Loss

Somehow, this year, this day sneaked up on me. I knew what day my dad, Allen Spencer passed away, and I knew it was coming up, but then…suddenly, yesterday as I was working on my computer, I realized that it was tomorrow, and it hit me like a kick in the gut. I hate that. I prefer to be prepared for the coming of this day and other days like this, so I can steel my emotions to it. It seems impossible that my dad has been in Heaven for 16 years now. There are great grandchildren and great great grandchildren that he never got to meet. There are so many new additions by marriage that he did get to meet…and more than that, they didn’t get to meet him. That is sad indeed, because my dad loved playing with the little kids…hearing their laughter was his delight. He would have loved all of the new spouses too. We have been very blessed with all of them.

My dad and my mom, Collene Spencer gave us all such a beautiful life. They built in us a deep faith in God and a deep sense of family. They are both in Heaven now, but in our memories live the echos of those beautiful moments. Dad always loved to travel, and that started many family vacations. Sometimes, my parents were happy to plan a long vacation, and sometimes, they would just load up the car and go where the road would take us. I suppose people might think that was a weird way to travel, but those were some of the most amazing trips ever. My sisters and I can say that we have visited almost every state in the nation. We took a trip every summer…even in the lean years. I will never forget the “Wyoming Tour” when we took several legs and traveled to each of the four sections of the state. Sometimes, like that year, a tour of our home state was just what we needed, and it was very relaxing and fun.

My dad was a gentle man, as well as a gentleman. I truly think that it was harder on him to discipline is that it was on us. Dad would do his best to try to work things out without the spanking we most likely deserved. I remember so many times that Dad kept the peace in our family. We were never allowed to “let the sun go down on our wrath.” Dad knew that it was essential to say you’re sorry and make up with your loved ones. He family struggled with that, and it caused splits in the family…with everyone but my dad. He got along with all of his siblings. He refused to let it be otherwise. Dad believed in being the peacemaker. And he always was. That was probably one of the greatest and most important lessons ever. I wish my dad was still with us. I miss his teachings, his personality, his gentleness, and his kindness, not to mention his silliness, and he was able to be quite silly. I really miss that too. Today, marks 16 long years without seeing my dad. It is a kick in the gut, and I can’t wait to see him again when I go to Heaven. We love and miss you every day, Dad. Tell Mom we love and miss her too. Hugs to you both.

My husband’s grandfather, Robert Knox was a hardworking man all his life. When I first met him, he was already retired, of course. Nevertheless, he was still working hard. Grandpa was the keeper of the vegetable garden. We all benefitted from the vegetable garden, but it was Grandpa who kept the garden. I got involved in some of the harvesting…we all did, but I don’t think Grandpa would have appreciated it if we tried to get out there and “tend” the garden. That was his domain, and you really should stay away from it. Seriously though, Grandpa loved his vegetable garden. It got his outside and kept him busy. He would probably have been bored silly without it…and Grandma would have had to figure out what to do with him if he was bored silly.

Grandpa was blessed on his 67th birthday with the coolest birthday gift ever…the birth of his third great granddaughter, Machelle (Cook) Moore. Grandma had been given that blessing with their first great granddaughter, Corrie (Schulenberg) Petersen, and Grandpa really wanted the same gift. A year and 5 months later, he was so blessed…and so happy. Sharing a birthday with a child, grandchild, or great grandchild is something that doesn’t happen for just anyone, so those who are so blessed, usually know just how rare a treat that is. Not very many people get to have that, and to have two in one couple is really rare.

Grandpa loved to read. He had a stack of books that was usually taller than he was. The funny thing was that he would read several at one time, and he could totally keep up with the story line on all of them. Western were his book of choice, which is typical for his era. He was born in 1908, and in during that and they subsequent eras, westerns were pretty much what was out there. I don’t know what he would think of some of the book of our time, but my guess is that he wouldn’t have liked them very much. I can’t say that I necessarily care much for most of them either. While we were two generations apart, and he probably though I was a silly girl when I first met him when I was just 17 years old, I grew to love that old man. Sadly, he died of cancer in 1985, when he was far too young. He was just 77 years old. Today is the 115th anniversary of Grandpa’s birth. Happy birthday in Heaven, Grandpa Knox. We love and miss you very much.

