Today Is The Day I Bury My Father

I just awoke to another day of my life.  My alarm has yet to sound, and I know not what the day will bring.  I am know what lie within my thoughts: all the regrets, laments, meanderings over why am I here and what is my purpose.  I often consider how the lives of my parents and sister would have far superior if the life of my own had never begun.

Now they are all gone, and it is only myself...

Why all the anger?  Why all the self-centeredness?  Why did I think of myself so?  My own pain and hurt at never having enjoyed the ideal family?  Why did I see my father's faults as something so grievous it had to obliterate all the good he did?  My father was not a perfect man, of course, but he was a good man.  He did the best he knew with what he had, and while it may be cliche to say so, it is still true: I will miss him.

Transition Thoughts on a Saturday afternoon

Three days ago, my father died.  Two days from now, I will bury him in the ground.  It's been more difficult than I ever imagined it would be.  

Since 2013, when I drove him to the Emergency Room at the Great Bend Hospital in Great Bend Kansas, I knew my life was now relegated to his care.  He needed help, and as the sole surviving child, the responsibility fell to me.

I didn't know anything about anything; but when one experiences one's parent in agony, unable to breathe, unsure whether or not they will survive, I had no other choice but to accept it.  Children should tend to their parents when parents are no longer able to tend to themselves.  While my dad rebounded from what would congestive heart failure and an eight-day stay in the Hays Kansas hospital (where he was flown by helicopter because of the apparent gravity of the situation), he needed my help to handle medical issues over the phone, bill collectors, expenses he did not understand, as well as transportation for lengthy trips he could no longer do on his own.

It's a regret of mine, an extreme regret in regards to both my mother and my father, I never considered their needs prior to this - and even when this event occurred, I never completely emptied myself of my own selfishness.  While I helped my father as well as I could, I still retained the annoyance of his needs interfering with my own selfish desires.

What a wretched man I am.

A Few Thoughts on Representative Government

I am no person of influence.  I have no audience whose attention I command.  There are no friends who wait upon my words for counsel or inspiration.  Most people see me  and pass by without any regard as to who I am or what I believe.  There is not even a significant job of which I can boast.  I am nothing.  I am no one.  My face is no different from a thousand others that pass a person's way.

And yet, what I can claim to possess, what does manage to bestow credence upon my words is the birthright of an American, that status of a freedman which guarantees me an opinion and the right to declare it whenever circumstances warrant - as do they now.

My reading of history informs me what the Founders of America did in establishing Representative Government was quite extraordinary in the history of mankind.  Being ruled by a King or a Sovereign, as history's footprints are replete with, could never guarantee the freedoms the Revolution won; neither could a lone all-powerful individual ever govern such people of our independent nature and will.  Other societies throughout history were born into subservience.  They knew nothing but being ruled by a King, who supposedly was being ruled by God.  America, in opposition to such a template, was born by a people seeking freedom from such pomposity.  Her people will never be bound and shackled with any ease.

The only government for America was government of the people, by the people, and for the people.  Federalism established a federal government, rather than a national government, to oversee the affairs of the country.  State governments tended to the affairs of the individual states.  County governments followed suit, as did cities and towns.   Elections were held to select representatives of the people in these various governmental assemblies, intended to pull from the populace individuals who would speak for the people they represented (because they were "of the people"), conducting the affairs of the towns, the cities, the counties, and the states in a manner, of which, the people would approve.  It is a system that works.  It gives the people a voice.  It delivers on the guarantee of freedom by making people subjects of their own will, rather than the will of a tyrant foolishly believes himself in the place of God.

The one caveat, to all of this, is everything depends upon the people themselves for it to work.  The representatives of the people can become just as corrupt as any King drunk on his own power.  They can entrench themselves just as quickly into positions of aristocracy, and look down upon those who sent them to govern as nothing more than their own personal serfs and vassals.  They forget the people who sent them - temporarily - to these positions of power, and thus succumb to the wise old adage of 'power corrupts; and absolute power corrupts absolutely'.

