Maxine's Story ~ Memories of My Dad

Maxine's Story

Memories of My Dad

Victor Lee Johns would be an unlikely hero in anyone's story---except perhaps mine! He had no great accomplishments---he left no lasting legacies---a difficult man in many ways, with limited social skills. He was a private man---whose love of his family, his country and his church, not only filled his needs, but was also perhaps his greatest achievement.

His birth story? It depended on who one asked---Born on November 26, 1902, in Iola, Kansas, to a mother who, recently widowed, with too many siblings, placed him in an orphanage. This according to the woman who raised him, his adopted mother, Minnie Johns.

Sixty years later, a desire to locate those siblings led him back to his roots---Iola, Kansas, and to the discovery of not only his birth mother, Mary Ashenbrenner Fry, but also to a totally different story. His birth was to a single mother, who never had another child---and felt that was God's punishment for an out-of-wedlock baby. She put him into that home as a toddler, not with the intent of 'adoption', but to save her recent marriage!

This news was unnerving to say the least. Illegitimate! Dad never quite got over that! He now had a living birth mother, who was a lovely lady. But Mary Fry had lived in that small community, Iola Kansas, all her long life. And that town didn't know about this son of hers---Nor did she want them to know. There was a visit to Oregon for a couple of weeks, and there were letters, but gradually it became clear to Dad, that he was an embarrassment to her.

Fred and Minnie Johns, being childless, adopted him at nearly 5 years of age, and after a time, moved to Paul Idaho. They homesteaded a dry farm there, out on the Minidoka desert.

It was there that Victor grew up---an only child, living with parents who were caught up in their own unhappy marriage. These were hard times in their lives---they were hard times in their world.

Their dry farming was unsuccessful, they were eaten out by the jack rabbits, and eventually abandoned the farm. Meanwhile Victor attended a small country grade school some miles away---roaming around the desert with a rifle and spending much of his time alone. He was to say, much later on, that he had been alone most of his life. Since he had been married for sixty years to my mother, she was offended! But that was his negative nature speaking.

He was too young to serve in WWI, and too old for WWII. In his late teens he hit the road---or 'rode the rails' to be more accurate. He, like many of that generation, hopped on the freight trains and drifted to wherever fate---or their whims took them.

He didn't talk much about the specifics of those years. He worked for a time in Detroit for an automobile company, on an assembly line. He had gone no further that the 8th grade in school, and blamed his parents for his lack of education. He worked for a short time with the coast guard.

What I do know is that at age of 24, he married Viola Josephine Sabin, who was to become my Mother. It was a whirlwind courtship, ending in a sudden decision to marry, a quick visit to a judge, then faced with telling parents of what they had done, simply went home and said nothing for 24 hours. It was September 25, 1926.

Viola was the eldest of 8 daughters (and 3 sons) of parents who were faithful members of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints. Victor was the child of parents who hated those "Mormons"---but-non-the-less, had given him a basic religious education from the bible.

Their marriage, after it's slow start, was accepted by both sets of parents---no doubt reluctantly by his. (My Mother's relationship with her Mother-

in-law was never a happy one---she knew when she wasn't liked.) So the young couple left town, to find work and to see some of their country. They lived for a short time in northern Idaho---then into Montana---finally to Bisbee, Arizona---all mining communities. Dad kind of liked mining. This was a man who would have been happy to be a prospector----or a homesteader! A 'loner', who was probably born about fifty years too late! After a couple of years he found himself to be a father---and within five years, had a total of four children---Maxine, Deloris, Fred, and Iris. And within those same years, the beginning of the great depression.

I am sure that there were many times when he looked back fondly to his bachelor days. He was not a 'natural' father. He never quite got the hang of how to hold a new baby---Mother used to say that he carried them like he would a load of wood! And diapers? That was Mother's job.

And it was hard giving up all his old vices---there was the local pool-hall! It was his habit to spend a lot of free time there. Mother said that one day he came home and took the family cow and walked away with her and they never saw her again, neither did they talk about it. But my Mother was a strong woman, who had dreams of her own---the Pacific North-West! (And to get away from her in-laws.) Thus their move to Oregon and while he may have had some doubts, for he loved that high desert country, Mother at least, never looked back.