My cousin, Delwin Johnson was always a quiet man…at least he was every time I was around him. Nevertheless, he was a sweet man, and it makes me sad that he has left us. I’m sure that he wasn’t quite so quiet around his family. In fact, he loved teasing his nephew, Ethan Stanko when he kept asking his mom, JeanAnn Stanko to explain the game of football to him on Thanksgiving, but then Ethan was just too busy to listen to his mom teach him about the game. It’s a typical kid thing, but funny, nevertheless. As for Del’s brother, Elmer…well, they were very close, and there will always be a hole in Elmer’s life where his little brother once was. That makes me so sad, because I know Elmer missed Del so much.

Delwin, wasn’t a clumsy sort, but he did have a “little mishap” one time while he was out hunting with his sister, Darla Stanko. His niece, JeanAnn Stanko tells me, “He was with mom (his sister, Darla Stanko). They stopped because they saw a deer and he accidentally shot through the floorboards, hitting the transmission cooling lines. As you know transmission fluid is red, so it looked like the car was bleeding.” I can see the shock on their faces now, and then, I can almost hear Delwin saying, “Oops, I shot the car!!” Then, the shock would most likely turn to hysterical laughter…until it came time to figure out how to get home…and how to get the car fixed.

Ashley McCollum calls Delwin, Uncle Del, not because he is her biological uncle, but because her dad and Del were friends before Ashley was born. Ashley grew up around Del, and she said that Del had a profound impact on her life. When Ashley was in 7th grade, she was living with Del in a little house on Durbin Street in Casper, and their favorite thing to do was to take turns playing Zelda on Del’s Super Nintendo. They loved to take their fishing trips. He also helped Ashley and her dad when they needed a new roof on their house. And there was the time Del fed Angel (who I assume was a dog) the last of his pizza. Ashley says you would just have to be to understand, and that she will forever miss her Uncle Del.

Rachel Johnson, Del’s daughter-in-law recalls the trips she and his son, Jason took to see Del, over the 4th of July. Del’s grandson, JJ had such a wonderful time. He and Grandpa Delwin loved playing with the Nerf guns. Every time JJ managed to hit Del in the chest, Del acted the part of a man who had been shot. JJ loved it!! He laughed and laughed. JJ loved his grandpa so much, and after they had visited, he asked to go see Grandpa Delwin for weeks and weeks. Del loved being a grandpa, and the grandkids and step grandkids were his pride and joy. They are the blessing you get from being a parent. Delwin passed away in exactly the way he wanted to…peacefully in his sleep. We will all miss him very much. Rest in peace Del…until we all meet again.

My aunt, Ruth Wolfe was my dad, Allen Spencer’s younger sister. She had three older siblings, Laura Fredrick, William Spencer, and my dad; as well as two older half siblings, Dorothy (died when she was six months) and Norman Spencer. To my knowledge, the kids might have met Norman a few times, but not very much for sure. That makes me sad, because from what I have learned of Norman, he was a wonderful man. I wish they all could have known him better. Life as a child was good for Aunt Ruth, even though money was never abundant. Aunt Ruth learned to be resourceful, and she really excelled at it.

Aunt Ruth had a softer side. She could play almost any musical instrument by simply picking it up and playing. I’m not saying that she was a world class musician, but she could make music, and that is far more than I could do with an instrument. Aunt Ruth could “spin a yarn” too. Sometimes I wasn’t sure if her stories were true or fiction, but I think they were likely a mix of both. She knew a lot about weather patterns, which she demonstrated once in our kitchen, when she noticed that the wind (which is almost never still in Casper), had stopped. She jumped up and went to the window, proclaiming that there was a tornado or funnel cloud nearby. We later learned that there had been a funnel cloud…and I was shocked.