When this occurs, George III is making a comeback as our king.

The only remedy for this corrupting disease, laying waste upon the fabric of our American freedom, is men of integrity; people who fully recognize their role as servants of the people from whom they come and soundly renounce with a fervor the enticing allures of power and command.  George Washington established the precedent, relinquishing power not once, but twice.  He peacefully turned over his sword to the Continental Congress following the end of the Revolutionary War; and after serving two terms as America's first president, he peacefully gave over his office to the new incoming president John Adams.  Two terms were enough.

What transpired from that peaceful transition of power (from my reading, it was unknown in the world at that time) to our current day and age, where people who were sent to lead find the pleasures of power more desirable than the joys of service?  How is it there are no longer any men of integrity who understand Representative Government entails representatives of the people, not representatives of the government?  Are there any who identify the pattern of service introduced by George Washington as the bulwark against dictatorial invasion from within?

Apparently not, as two years ago a longtime senator. from the state of Indiana, Richard Lugar, was defeated in a Republican primary when it learned he no longer resided within the state he was supposed to represent.  He was a resident of the state of Virginia, and had been living there for years.

Recently, the same expose of news struck one of Kansas' own, Senator Pat Roberts.  He also lives in Virginia, and has lived there for years.

If anyone cares about the freedom America was birthed in; if anyone believes in the fight against the oppressions of government our Founders battled against; if anyone sees America as something exceptional upon the world stage, a man like Pat Roberts needs to go.  Every elected official who values position over service (and forty-seven years entrenched in D.C. with no connection to the people he is supposed to represent would indicate as much), they need to go.  This country, if it is to continue, must exercise the peaceful transition of power demonstrated by the General from the start.  Only then will we be governed by leaders and not politicians; and only then will George III remain in his grave.

My Memorial to My Grandfather: part 12

Somewhere around the late 30’s to early 40s, Oscar and Anna Jane, with their five kids along for the adventure, made what would amount to the first of two total trips back to the Colorado farmland of her father and family.  This intent to reestablish family contacts was precipitated by a visit from her brother Eddie, who was living in Oregon at that time, accompanied by a most special guest: Anna Jane’s youngest sister Margaret, a sister of whom she was not even aware.  Eddie was taking her to live with him in Oregon, at a place called Klamath Falls.

One of the siblings with whom Anna Jane reestablished contact was her younger sister Lula.  Lula introduced her to her husband Rudy Meyer and their children.  Rudy was her second husband, an electrician by trade, her first husband being a man by the name of Earl Van Buren.  He was an abusive man who moved her to a log cabin in the Colorado mountains, where he kept her and the kids locked away, while he spent his time smoking the marijuana he enjoyed.

Lula somehow managed to escape from that imprisonment and made her way down the mountain to the community of Golden Colorado.  The first door to the first house she knocked on was that of a pastor of the Nazarene Church, who helped her in her distraught state of affairs.  It was there she met her second husband, both remaining strongly involved in that particular community of believers, Rudy Meyers, standing out as a night and day contrast to the first man she married.

Sadly, and for some unconscionable reason, Lula first husband’s parents sued for custody of one of her children – and somehow they won!

As Anna Jane was reconnecting with her family, Oscar’s faithful presence in Dickinson County, exercising his superior knowledge and experience over all things mechanical (people brought him everything and anything to fix) had yet to garner him the respect from his family members desired.  They were some of the worst from whom to try and draw payment for his work.  They brought him their vehicles for repair; and then they criticized him for not attending Sunday church – he remaining at his garage to finish the very work those same family members required for their own work to begin again come Monday morning!

In the early 1940s, somewhere around 1941 or 1942, Oscar, accompanied by the son of one of his brothers (for the most part, the relationships he carried on with his nephews and nieces – they were more like cousins, or even siblings, due to the closeness in age shared – were the amiable ones lacking from the older members of the Sexton family) made a trip to Osage City.  It was the best location to acquire any coal one might require for the coming cold weather.