I don't believe that Dad was ever completely comfortable with small children, but eventually, of course, we grew! Into young people who could read and make conversations about interesting subjects! He was an avid reader himself---and knowledgeable about most everything in my young opinion, and I probably learned more from him than I ever did from any school that I attended. He liked to read out loud---and almost daily he shared something, if only from the newspaper, that he felt we ought to know, or at least hear about. I can see them now. He, reading, while Mother was trying to get dinner ready. Since she didn't like to read much, I think that it was for her, as much as anybody, that he read so much aloud.

He did not "suffer fools gladly"---and he had a quick temper! This did not endure him to many people---they were too likely to become targets of his frustration! He was often angry! Even as a child I knew that my Dad was angry at the government---local, state, and federal. He was angry at the schools, the local businesses, the neighbors! But he wasn't mad at me! And he never raised a hand in anger at his children. If we needed paddling, we got it from our Mother.

I loved him wholeheartedly! He gave me and my siblings, security in ways that we took for granted. We were loved and wanted and protected. It is in the little things that I can best describe the father that he became. He carried his lunch in an old black lunch box, all his working years. I am not sure just when he began to save part of that meal for me, but he did! Every night, when he returned from work, I ran to him and he handed me the lunchbox---where I would find a piece of cake---or fruit---or sandwich. Some part of his food that he denied himself, to see the happiness that it brought to me. Since this was throughout my high school years, one would think I'd have been ashamed---but I wasn't! He was my Dad!

He also had a great little pocket knife, and I knew the value of that! He cut my toenails with it, all my growing years---(and even now when in my old age it gets harder and harder to reach those toes, I think longingly of that little knife and wish him back). And slivers! His little knife just lifted them right out---where as my Mother with her needle, was torture! Anything that needed trimmed, or cut---I can see him digging around in his old black pants pocket for the knife---and always willingly!

It is only in looking back that I can clearly see what a good and decent man that he was. Honorable in every way. He was never 'preachy', though he had a clear understanding of what was right and what was wrong. A conversation we had when I was a young adult, has never left me. Someone we knew---a friend---had left his wife and family, for another woman. Dad---vehemently---over and over stating "he had no right---no right!" Somehow the importance of sacred marital vows were forever ingrained upon my conscience from that time on.

His word was his bond. If he said it---he'd do it! Absolute honesty, and a faithful husband. His strong will, not always easy to deal with, served him well in many ways. His forty years of heavy smoking came to an abrupt end, without saying one word---he just quit---cold turkey! The diagnosis of diabetes meant a drastic change in eating habits---so be it---he never wavered. But the most surprising and greatest change was his decision to join the Church! His criticism of the 'Mormons' came to an end when he began to read what it was that they really believed---not what someone outside the church said they believed! It was just that simple---doctrine that he could and did accept---wholeheartedly! This rather unsociable man found himself in a church where the social structure is not only important but also very well established---and he loved it!

The LDS Church has no paid ministry---everyone has a job and Dad willingly accepted the various responsibilities offered to him, and was faithful in carrying them out. It was in the last months of his life that he received the 'calling' that was the most unusual and exciting and humbling. It had become apparent to all of us that he had found his area of expertise! This unschooled man, who made his living doing manual labor, understood the stock market! And helped by a frugal, conservative lifestyle, had parlayed his small savings into a substantial portfolio.

The Church at that time, had need for someone to handle a large sum of money that belonged to the Church farm. Someone who not only could be trusted, but also would know what to do with it. And that responsibility was given to Dad. No, he didn't invest it in Wall Street---though I'm sure that he was tempted! But after his death, there was one bank president who was willing and eager to assist me in the various legal documents that I had to attend to concerning my Dad's account. He told me that Dad brought his bank its largest account---the church farm!

When I think of Dad now, almost twenty years after his death, it is his Woodburn years that bring me the most pleasure---the years that brought him the most pleasure!

