Page 17 - Gary's Book - Final Copy 7.9.2017_Active

Shortly afterwards he called out to Mom, and Mom called out to me saying, “Dad
is having a tough time breathing.” I ran upstairs to his bedside. He turned to me
and said I should open the window above the gangway. I watched him as he turned
blue, then white and died. The cause of death was an embolism—blood clots

lodged in his lungs from the bruise.
Mom called the police and Aunt Clara. The police and the funeral home personnel
arrived to take care of Dad’s body, and Aunt Clara came over to spend the night

and take care of us.

Dad’s funeral was one of the largest I have ever been to in my life. Doug, my
brother, has the funeral signature book, and it must have at least 300 signatures in
it. It was a formal military event with the police chief, the entire police force, the
city mayor, the Masons, and all the fitting regalia. The funeral home was full, and
there were people standing outside. I was amazed! I was numb – not knowing what
was next. To me it was a nonevent that I had to attend. But there were these

people - so many people - who could not say enough nice things about him, his
accomplishments and his good nature. The irony was that these people knew him,
respected him, and loved him. To them he was tall, handsome, impressive,
dependable, reliable, loyal and committed to his duties and to them. To me, he was
a person to be feared, to be avoided.

Mom decided shortly thereafter that she could not physically or mentally cope with
five children. Within four weeks, Mom had placed all five of us on the front porch

steps at 3639 Nebraska Avenue in St. Louis, and, since Dad had been a Mason, she
had sent for a paddy wagon to come and take us to a Masonic orphanage. We all
went our different ways. I, for some reason, went to a family that took kids in
overnight. I cannot figure out how Mom, such a tender, loving person with a
pension could not find it within herself to keep all of us. I believe being a part of

Dad was enough. He was gone and we should be, too. Supposedly, all Mom
wanted in her life was love, but she never seemed to have secured it. And she
could not give it. Who said, “Blood is thicker than water”?

Much later in life, as adults, my brother, Doug, and I went to visit Mom when she
was in her eighties to confirm the things that had happened to us. She told us how
sorry she was. Since Mom lived in St. Louis and Doug lived in the Kansas City
area, he could visit her about every two months or so when he went to see his son

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