Along with the truck they drove, a trailer was pulled from behind to return with as much coal as was possible since the trip was far.  It was a day cold and windy; and to load the truck, the trailer first had to be unlatched.  When it came time to hook the trailer back onto the end of the truck, the blustery weather, coupled alongside the width of the truck, made it impossible to see, or even hear, Oscar as the truck backed into position for the trailer could be reattached.  The truck struck him, directly where his liver could be found.

The accident incapacitated him for a time, but soon he was up and around, carrying on with the same tasks to occupy his days since returning to Abilene in ’24.  All appeared like he would escape this injury unscathed as usual business continued about the farm.

A few years later, Oscar’s eldest son Dean was drafted into the Army and sent over to Europe to fight in the Second World War.  After his second son Gene graduated high school, and Europe fell with the surrender of Nazi Germany, Gene was also drafted into the war effort, being sent over to Japan following Japan’s own surrender to the Allies.

Oscar, meanwhile, began losing strength.  He was growing weaker and weaker.  His injury from the coal accident developed into an inoperable cancer within his liver.  It sapped him of his strength; and his weight made a drastic cut into half the man he actually was.  He became bedridden, from one day to the next, and no one knew which day might become his last.

Someone was always sitting with him, including his two sons who had gone off to war.  They had returned, learning of the condition in which their father lay.

In his bedfast state, Oscar did call for the members of his family with whom he had known difficulty over the years – including Harvey – and he apologized for any dissension he might have caused.  He sought to make things right by tempering any animosity, as best as he was able.

It was on the morning of August 1^st, in the year of 1946, with his family constantly at hand that Oscar Olen Sexton passed away in his home south of Abilene Kansas.  He was a mere ten days shy of his 47^th birthday.  He left behind his five children and his wife of twenty-two years, Anna Jane Welch.  From those five children, thirteen grandchildren would emerge; from those grandchildren, eighteen great grandchildren would be born.  Who knows how many shall follow hence?

I derided the stories which comprised this narrative biography from my father and my aunt, children of my grandfather, and also from a cousin of theirs, the child of one of my grandfather’s brothers.   All dates and places are accurate.  Every name mentioned is of a real person.  That which I have assumed, what I have fictionalized to weave this narrative together, are as follows: my grandfather’s mother, while I am not entirely certain of when her Holt family emigrated from Johnson County Illinois to Butler County Kansas, there is a census from 1860 in which her father, William Holt, is listed.  Since Bourbon County is on the border, and Fort Scott is the county seat today, I am assuming William Holt may have been part of the military, stationed there in 1860, though I have yet to discover any documentation confirming this.  Also, William Holt would be a rather common name, so I fully acknowledge I may have a different William Holt than who was the father to my great grandmother.

I am also assuming James Taylor Sexton and Emma Ann Holt met in Johnson County Illinois.  I have no documentation of this being true; and family lore states that their “honeymoon” was the wagon ride from Butler County to Dickinson County, where James Sexton lived.

My grandfather did work as a fireman on the trains, but where he did so and when – that information I do not have.  I am presuming it would either have occurred prior to his leaving Abilene for Greeley, or when he actually lived in Long Beach.  Logically, when coupling his mechanically-inclined mind, which was fact, with working on a locomotive, it makes more sense to have happened prior to Greeley.  I am taking the leap he drew his interest in automobiles from what he learned working on the trains – for he loathed farming.  This was followed by, I am assuming, someone he met while engaged in this work, who saw his curious interest, and knew of the man who would become his partner in the garage in Greeley. 

The location of the garage in Greeley, being next to the café where my grandmother work, is accurate; and my assumption of it not being located within the hub of other garages in Greeley is based upon a trip to Greeley of my own, where it appeared most garages were located within a central downtown area.