Aunt Ruth was also quite self-sufficient. She gardened and canned, and she could build things too. All these things led later to the family’s ability to be “off the grid,” when living “off the grid” was not a known word or a “thing” at all. While living “off the grid” was really unusual in her lifetime, Aunt Ruth, her husband, Uncle Jim Wolfe, and their family chose that lifestyle in the 1980s. She was one of those people who could make a meal out of what most of us would view as nothing. Dinnertime was simply “different” by today’s standards, but them these days, anything that isn’t a hamburger is considered unusual…ok, maybe not exactly, but you get the picture. I’m not saying that Aunt Ruth ate “possum grits” or squirrel, but I can’t say she didn’t either. I suppose in some places, those things might be considered a delicacy, but I’ll pass. Nevertheless, at Aunt Ruth’s place, you might get mustard and onion sandwiches (that might have been invented by Uncle Jim and maybe my dad helped), but you might get it at Aunt Ruth’s table…probably not my cup of tea either, but I’m not a huge onion fan. Nevertheless, Aunt Ruth could fix just about any meal and make it taste great. Today would have been Aunt Ruth’s 98th birthday. Happy birthday in Heaven, Aunt Ruth. We love and miss you very much.

My aunt, Evelyn Hushman was the oldest sibling of my grandparents, George and Hattie Byer. While she and my mom were eight years between Aunt Evelyn and my mom, Collene Spencer were good friends, as well as being sisters. When my mom and dad, Allen Spencer were dating, they sometimes double dated with Aunt Evelyn and her husband, George Hushman, who were married six years before my parents. They were all good friends and remained good friends for the rest of their lives. Probably the strangest double date was the one where a train, with no lights, blowing no whistle, at a dark uncontrolled crossing, hit their car. If Uncle George hadn’t caught it out of the corner of his eye and yelled at my dad; and had my dad not responded quickly turning with the train and causing only damage to the vehicle, the collision could have been disastrous. Both couples walked away unhurt…the car, not so much!!

The couples also attended the military ball, and later they bowled on the same league together. They just enjoyed spending time together. While Aunt Evelyn and Uncle George’s five kids were older that my sisters and me, (my cousin Greg Hushman is just a month older that my oldest sister, Cheryl Masterson), we all got along well, and our parents made sure we got lots of playtime together. I’m sure that they also figured that with so many kids, it was getter to just get us together and maybe we would entertain each other. We did, but I can’t say that we never got into trouble either…not any real trouble anyway.

Their weekly “double dates” ended when they quit bowling, and the was probably a rather sad time for all of them…like the end of an era. I suppose that all things must come to an end, but that doesn’t mean we have to like it too. Aunt Evelyn bowled for quite some time after that, and I bowled on her team as a sub sometimes, but she was the only one of the four that continued to bowl for a time. Now, all four of them are together in Heaven again. I wonder if they still get together for outings and dinners. Maybe they even go bowling, who knows. I like to think of them that way. Today would have been Aunt Evelyn’s 95th birthday. Happy birthday in Heaven, Aunt Evelyn. We love and miss you very much.

My husband, Bob’s uncle, Eddie Hein was a sweet man who was an encouragement to many people. His children were his pride and joy, and he would do anything in his power to make their lives better. When Larry wanted to open a mechanics shop, Eddie was totally onboard. Eddie always loved mechanics, and seeing Larry start a career in that field was pleasing to him. Eddie loved vintage cars and would have loved to spend hours working to restore them. Of course, that wasn’t feasible, so watching his same work on cars sometimes filled the mechanics gap, in his life…at least the one that existed in his latter years.

His daughter, Kim Arani had very different goals and dreams than her dad, which makes sense. Most women don’t dream of becoming a mechanic. Kim chose later to move to Texas, because she absolutely hates the Montana winters, and I can’t say as I blame her. Even though Kim lived far away know, Eddie and Pearl were very supportive of her dreams, and were very excited to attend her wedding and give the bride away. It was a dream wedding, and while Eddie had suffered a stroke prior to the wedding, he was able to make the trip and walk his daughter down the aisle…on the beach.