After retiring from his truck driving job, he decided to give up his six acre berry farm in Pleasant Valley. Looking east, west, north and south, he finally chose a beautiful three and a half acre property located near Woodburn. One that had a plentiful water supply---two wells in fact! His biggest problem in Pleasant Valley had been lack of water. (And his early year of dry farming had failed), now this frustrated farmer suddenly owned enough land, in this warm Willamette valley, and more that enough water to grow anything that he wanted. His fruit and nut orchards, his berries and his vegetable gardens became legend. Even flowers! He grew it all---and gave it away! Refused to sell anything, ever! When the filbert crop was too heavy, he just put up a sign "FREE FILBERTS'. Otherwise no one ever left their place without a full load of whatever crop was in season.

Since I lived the closest it was incumbent upon me to use it all---can it---freeze it---dry it---eat it---or give it away! It was wonderful! My weekly visit with my parents resulted in a car so loaded that I used to say that I didn't have room for even a Popsicle---and I didn't! I knew better that to drive a pickup out there---I could never have dealt with that much produce! Tuesday's found him at the Woodburn auction, and what an experience that was. Inevitably he came home with treasures. (I have to use the word INEVITABLY because I can hear him saying it). He loved auctions! I should state right here that Dad never used the Lord's name in vain---never! He did however have a way of 'cussing' that was all his own! "dad gum!---for the love of Pete---bald headed Moses---what the Dan Patch".

My brother and sister have memories of their own, and I must ask them to contribute to this narrative---but what I hope is that they will write their own memories! It is a very special way to connect with our Dad, and even if no one ever reads any of this, it has been worth every minute just for my own selfish reasons. It is very therapeutic. I want to just go on and on ... I haven't mentioned his blue eyes---nor his stubborn hair that Mother spent so much time trying to tame---she would plaster it down with hair dressing, then make him wear some kind of a stocking cap, right until time to 'go out' then take off the cap, and before they could arrive at any destination, it would spring out in all directions! And of course, I want my grandchildren to know their Great Gpa! For surely one day they will have the chance to meet him, and to learn from him!

He bought a boat! An old boat for sure, but a boat is a toy---and he had few of those in his lifetime. He was not much of a fisherman---and not too successful in his deer hunting either---though Mother told the story of when they lived in Paul, and she was about to have a baby, he came home one day with twenty seven dead ducks, threw them on the floor, and said "there they are---clean them!" And he meant that, and she did! Perhaps duck hunting was his thing, or pheasants, for I know that he shot a lot of those good birds. They kind of got us through some very tough years! But he didn't get a lot of use out of that boat. It was too complicated to haul around, or he couldn't find the time ....

These were truly his golden years. They made good friends both in the church and in their neighborhood. They enjoyed their grandchildren---It became quite a joke that they liked to baby-sit the grandkids---since the grandkids were old enough to drive themselves over there and occasionally did! They loved the fun evenings with their grandparents. The games!

Bumpo was a favorite---played on a handcrafted board (by Gpa & Gma). They made those boards by the dozen and gave them out to friends and family. The many many hours spent over that simple game. The shouting and squealing, the howling the laughter the camaraderie---the pinches! Gma was a great pincher! What fun it was for family and friends. It just doesn't get any better than that.

David had a very special relationship with his Gpa---he lived close enough to get acquainted and to form those bonds of common interest. And because he was patient and because he played chess! He made a beautiful chess board in shop---a piece of furniture really, and gave it to his Gpa. Probably one of the best gifts Dad ever received .... They spent many happy hours over that game. Mother found it too boring, but they could always count on her to be out in the kitchen, cooking! As David grew older, he made it a regular event in his life to go spend time with his grandparents---and did they appreciate that!

Barbara also had the opportunity to get to know her grandparents and enjoy them. They had their six acres planted in blackberries, and also they had berry fields all around them. She spent---was it two summers, or more, staying with them and picking berries. The first summer she was nine---or ten? Anyway at the end of the blackberries she had earned $19.95, and it was her goal to reach $20.00. Gpa was loaded and ready to take his days picking to the berry shed, and anxious! But Barbara had to pick one more pound to reach her goal ... trauma ... His fussing and fuming didn't change anything, she HAD to have one more pound! He knew when he was beaten---gave her the pound, and then he could get on with his work! He loved to grumble about it, but she wasn't intimidated one bit by his gruffness!