The story of how Anna Jane told Oscar she was leaving for Long Beach with her brother Eddie is one of my creations.  My grandfather did hobo it on the trains to reach Long Beach; but I am assuming Eddie, though still a young man himself, known for his business sense, managed to acquire the necessary funds for the train tickets.

The entire episode in Long Beach is an assumption on my part.  Nothing is known of my grandparents time there, aside from the fact they were there.  One aspect I chose not to include was of my grandmother’s grandfather, her mother’s father, Albert Van Goad, as well as some of his children, my grandmother’s aunts and uncles, were in Long Beach at this same time.  My grandmother’s older sister Flora, she also was living in Long Beach.  It seems a bit of a coincidence, all these different family members could descend upon the same city, at the same time of history, the 1920s, without knowing the either was there; but I am concluding, being that it was the 1920s and the only means of correspondence was by letter, none of the three knew where the others were.  If this is an accurate guess, what would have brought the three of them to Long Beach, I do not know.

It is somewhat similar to my assumption on the automobile industry.  When they began to make a presence in Kansas, or even Colorado, I have no clue.  I am assuming it was at some juncture of that pre-1920 to early 1920 period; and being that new developments always seem to arise on the coasts before they work their way towards the central parts of the country, I am presuming the industry in California would have been booming for any young man wishing to make a life for himself as a mechanic of these new machines.  However, again, this is mere extrapolation on my part of how it might be.  I have no idea how long my grandparents lived in Long Beach; I know not where they lived while there.  All I know is they were there.

My grandmother did receive a letter from my grandfather’s mother.  The only verifiable aspect of the letter was the “fine little cottage”, which is what brought the two of them back from California.  Being that my grandfather did not care for the farming life, I invented the story of them using the land for a garage.  The garage was actually built after the two eldest sons, Dean and Gene, were able to tend to the needs of the farm – somewhere in the 1930s.

With my grandmother, I tried to take into account of youth, while matching that with the mature nature of responsibility she exhibited throughout her life.  My grandfather, he did experience difficulty with his family, and I am assuming it came from his disinterest in farming.  The intensity of this difficulty manifested itself primarily with his brother Harvey, who proved himself a problem to most of the family.

This stands as some of my allusions to fact within the story of my grandfather Oscar Sexton.  He never lived the life he sought for himself – with the exception of the girl he married and the kids he became a father to – and I often wonder how differently his life, as well as those children, and grandchildren, and great grandchildren to follow would have been if he had seen the support from his family that should have been given.  This difficulty is what has caused me to see my grandfather as somewhat of a visionary, farsighted man, trapped within an area of only the here and now. 

I am not sure where I will submit this for consideration; but if anyone ever reads these words, and finds themselves with further questions as to what was verifiably accurate and what I conjure from assumptions on what might have been, ask whatever you will.  I will also attempt to write a more thorough exploration of these facts and fictions at some later date.

Wendall Paul Sexton

My Memorial to My Grandfather: part 11

Over the course of the ten years since their marriage, with the optimism of youth fading like the exciting dream one awakens from and wishes to never lose, they became resigned to their fate, accepting the farm life they lived.  Oscar managed some pieces of mechanic jobs here and there, but all were simply more routine work he could have performed in his sleep.  Nothing ever presented him a challenge – even if he would have known the time with which to engage it.

His entire life was farming, farming, farming; day in and day out.  That which he loathed consumed his strength, many times leaving him passed out in the middle of his living room floor.  Whenever any of his kids found him in such a state, they knew they were not to disturb.  Walk around.  Walk over.  Just do not wake your father up.

It was clear to Anna Jane her husband was not happy.  Therefore, when he, the Holt boys, and a cousin or two began erecting a new farm building to store the larger equipment they began acquiring for the farm, she suggested he carve out a portion of this new building to use as a garage.

And of the required farming?

Dean and Gene could handle the farming.  Yes they were boys, but they were managing the farm already as it was.

