George B. Welch

Contrary to my wishes, I have passed on, an occurrence over which I had no control. It happened so fast I was taken by surprise. All my friends will likely mourn. Both of them. My plan A was to live forever, but Plan B, my final directions for what was left of me, will now be used. With me go all the memories I used to believe were memorable. Once, I fell from a tree and broke a collar bone. I had my mouth scraped with a bar of soap for saying something inappropriate. I got caught stealing a candy bar at the grocers. I had to cut my own switch for the whipping. My most profound accomplishment in life was to live a very long time. Life expectancy is about 73, so I had been living on borrowed time for years.

My mother ran off with some guy, leaving me and my sister Bessie to be raised by my grandmother who was hopelessly poverty stricken, living on county subsidies. Her death left Bessie and me orphans. At eleven years of age, I was left on a farm to live with strangers, but Ernie May was a wonderful father figure and I learned the value of hard work on his farm. City boys don’t always fare well in the country, and I had my share of learning experiences. Over the course of adjusting, I was once covered by chicken mites, trapped in a root cellar with a large snake, whapped by a cow’s tail covered with cow poop, shocked by an electric fence, bucked off a very mean horse, and learned to swim in a slimy farm pond. I experienced the birth of a child as Ernie’s wife gave birth in their bedroom. I won my first fist fight when a taunting city bully went too far with the new farm kid. I was Huckleberry Finn in the school play. I assisted in the killing and butchering of a cow. My one room country school was a daily trek of nearly a mile, all up hill in deep snow.

When I was thirteen, my uncle Raymond came to Onaga and I ended up back in Olathe, rejoined with Bessie. Middle school was boring. I missed the farm. City life lacked the smell of the barnyard, the taste of warm milk straight from the cow or tall corn fields rustling in the breeze after the leaves turned brown with the approach of winter. So boring. The desire to be on my own led me to drop out of the eighth grade. After all, I had learned it all in first grade because I paid attention. I moved into a boarding house and found a job. At fifteen, I was drawn back to the farm and returned to Onaga where Lawrence Graf gave me a job and a home.

I learned to operate farm equipment and a big Gimmy dump truck without ever having a driver’s license. When farm work was slow, I hauled sand and gravel in that old Gimmy. Lawrence got more than one call from road engineers about the speed of his truck with which I was so skilled. Our favorite family pastime was to sit around the kitchen table, drinking a little whiskey and telling unending off-color stories. There are no videos that would show just how funny I was.

At seventeen, it was time to move on, much to the dismay of Lawrence and his family. Like losing a son he said. Just two months after my seventeenth birthday, I joined the United States Marine Corp. Boot camp in San Diego was a hoot if you can overlook showering naked with seventy-five other men or bending over for the thorough physical finger exam. Then radio school where I learned to carry a thirty-pound radio while scaling a cliff. I think they were just keeping me busy until I turned eighteen when they could legally send me to a combat zone in Korea. I earned a couple of medals over there, one of which was a good conduct ribbon. Just shows they know nothing of what goes on in town. I gained a deep appreciation for those men (boys) who fight for this country. All of them gave some and some of them gave all. Then back to Hawaii to finish out my three-year enlistment. From Hell to Heaven. Because of my swimming prowess I was selected to serve on a team of the Surf Life Saving Association of Australia made up of men from all the military services. I could swim like a fish. The old slimy farm pond made swimming in the ocean easy.

Now twenty years old, I returned to Topeka and entered a four-year stint at Washburn University. Yes. I passed the GED tests for a high school equivalency test since I skipped high school. I worked odd jobs and received funds from the GI Bill, so I paid as I went and left no massive student debt. While studying mathematics in college, Frances Joan Henneberg agreed to spend the rest of her life with me, a union that created a beautiful daughter, Beth Ann, born on Valentine’s Day in 1958. Friends would ask “Did you have a boy or a girl. I would say “yes”. Beth was graced me with my five grandchildren and they produced ten great-grandchildren. Upon graduation, I became an insurance investigator, a job I held for sixteen years. In this job, I learned to respect everyone but trust no one. I was an investigator, not a believer. Then the State of Kansas called on me to establish their new program of personal liability insurance. I also earned a Master’s degree from the University of Kansas even as I started this new job. From my viewpoint in this job, I learned the distasteful side of politics. A politician never says or does anything without an ulterior motive. This new adventure kept me busy thru retirement in 1995. It was an easy job. Just hire the right people in the right place and get out of the way. I never got fired even though I worked under six different governors in a highly political position. I’m glad I thought of retiring before the governor did.

During retirement some odd jobs kept me busy. I dealt blackjack at a Harrah’s casino, worked at Jackson’s Greenhouse, labored at the Hy Vee grocery store, and wrote a manual and computer program for worker’s compensation attorneys. I got into genealogy and finally came to my census. I opened an old family bible and came across a pressed leaf. I thought I had found Adam’s pants.

Then the worst tragedy of my life. Frances died of lung cancer after four months of great suffering. Her death was a crushing loss and Beth was my rock at the time.

Before Frances died, I took part in every social function available. I was a thirty-two-degree Mason, a Shriner, president of the Topeka Crime Stoppers, president of the Saturday Night Literary Club, an optimist in North Topeka Optimist Club, Board of Directors for Brewster Place Retirement Center, treasurer of Topeka Central Congregational Church, the Melody Dance Club (never learned to dance), Topeka Officials Association (basketball/football referee for twenty years). After Frances passed, I lost interest in all these things and dropped out of caring for such involvement.

At age seventy, my friends introduced me to a lady five years my senior. She taught me to play golf, but I believe she left out some lessons as I could never beat her, or anyone else for that matter. We had thirteen years before she too was taken. Now at eighty-three years I thought I could just fade away, but then I decided to call a lady who I had known for some time. I called her to see if she would be interested in playing some golf and she accepted. We dated for over three years before we decided living together would be appropriate.

Shirley Addington and I enjoyed a long and happy relationship with our little dog, Misty and I hope she misses my sense of humor. We traveled to the Virgin Islands, Arizona, Texas, Florida, Maine, California, Michigan, Colorado, Wisconsin and many other places around this beautiful country. I had the privilege to make the Honor Flight to Washington DC with my grandson Jamin. In a full life, I did it all. No. Wait. I never got Emily to Europe. I never taught Fran to swim. I can’t play a guitar. Maybe I left too soon

I was proud to be an American in the greatest country in the World. Finally, the grim reaper recalled he had forgotten about me and came to call. I would like for my friends, if any are still living, to come together and have a great party. I prefer old country music and whiskey. Perhaps they will recall a few of the adult stories I used to tell. Beth can even recite the punch line to most of them. I did not leave a great legacy for anyone to fight over. Being of sound mind and body, I spent it all. Memorial contributions may be made to the Wheaton Congregational Cemetery. Please leave a message for Beth on the message board below. www.dovetopeka.com