The mellowing of our Dad! We all saw it---and rejoiced in it. While he never became tolerant of big government---or the Democratic party, his patriotism became more and more evident! He had a great voice---and loved to sing. He had sung, and whistled all the years that I could remember---when we traveled---or just whenever things were going well. In church he sang the hymns---and in July, when the song 'America' was inevitably sung, his congregation found this lone man standing! It was not their custom to stand for any song, but for the lifetime of my Dad, they did for our national anthem!

He had a great memory---In his grade school years it was required to memorize poetry. All through-out his lifetime we never knew when he might breakout a verse of two from "Hiawatha"---or the shooting of "Dan McGrew". He bought me my first novel at age thirteen---"The Good Earth", by Pearl Buck. Although he read few if any novels himself, he did find the time in those last years to read "Gone With the Wind" and then went to the movie! And stated that indeed Clark Gable was the ONLY one who could have played Rhett Butler.

He was a generous contributor to causes he felt strongly about. There came a time when rumors abounded about "Boy's Town"---"Don't send money to Boy's Town, the Catholic church gives them all they need." Didn't deter Dad. An organization that helped orphaned boys! Of course he supported them! He also contributed regularly to a fund for orphaned children in some third world country---an organization that solicited on television---I could only hope that they were legitimate! At least Dad's intentions were!

Dad had no pride in housing---he had lived in every kind of humble home---as long as they were his, he was content! He built the one new home they had owned, himself, in Pleasant Valley. It was small, just two bedrooms, one bathroom, but Mother had a beautiful kitchen, one that she was very proud of, and it was nicely furnished and comfortable. The home in Woodburn was smaller yet---and very old. When the taxes came one year he discovered quite a hike in the amount that he owed. He marched right into the city and explained to them that he lived in a house that nobody but he and the Mexicans would live in---and they reduced his taxes!

It was lung cancer that he couldn't fight---"six months" the doctor said. He was eighty two years old---was it his forty years of tobacco use ... his years on the jack hammer breathing that rock dust, or the chemicals that he used to keep control of the weeds and wild blackberries? Did he ever wear a mask? No, of course he didn't. And we will never know why---we just know how he died---slowly and painfully and with quiet acceptance. He never complained---or gave into self pity---he was so strong that he made it easy for Mother to care for him. I spent the last two weeks of his life with them---and he was so grateful for every little thing I did.

Mother had prepared the same breakfast for many years---was it a biscuit and a half? Now he had no appetite and had about quit eating. I came in with new and different ideas about what to offer him and he did try to eat. I made a batch of bread and then toasted it and made milk toast with lots of butter. It appealed to him! (He had always said milk toast was for women and kids). It was July and there were lots of delicious local fruits available. I cut select pieces and made small fruit cups for him, and he ate them. I bought Wendy's "frosties"---and he loved them. By now the diabetic diet was abandoned at the instruction of his doctor.

Mother and I needed something to do---that small apartment didn't take long to clean! So we 'took on' the sliding glass doors! Every morning we polished them, and then in the afternoon when the sun hit them, we could see what a poor job it was---and we would try something else the next day. We were quite enjoying our project, but Dad put a halt to it! We were making him nervous. One day we thought of something we had to go shopping for. We left him alone---by mutual consent---for about an hour. He was fine. But on Sunday when we announced that we were not going to church, he said "Oh yes you are! You left me to go shopping---you can leave me for church!" We were somewhat embarrassed, but we went to church.

We played our games. He had always played with us, but now was content to just watch and listen---and give ME any help he could. It was hard to beat Mother and her dictionary (Scrabble), even with his help. In previous years the game 'Trivial Pursuit' came on the market, and of course we had to try this new game. The 'kids' announced that this was a young people's game, but it didn't take long before they figured out that their Grandpa was the one with all the answers---after that he was the first one chosen for a partner or a team! He was a great game player.

