I think might be hard for people to understand nowadays. His farm was a lot more to him than a piece of land to make money on. He was always looking for ways to improve his farm. He spent a lot of time during his retirement planting trees and had a lot of work done on his fields to improve them. While he was able, Grandpa always spent part of the day out on the landscape that had been a part of his life since his earliest memories.
I think Grandpa’s farm work shaped him as much as he shaped his farm. As was the way with good farmers who grew up working with stock, Grandpa was patient, gentle and humble. He was a problem solver. He was honest and hard working. He had a great sense of humor and he laughed easily. As far as I know, Grandpa never drank alcohol, or smoked or swore (unless you count, “What the Sam Hill!”.) He was reluctant to criticize and quick to be generous. He was fair and honest in his dealing with others. Grandpa always cleaned his plate.
My grandfather was a caretaker and a steward. Grandpa had a deep connection to his farm that I think might be hard for people to understand nowadays. His farm was a lot more to him than a piece of land to make money on. He was always looking for ways to improve his farm. He spent a lot of time during his retirement planting trees and had a lot of work done on his fields to improve them. While he was able, Grandpa always spent part of the day out on the landscape that had been a part of his life since his earliest memories.
I think Grandpa’s farm work shaped him as much as he shaped his farm. As was the way with good farmers who grew up working with stock, Grandpa was patient, gentle and humble. He was a problem solver. He was honest and hard working. He had a great sense of humor and he laughed easily. As far as I know, Grandpa never drank alcohol, or smoked or swore (unless you count, “What the Sam Hill!”.) He was reluctant to criticize and quick to be generous. He was fair and honest in his dealing with others. Grandpa always cleaned his plate.
You know, my grandfather would not have been considered unusual in his time. He was a farmer just like most of the men of his generation were. But, men with his work ethic, his character, and his dedication to his place, his family and his neighborhood are rare today. I can’t help but feel that those of us who remain hardly measure up to Grandma and Grandpa’s "greatest" generation.
This week, as I was considering Grandpa’s life, I imagined what it might have been like for him when he died Sunday morning. I imagine Grandpa’s release and the sudden freedom from the decrepit bag of bones that was once his strong and able body.
This week, as I was considering Grandpa’s life, I imagined what it might have been like for him when he died Sunday morning. I imagine Grandpa’s release and the sudden freedom from the decrepit bag of bones that was once his strong and able body.
He feels a lightness and a sense of relief and contentment. For the first time in decades, Grandpa’s vision, his hearing and all of his senses are crystal clear.
He finds himself on the familiar landscape of his farm but it is the farm of his childhood. He is running now as a six-year-old carrying a clay jug of water from the house out to his father, John Luther and his older brothers, Vilas and Damon, as they cut and bundle the wheat on a hot summer day.
He returns to the house and goes into the summer kitchen. He peeks through the doorway and sees his mother and her sister Hattie working with Nelly to get dinner ready. Mildred is on the porch setting out the plates, Helen is making last minute trips to bring in carrots, green onions and the first ripe tomatoes from the garden. Florence is making the finishing touches on blackberry pies made with real lard. The whole house is filled with the comforting sounds of the Curtis and Davidson women visiting in Swedish and in English as they prepare to feed the men. He can smell chicken, onions and potatoes frying.
He finds himself on the familiar landscape of his farm but it is the farm of his childhood. He is running now as a six-year-old carrying a clay jug of water from the house out to his father, John Luther and his older brothers, Vilas and Damon, as they cut and bundle the wheat on a hot summer day.
He returns to the house and goes into the summer kitchen. He peeks through the doorway and sees his mother and her sister Hattie working with Nelly to get dinner ready. Mildred is on the porch setting out the plates, Helen is making last minute trips to bring in carrots, green onions and the first ripe tomatoes from the garden. Florence is making the finishing touches on blackberry pies made with real lard. The whole house is filled with the comforting sounds of the Curtis and Davidson women visiting in Swedish and in English as they prepare to feed the men. He can smell chicken, onions and potatoes frying.