While Eddie was dedicated to his children, Larry and Kim, he was most dedicated to his loving wife, Pearl. When they were off work, they were together. They gardened together and worked on the house together. Their lives were intertwined. When Eddie had his stroke, Pearl really stepped up to make sure Eddie had everything he needed. She drove him lots of miles to do his therapy. She took care of him at home. She nursed him back to health, and Eddie was grateful. He knew he loved her from the very start, and she proved to be the best thing that ever happened to him. Today would have been Eddie’s 80th birthday. Happy birthday in Heaven, Eddie!! We love and miss you very much!!

My husband, Bob Schulenberg’s uncle, Bernard Eugene “Butch” Hein was a well-known rancher is Forsyth, Montana. He was born June 28, 1945, in Miles City, Montana, to Walt and Vina Hein of Forsyth, Montana. Butch was the youngest of his mother’s five children (two of them, Marion and Walt Schulenberg) from a previous marriage. He also had a sister, Esther Hein and a brother, Eddie Hein. The family lived on a ranch outside of Forsyth. It was there that Butch first learned about ranching and knew that this would be his life’s work. While Butch would spend his childhood years helping on the ranch, there would be other life events that would have to take place before he finally settled into ranching. Butch graduated from Forsyth high school in 1964. The Vietnam war was in full swing, and Butch was drafted to the Navy in 1966. In all the years I have known Butch, he, like most other veterans never talked about his time during that war. I don’t know where he spent his service years, but I know that he was one of the men blessed to have made it home.

After returning home for his time in the service, Butch married Bonnie Wertz on April 13, 1968. Bonnie was the love of his life, and they began to build a life together. Their son, Scott Michael was born on November 5, 1969, and they were happy with their little family. Unfortunately, while they were preparing to expand their family, Bonnie was diagnosed with cancer. She delayed treatment in order to give their daughter a chance at life. Crista Dawn was born on October 26, 1973, but passed away on November 2, 1973. Bonnie continued to weaken and passed away on April 27, 1974. Butch was devastated. He felt like his life was over, but he had a son who needed him, so Butch pulled himself together, and raised his son as a single dad. Scott was his greatest achievement, and they were not only father and son, but later business partners and best friends. That friendship continued right up to Butch’s passing.

On October 13, 2023, a 78-year-old Butch, who was still very vibrant and full of life, got in his car and entered the interstate at his life-long hometown, Forsyth, Montana. Much of the rest is unknown at this time, but in the end, Butch was hit broadside by a semi-truck, and killed instantly. For his family, and all who knew him, this was a devastating loss. Butch was a friend to many, and certainly most of the town of Forsyth. He was also Grandpa to Scott’s three children with his wife Terri (née Wiederrick) Hein…Laura (Sean) Dailey, Carson Hein, and Lindsey Hein. Butch was so proud of his family, and one of the recent highlights of his life was being able to attend his granddaughter, Laura’s wedding on September 30, 2023. His grandchildren were his pride and joy. Laura is a junior high school teacher in Chester, Montana; Carson works at the ranch with his dad and grandpa; and Lindsey is in college at Montana State University, having received a basketball scholarship. Butch was an amazing dad to Scott, and a blessing to Terri and the kids as well. His life’s work might have been ranching, but his family was his legacy. He will be forever loved and missed very much.

What could make a nation go through an earthquake and refuse help from another nation, like the United States? It seems like a strange question, but it is valid. On October 6, 1948, a magnitude 7.3 earthquake leveled Ashgabat, the capital of the Turkmen Soviet Socialist Republic—now Turkmenistan. The quake killed between 70,000 and 100,000 people. The true number will never be known. In fact, most information of the scope of the disaster remained unknown outside Central Asia until 1973, when archival records were finally unsealed by local officials. So…why seal the records…of an earthquake??