July was going by quickly. Mother was 'antsy' about most everything and now the decisions to be made concerning Dad's death and burial worried her. Where I might have wanted to put off any of that I could, she had to know. So at her instance, I went alone to the mortuary and then I picked out a plot (actually two, one for Mother also), in that beautiful place, the Belle Passi Cemetery. When Fred saw it, I asked him if he didn't think that Dad would be pleased at the rural setting. He replied that Dad would. undoubtedly think it a waste of good farm land---he was probably right! We tried to make him comfortable. We put a fan right in front of him to help him breathe---he also had oxygen. By then the 'farm' had sold and they were living in an apartment. He had disposed of everything---had even given up his loved dog Panther---who stayed on the home place. Then there was the company---family and friends---they came and said their good-byes. Susan asked her Gpa if he would please arrange for a baby to come to her (nothing else had worked) and she has Kristin, who seems to be proof that once again Gpa was taking care of his family.

Mother and I were unsure of what we were doing, and just what to expect. We had not done anything like this before, and we had no help from Hospice---nor did we want any. I went to see Dad's doctor, and he was kind and reassuring---but not as reassuring as was a little lady friend of Mothers. She said to us "Your father will go to sleep and just slip peacefully away in the night." And that is what he did. We found him---Looking like he had looked when we said goodnight---at peace. The day before Fred and Bobbie had come, from Central Point, but because I was in the guest bedroom, they had spent the night in a motel. So it was just Mother and me. We shut off the oxygen and made the necessary phone calls.

Mother was very strong. She never fell apart during any of this. He had lived only three months from the time of the diagnosis---enough time to get their affairs in order and to make the changes that needed to be made. The Woodburn Ward did all they could to help out. Dad had his finances arranged so that Mother had only to sign and deposit the checks that came in monthly, and there was more than enough money. The day before he died, I watched him as he looked over a stock market report. He had no special lighting and needed no glasses. His mind was very good and so was his body---but for lung cancer.

It was a terrible way to die---like being slowly smothered by a pillow the doctor had said. Yet dad had simply stated that he had had a good life, and was ready to go. To which I said that WE weren't ready to let him go! His faith sustained him---and because of his strength, he sustained us. He was---and is---a good and honorable man. He had influenced every aspect of my life. Today is April 21, 2001, and I attended a funeral for a friend, who died of Altzheimers disease. This death was a blessing---too many years of suffering, not only for her but for her family. How different from my Dad's death. It was the song that brought it all back. "How Great Thou Art". I simply could not sing for the tears, and it is ever so with that song. It must have been one of Dad's favorites. He was alone for a few days, several years before his death. Mother was visiting in Idaho I believe. Anyway, they had a tape recorder, and enjoyed taping a lot of different things, letters, games, friends and family---but on this occasion, he simple talked into the machine, and then sang that song. In his clear beautiful voice, untrained but remarkably true, "Oh Lord my God, When I in awesome wonder, consider all the worlds Thy hands have made---" One thing I know---if the Lord needs a helping hand with his beautiful world, he has them now. My Dad!

NOTE: The e-mail arrived from Iris with some additions to Dad's unique and colorful language .... and with some that Fred remembers also: "I'll be a sad Ethiopian"! How could I forget 'sad Ethiopian'! It must have been his favorite, and it makes me homesick even now to think about it! Then there was "OH horse feathers", "Jumpin' Jehosephat", "durned thing", "what in the name of mud?", and his most often used, "dad gummit"! Fred remembered "cursedness of inanimate objects" and "dag nabbit", and then there was one that neither Iris nor I can remember hearing. I think that this one must have been reserved for 'menfolk'---"S--- and two make eight!" The common curse words of our world were never heard in our home. We had an uncommon father!

NOTE: The assignment for my writing class on April 25, '01, is to take a picture and write about it---you might wonder why I chose to write about Barbara instead of David, whose birthday it happens to be! And I thought about it too---but it is Barbara's image I have picked, simply because it is the one picture I have of a brand new baby's face! Somehow we just didn't know the importance of that, or our little cameras weren't good enough. I was only given one "hospital" picture for any of my children, and that was of Dean. My Mother agreed with me that the picture made him look retarded, which we knew even then was wrong, and we tore it up! So be it. Just understand my children, that this could be, and is, for each one of you!

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