Now, it’s a hot summer evening. Grandpa is riding on Bounce, his pony, heading out past the bee hives on his way to the big pasture to bring the cows back to the barn. The Toland boys, Clyde and Cline, are running alongside. They are planning a quick dip in the creek before rounding up the cows and heading back to help with the milking and other chores.
The scene shifts. Now, it’s July 30th, 1939 and Grandpa is lacing up his baseball cleats that he worked two full weeks to pay for. He is playing for the Gin Ridge baseball team. His dad, John Luther is the coach and his older brother, Vilas is the short stop and captain. They are just a group of young men from the neighborhood: Warner and Harry Frakes, Obe and Merrill Willey, Vernon McFadden, Eldon Stiner, Dale Stump, Blondel Hoyt and Grandpa. They may be just local farm boys, but they take their baseball seriously and they are very good. They crush Bardolph 15 to 0 that day and advance to the tournament in Springfield. They don’t know it yet, but a great war is coming and many of these young men, including Vilas, will be heading to Germany to fight the Nazis.
The scene shifts. Now, it’s July 30th, 1939 and Grandpa is lacing up his baseball cleats that he worked two full weeks to pay for. He is playing for the Gin Ridge baseball team. His dad, John Luther is the coach and his older brother, Vilas is the short stop and captain. They are just a group of young men from the neighborhood: Warner and Harry Frakes, Obe and Merrill Willey, Vernon McFadden, Eldon Stiner, Dale Stump, Blondel Hoyt and Grandpa. They may be just local farm boys, but they take their baseball seriously and they are very good. They crush Bardolph 15 to 0 that day and advance to the tournament in Springfield. They don’t know it yet, but a great war is coming and many of these young men, including Vilas, will be heading to Germany to fight the Nazis.
The scene shift again: The sun is just peeking over the horizon and the roosters are crowing all over the neighborhood as Grandpa walks through the outbuildings of his farm in Hire Township. He scratches the backs of his dairy cows, speaking to them softly and soothingly and notices that their bags are tight with milk. The barn cats take notice of his visit and the kittens meow in excitement, anticipating a squirt of milk expertly directed at their mouths.
Grandpa moves on to the horses. They are like old friends. This is a good team and it is his last. He knows that he and Grandma will be buying a tractor soon. Agriculture is changing and Grandpa isn’t going to be left behind.
Nevertheless, he is proud of his beautiful horses. He raised them from colts and trained them as a team. These horses are an extension of himself when they are out together in the field plowing, harrowing, seeding and cultivating. They have kept him company on those cold evenings in January as he works his way down the quarter mile long rows of corn. All of his life, Grandpa has treated his animals with care and affection but the connection to his horses is special.
Grandpa moves on to the horses. They are like old friends. This is a good team and it is his last. He knows that he and Grandma will be buying a tractor soon. Agriculture is changing and Grandpa isn’t going to be left behind.
Nevertheless, he is proud of his beautiful horses. He raised them from colts and trained them as a team. These horses are an extension of himself when they are out together in the field plowing, harrowing, seeding and cultivating. They have kept him company on those cold evenings in January as he works his way down the quarter mile long rows of corn. All of his life, Grandpa has treated his animals with care and affection but the connection to his horses is special.
Grandpa heads out towards the clover pasture where the pigs have recently been moved and he is joined by his dog, Tippy. It’s a joyful reunion. Grandpa smiles big and Tippy gives his best dog smile back and wags his tail furiously. Grandpa knew, and befriended many dogs in his lifetime but only a handful of them were ever good help. Tippy was the best of the lot. They look over the hogs together, Grandpa scratching the backs of the old sows with a stick as they grunt appreciatively, Tippy checking the fences and moving quickly to correct any pigs that seem out of place.
On the way back toward the house, Grandpa looks over the fields. The corn is tasseling and looks very good, probably some of the best in the county. He thinks it will make 100 bushel or more. This cropland is good, prairie dirt; some of the best in the county but he still longs for the old home place of his childhood.