The town of Ashgabat lies at the foot of the Kopet-Dag Mountain range near the border with Iran. The area is geologically unstable and earthquake prone. That said, why should a large earthquake in an earthquake-prone area need to be hidden? Ashgabat was originally a czarist outpost, founded in 1881. The town grew quickly during World War II, due to evacuees from the war zone. The population grew to an estimated 150,000 people. With a huge influx of people came the need for a lot of new housing, so single-story houses of unreinforced brick and stone, with heavy roofs of packed clay were quickly built, without regard for the need for earthquake proofing. I suppose that was the reason that the authorities didn’t want anyone to come in to help or to know the details of the catastrophe or the number of victims. The schools, hospitals, and other public buildings were built in the same shoddy way. It was wartime, so it may have been that supplies were scarce, or that proper time was not spent on the construction. Of course, less was known about how earthquakes affect buildings too, and even though there were existing seismic standards, they were seldom met. The builders greatly underestimated the earthquake danger, and that was a fact. A 1929 quake had already caused significant property damage, but strangely, the fault zone had been unusually inactive. I suppose this could have been a warning sign. When it is overdue, it may be a sign of an impending catastrophe.

In this case, that was exactly what happened. On October 6, 1948, at 1:17am, with few people awake. Suddenly, they an ominous rumbling from the mountains, followed immediately by violent vertical shaking. It was actually two strong shocks seconds apart, and just as suddenly, Ashgabat was reduced to rubble. There was no escape…there was no time for escape. The buildings were standing one second and collapsed the next. The thing that is the most shocking was that many of the survivors, who had been conditioned by propaganda in the acute early phase of the Cold War, thought that the city had been hit by an American atomic bomb. And the government did nothing to correct their misguided thinking. So, the country did not seek help from the United States.

As suddenly as it had occurred, the quake severed all communications with the outside world. There were no emergency centers, because hospitals, clinics, and pharmacies lay in ruins. The few remaining uninjured rescue workers, members of the city’s emergency services struggled in the darkness to help the injured. Doctors, many of whom had served in the war, pulled equipment from the ruins to set up an emergency station in Karl Marx Square. Finally, by the afternoon, reinforcements and supplies began to arrive from Tashkent and Baku. Nevertheless, the number of casualties, and the inherent difficulty of evacuating gravely wounded people, meant that help came too late for many. It was estimated that half of an estimated thirty thousand people who had life-threatening injuries died from lack of early treatment…many people died before they could even be pulled from the rubble.

While the city workers immediately ran to the damaged central headquarters of the Communist Party, where they were told by the party’s first secretary, S Batirova to take an undamaged automobile and head northward to a functioning telephone line, and soldiers stationed at the airport used an aircraft radio to contact Baku and Sverdlovsk, it was still many hours before any details reached areas from which aid could be dispatched.Unfortunately, that wasn’t much help either, because the railway station was in ruins, tracks were blocked, the airport control tower was destroyed, and the airport and roads could not handle heavy traffic. It would take hours and even days, to get the much-needed rescue support the city needed.

Of course, because of the misguided concept that the Americans were somehow involved, the precise death toll will never be known for sure. Estimates range from a shockingly low number of 400, suggested by Nature magazine in 1948, to a more likely number of 110,000. The dead were buried in mass graves. They were not counted or identified, adding to the confusion. There were roughly 50,000 survivors in a city that had previously had a population of approximately 150,000. That suggests that a death toll of 80,000 to 100,000, or about two-thirds of the population is a more accurate number.

The death toll was enormous, and that could have also accounted for the lack of emergency workers. It’s highly likely that many of them were among the dead or injured…not to mention the fact that there may have been a gross shortage of qualified rescue workers in the poorest part of a country, which was just still recovering from long years of war, but the poor response from the rest of the Soviet Union became more and more unconscionable. On October 7, Pravda printed a brief article stating only that “geologists at the Russian Academy of Sciences had detected a strong earthquake.” The article also reported that there were supply shipments and of the evacuation of the wounded, but no mention of the scope of devastation or the number of casualties. Of course, the international press used Pravda’s limited and incorrect reportage about the quake as the source for their own news reports.