Such was true.  The boys could indeed handle the responsibilities of the farm.  They, in fact, already were.  And this new building?  There was room for a garage – easily.  Those clouds lingering over the horizon might be starting to finally break.

Oscar’s father passed away in 1931, followed by his brother Burt in 1932.  Burton Sexton succumbed to the condition that brought down their brother Alvin.  His appendix burst, leaving his widow Naomi to care for their children still of the home.  Their eldest Earnest and Ivan, were of age and married.  Their daughter Glenna appeared soon to follow into marriage herself.  This left the three youngest: Lloyd, Thelma, and Carl still requiring their mother’s care.

Naomi shared one unusual mother/sister-in-law trait in common with Anna Jane.  Her youngest child Carl was born on the same day as Anna Jane’s second child Gene.  While this occurrence did not initiate their agreeable relationship with one another, it did serve as an exclamation point marking approval that Oscar foresaw back on day one.  The two ladies got along, just as Oscar and his brother Burt got along. 

Family troubles were fairly well muted by this juncture in time.  Oscar’s mother, for some reason, expressed a measure of discontent with all the k ids Oscar and Anna Jane seemed to continuously be having; and Oscar faced difficulties, at times, being paid for his mechanic work by family members who argued over the cost; but nothing and no one was as egregious a thorn in his side as his brother Harvey.

There were various instances over the years where the two brothers butted heads of contention – Oscar attempting to get rightful pay for mechanic work done being one; Harvey attempting to pawn off sick farm animals being an example of another – but the most intense fight came over Harvey’s continued insistence on taking away the land which brought Oscar and Anna Jane to Kansas in the first place.

Everything came to a head one day when their mother was out of town visiting their sister Lillian in Emporia.  It was anticipated her stay would last for a month at the minimum; thus Harvey arrived at the farm one evening, believing he held the upper hand, and confronted his brother within his family kitchen. He tried, with his customary bombastic flair, forcing Oscar and his family off the land; to which Oscar grabbed a nearby butcher knife and began waving it in his brother’s direction.  Anna Jane immediately stepped in between the two, holding her husband back and demanded, with the same fierceness in her words as could be seen in Oscar’s eyes, for Harvey to leave.

He did so, never to return.

My Memorial to My Grandfather: part 10

Oscar was dumbstruck.  He knew not what to think – or how he should even react.  These revelations left him stymied into wondering, his mind meandering about as to what the two of them should now do.

It was Anna Jane who pointed out the one option available to them was farming the land.  Farm the land.  Do what your family expects you to do; and wait for other opportunities to develop.  Who knows what might happen in a year?  If one keeps their eyes open and their ears alert, anything could be possible.

She suggested he write his former partner in Greeley, and she would write her brother in Long Beach just to see if any new opportunities might have developed in the short time since they were there – not the same jobs to return to, but positions that would prove a step up from what both formerly held.  And if not, they would keep writing; they would keep asking; they would keep seeking until something came into view that would prove fruitful.

In the meantime, they would farm the land as his family and neighbors wanted; and Oscar would use whatever free time might come to work on the garage.  The horizon which offered such potential in the past was all clouded over with the vast emptiness of the Kansas prairie.  Oscar couldn’t see it himself for the first time.  He could see nothing but the manacles his family fastened about his feet.  He wanted to run, but where could he run?  He hoped these letters Anna Jane spoke of writing would amount to something; but seriously, he doubted it.  He was a farmer, after all.

They wrote the letters; and Oscar was right that nothing would come of them.  The jobs both of them held were, of course, filled; and the only jobs available elsewhere were similar jobs of same pay and status.  He knew Anna Jane was right, and they just needed to play the hand they were dealt to see where it might lead.

As time progressed, things began to settle down.  Anna Jane gave birth to their first child in March of 1925, a son by the name of Dean Olen.  She conceived a second time, two years later, in April of 1927, to a second son, this time named Gene Oscar.  Three additional children followed over the course of the next seven years with Rosalie in 1929, Naomi Lu in 1932, and James Burton in 1934, the namesake for Oscar’s father whom his mother expected one of her children to name.