He turns toward the house, and through the kitchen window, sees Lois working. She is young and beautiful but also really smart and equally dedicated and focused to making their farm succeed in spite of tough economic times. He hears little Dan’s voice and then the voice of the baby, Linda. He misses them.
On the way back toward the house, Grandpa looks over the fields. The corn is tasseling and looks very good, probably some of the best in the county. He thinks it will make 100 bushel or more. This cropland is good, prairie dirt; some of the best in the county but he still longs for the old home place of his childhood.
He turns toward the house, and through the kitchen window, sees Lois working. She is young and beautiful but also really smart and equally dedicated and focused to making their farm succeed in spite of tough economic times. He hears little Dan’s voice and then the voice of the baby, Linda. He misses them.
The scene shifts again. Grandpa is back at the old farmstead after purchasing it from his siblings years before. He’s returning to the house after a trip to the sales barn. He's just sold the last of his pigs and with the proceeds of that sale, will pay off the farm. He feels an overwhelming sense of relief and accomplishment. He and Grandma have worked hard for 35 years even farming two farms for a while. They have lived with thrift, patching the old patches, making do with what they have and putting every extra nickel toward the mortgage. Finally, they own, free and clear, the Curtis family farm.
The scene shifts and Grandpa is back to the present. It is Sunday morning, July 13th, 2014. And he makes one final journey through and over the farm that he has shaped and that has helped shape him most of his life. Grandpa knows this landscape more intimately than he does his own body and passes through it as silently as a shadow. It’s cool for July and the corn is green, thick and well-watered. It will be a good crop. Grandpa looks over the dry dams and ponds and the marginal crop lands that he has converted to his forestry projects. He is satisfied with the work completed but feels the tug of the jobs not finished; the projects unrealized, the parts of the land that need attention. He knows he has to let those go. It is for the next generation to decide how it cares or does not care, for the land.
The scene shifts and Grandpa is back to the present. It is Sunday morning, July 13th, 2014. And he makes one final journey through and over the farm that he has shaped and that has helped shape him most of his life. Grandpa knows this landscape more intimately than he does his own body and passes through it as silently as a shadow. It’s cool for July and the corn is green, thick and well-watered. It will be a good crop. Grandpa looks over the dry dams and ponds and the marginal crop lands that he has converted to his forestry projects. He is satisfied with the work completed but feels the tug of the jobs not finished; the projects unrealized, the parts of the land that need attention. He knows he has to let those go. It is for the next generation to decide how it cares or does not care, for the land.
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He passes through the gate into the big pasture that has long since become woods and forest. The morels are long gone and the Mayapple umbrellas have largely disappeared under the new growth of the honey suckle and roses that have taken over the understory. Grandpa sees the last of the wild strawberries and notices that the blackberries are almost ripe. Here and there he sees sign of the wild animals that he and his family have hunted and trapped for generations: rabbits, possum, raccoons, squirrels, foxes, snapping turtles, bull frogs, geese, ducks, turkeys, deer. All of these have graced his table at one time or another, nourishing him and his people and helping to supplement meager incomes. Grandpa stops and listens intently. He thinks that maybe he hears the sound of quail calling to each other in the distance. He feels a sense of hope.
Finally, Grandpa arrives at the top of the bluff that overlooks the creek and the bottoms. He breathes out and settles in himself. He is ready now. |
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Grandpa looks back once more, and then he releases his hold and his demands on the landscape, his loved ones and his old life. He looks up into the bright early morning sky............ and then he’s gone.
He goes to join those who have gone before. Those who remain are diminished by his absence. We are left to do the best we can, without him. My grandfather, Alvin John Curtis lived well. He lived a long life, a full life, a good life, a strong and clean life. I challenge you to think of a better one. What my grandfather has been called to do in this lifetime, he has done. Grandpa has fulfilled his duties as a son, a brother, a husband, a father, a grandfather, a great-grandfather, and as a friend and neighbor. He has fulfilled his moral obligations to the land, to his farm, to the animals that he has cared for and worked with, to his family and to his community. It is now left to the rest of us to live up to his example. |
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