To make matters worse, a conspiracy of silence followed the destruction of Ashgabat. Most history books and almanacs of natural disasters actually omit the quake entirely!! In the typical Soviet propaganda style of the 1950’s, they actually praised the severely lacking reconstruction efforts that completely ignored seismological standards. One Soviet journalist who visited the city in 1953, later described being “forbidden to photograph the omnipresent ruins or to report a march of weeping survivors to the mass graves on the outskirts of the city.” Little was known about the devastating earthquake until 1973. Only on the twenty-fifth anniversary of the event, did officials in Turkmenistan begin to open sealed archives and acknowledge the terrible calamity. Why was this? It was largely because of the Cold War, when both sides were eager not to expose their strategic vulnerabilities. That still doesn’t make sense, however, because the destruction of Ashgabat neither compromised the Soviet Union’s defense system nor revealed grave internal weaknesses. The forced silence did nothing to improve domestic morale in Russia, and it created widespread resentment in Central Asia. Internationally the Soviet Union could have gained propaganda points by publicizing the disaster and then criticizing the lack of response from the West, but for some reason, they didn’t so that either. Of course, the people in the Soviet Union lived in fear of Joseph Stalins sweeping purges and force silence and timidity. They didn’t dare speak of any kind of vulnerability. Until Stalin’s death in 1953, even referencing the event was considered a dangerous move. Financial aid was still desperately needed decades after the disaster, yet it still didn’t really come. Silence translated into slow reconstruction. Substantial portions of the city remain in ruins, and a significant portion of the population still lives in temporary, or inadequate and unsafe, dwellings to this day.

The loss of a loved one is one of the hardest of life events, and when it is a child, be it a young child or an adult child, it is even worse. For my uncle, Lester “Jim” Wolfe and my aunt, Ruth Wolfe, the loss of their adult son, Larry Wolfe in an explosion on May 16, 1976, was a devastation. They, like any parent, had a really hard time coping with the loss. They were living in Vallejo, California at the time, but after their loss, they could no longer stay there. They had to get out of California. It was then that a move to Washington state seemed their best option. I don’t know if Washington had been on their radar prior to Larry’s passing at 26 years old, or not, but they moved the entire family to the mountains outside Newport, in eastern Washington state. They purchased basically the entire mountain top, and built three cabins, where they would live out their lives.

They lived a good life on the mountain top. They were completely off the grid, something that is common these days, but not so much back then. Nevertheless, they craved total isolation, and the mountain top provided just that. Still, while they wanted to be left alone, they still enjoyed traveling, and they came out to see our family several times after that. Aunt Ruth was my dad, Allen Spencer’s sister, after all. Uncle Jim lost Aunt Ruth to cancer, on May 11, 1992, when she was just 66 years old. I’m sure he quickly learned to dread the coming of May. After that, we lost touch with them unto shortly before Uncle Jim passed away on January 30, 2013. We had reconnected with his daughter, my cousin Shirley Cameron in 2011, but by that time Uncle Jim was already in a nursing home with Dementia. We were always sad about that, but for the most part Uncle Jim was happy. His favorite things to do were strolling down the halls in his wheelchair singing and flirting with the nurses that worked there. They all loved him and thought his flirting was cute, and knowing my uncle like I did, I’m sure he was also a great jokester. He always had been, so playing pranks on the nurses came naturally. He once tried hiding in the nurses’ station but got caught. I’m not sure if his plan was to scare them or to catch one around the waist when she wasn’t looking. I wouldn’t put either choice past him. Uncle Jim was always a lighthearted person and great fun to be around. He loved to take his family camping, and maybe that was a big part of the reason the family moved to the mountains of Washington in the first place.

It was with heavy hearts that we attended the funeral of our uncle. My mom, Collene Spencer, sister, Cheryl Masterson, and I all made the trip to Washington. It was a bittersweet trip. We were happy to see their family again. We had not seen my cousin, Terry Wolfe, Shirley’s brother in many years either, although we had texted back and forth a little. We just wished that the reason for the trip had not been my Uncle Jim’s funeral. While it would have been hard, we would much rather have been able to visit him at the nursing home just once before his passing. Today would have been Uncle Jim’s 102nd birthday had he still been with us. Happy birthday in Heaven, Uncle Jim. We love and miss you very much.

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