Emma Ann Holt Sexton gave birth to seven children; and from those seven children, she was given twenty grandchildren, none of whom were named after her husband, who was named after his father, until this final child of Oscar and Anna Jane.

My Memorial to My Grandfather: part 9

In the meanwhile, as their plans for the garage began to take shape, the two did manage to acquire a few trappings of typical farm life: some chickens and a couple of cows, a pig or two here and there - just enough to make life on a Kansas farm interesting.  Oscar would also handle a few routine mechanical jobs, both with maintenance for automobiles, which were growing in number, and the machinery farmers used to plant their crops.  It was a means to spread his name farther, the more work he did, for people to know where to come when their machines faced problems the next time.

One day, an inquiry was made.  Oscar was asked, point blank, whose tractor he would be borrowing, since he had none of his own yet, to plant his first crop.  Also, when would he be buying his seed?

Sensing some argument could ensue, yet not willing to back down from his stern resolve, Oscar set himself with the same fortitude which kept him on those trains, hoboing it from Greeley to Long Beach and from Long Beach to Abilene.  He explained to the people, quite clearly and quite frankly, he would not be planting any crop.  He was not using his deceased brother’s former land to continue as a farm.  He was in the process of building a garage to service the maintenance on all the farm machines in the county, as well as all the automobiles people were beginning to purchase.  It was something he was doing for his family, which he looked forward to seeing grow very soon.

No one to whom he spoke these words uttered as much as a syllable of response.  Most were trying to digest precisely what the man was telling them; others stood simply dumbstruck the land would not be used to farm any crops.  What else was that amount of land to be used for?  The real onslaught hit the following day when word spread and wave after wave after wave of family members and farmers in the area relentlessly argued with him, some reasonably; others peppering their words with anger.  What he proposed just wasn’t done.  Farmland was for farming, not for some foolhardy venture that would never get off the ground.  How did he ever expect to raise a family?  If he wanted to open a garage, start one in town.

These arguments were nothing new.  Oscar had heard them all before then.  They were the same arguments his family threw at him when he showed his initial interest in engines and an aversion for farming.  They were thoughts and ideas he mulled over within his own mind the succeeding years; giving credence to what carried merit and tossing aside what he viewed argument simply for arguments sake.  He knew how to answer every challenge posed him; even the one of a garage should be located in town.

To this he agreed, and it was an idea he foresaw as several years down the road; but as the land he owned was the farmland on which he and Anna Jane lived, and as its location served as more ideal for farmers to bring him their tractors, their implements, and whatever equipment might need attention, this land was where all would begin; it was the place where he would be setting up his shop.

It was at this juncture where his brother Harvey chimed in his two cents.  The land was not Oscar’s to do with as he pleased.  He did not own it.  It still belonged to their parents.  Oscar could not simply do with it as he pleased.  It was farmland, and a farm was what the land would always be.

When Oscar looked into this contention by his brother, confronting his parents directly on the issue, he learned that Harvey was indeed right.  The land was not his and Anna Jane’s.  It belonged to his father and mother still – and he was renting, not owning, land that would only belong to him upon their deaths.

Harvey was wrong on one thing though.  Oscar could still build his garage; but the land had to be farmed first.  The farm took priority over all else. That much he was required to do.

How could he build a garage when farming would always take precedent?  He was only one man.  Farming the land would consume all his time.  Such stood as the quandary now facing him and Anna Jane.  How could they proceed forward with any of their plans?  Should they even try?  Returning to Long Beach, or even to Greeley, was never an option, as neither he nor Anna Jane believed in stepping backwards through life, retreating in the face of hardship.  Yes, their move to Abilene could be interpreted by some as a retreat.  They were returning, after all, to familiar ground Oscar knew well.  Yet in their minds, when they assumed at the time the land would be theirs, land to do with as they pleased, it seemed a clear and certain step forward.