WAITING

by
 Dave Drenckpohl

         The night was warm - and very still. The tires made soft thumping sounds as they rolled over the tar seams in the street. The window was down and a fragrant breeze filled the slowly moving car. The radio played music, very quietly - and it hummed. Normally going unheard, the soft humming was always there; omnipresent, but existing on a near subliminal level. When perceived at all, it was almost always in moments of silence.

         He was young and he was alone - not really lonely, but very much alone. As he cruised so slowly through the streets of his town, he seemed to be seeking out familiar islands of light in the tranquil and all encompassing sea of darkness.

         Getting late; the children were all in bed and the adults were in their quiet time - talking in kitchens, listening to the radio, putting the finishing touches on the day's activities. Together, in subdued light, in windows and on porches in the friendly night.

         One man was watering his lawn with a hose and nozzle.
His father did that - stand in the front lawn at dusk - by
himself - and water the lawn. The water would make a gentle hissing sound as he slowly moved the nozzle back and forth; back and forth in an even and predictable pattern that was somehow both comforting and reassuring.

         It seemed natural that his father would enjoy 
doing such a thing, and yet he could never understand what possible good the grass could derive from such a relatively
small amount of water. Perhaps there was another less obvious reason?

         So many things were like that then. He could see the pieces and know that they were pieces, but he could never seem to form them into patterns.

         Even to himself he was largely a mystery. He knew that his very being had value, but so much of what he was remained incomplete - merely what he was to become. But inherent in what was to be, was a journey toward an unknown destination with little or nothing to guide or warm him on his way. It was exciting, a little frightening and fraught with countless uncertainties.

         And yet still, day to day, he was a son, a friend, an athlete, a boyfriend, a clown, and sometimes a problem - a fairly normal kid. He had felt triumph; known praise; had given of himself in the manner of the young, holding nothing back, but giving all there was to give. This giving had brought tears both in victory and in the eventual realization that sometimes his very best was not nearly good enough.

         He tried to be true - to what he thought was him and not so much to what others thought he was. It seemed at times he was only acting out the rolls others had assigned him - he was a good actor, but audiences were scarce, as seemingly all around him were caught up in rolls of their own.

         Here then was a time when he was strong and swift - burning bright - alive and unafraid - - - - and yet still he sought. What? Why? When? Where? In his perceived uniqueness and its inherent solitude, he sought, and the seeking brought him endurance, some strength and sometimes pain. He never seriously considered ending the search for he knew it was impossible. It was truly a part of him - if not his very essence.

         Now, as he too prepared for bed, he knelt and gazed out through his open bedroom window. Below, softly lit by a distant street light, stood three beautiful elms. Their leaves rustled in the warm, barely stirring air as if sharing a secret. It seemed to him that perhaps they too were waiting patiently - waiting to find that “something” in the darkness beyond.

         Soon he lay in a quiet, dreamless sleep, in a quiet house, in a quiet night .......... and silently his electric clock measured off the night - and his youth.


 

Where is David Drenckpohl and what has he done with his life? 
 

After high school, Dave attended Drake University, Des Moines, Iowa. On graduation, he was commissioned a second lieutenant the US Air Force. Dave went on active duty in June 1961 and was sent to pilot training at Vance Air Force Base, Enid, Oklahoma.
 

Dave got his wings a year later and was assigned to fly C123s at Pope Air Force Base in North Carolina. He spent the next five years flying C123s and C130s (large transport aircraft) in Vietnam with the Tactical Air Command and flying to and from Africa, southeast Asia, and Australia.
 

In March 1966, Dave left the Air Force. He was a captain at the time.
 

Dave went to work for Northwest Airlines on April 1, 1966--April Fool’s Day. At Northwest, he flew Boeing 720s, 320s, 727s and DC-10s, his favorite aircraft.
 

Dave retired from Northwest Airlines in 1993. He had been with Northwest for 27 years.
 

Over the years, Dave has lived in Virginia, Washington State, and, for the last 40-plus years, in Minnesota.
 

Dave and his wife Rachael live in the country near Kenyon, MN. Dave says they always have horses and dogs, usually Arabian horses and big dogs. They presently have five horses and three dogs--a Doberman called Luke, Annie a foxhound mix, and Nova, a lab/coonhound mix. Most often the Drenckpohls get their dogs from rescue shelters.

Along with the dogs and horses, there are also three boys scattered around the country. John, 53, works for Delta Airlines in Atlanta; Eric, 49, who is employed by the Port Of Seattle, and Jeff, 47, who works for Carrier out of the Syracuse, NY area. Grandchildren are split evenly with Eric's two girls, Elizabeth and Rachel, and Jeff's boys, Garret and Jacob. and finally John's boy and girl, Jacinda and Michael.

Dave’s wife Rachael is a criminal defense attorney working in the Public Defender’s office.
 

Dave claims to be a horse wrangler and ranch foreman. He says he probably wouldn’t be the foreman if anyone else was working on their place.
 

Dave admits that he “...kind of exaggerated a little about some of that ‘Hollywood stuff’ on the class website.” Read Dave’s portion of the “Then and Now” section to see what he is referring to.  It is classic “Dave Drenckpohl humor”. Or should that be “Drenckpohlian humor”?

 

Harold “Joe” Peplow—The Good Sexton

     by Gene R. Behler

                                 Sexton—a person who looks after a church and churchyard. 

                                                                           ______

I’ve tried to write this piece several times over the past ten years but I always failed in my efforts. I was afraid I could not do justice to the story. Harold “Joe” Peplow is an unusual person and it would take a skilled writer to capture the real him. I am not that talented. But, Joe’s story needs to be told and I’ll do the best I can in doing so--GRB.

                                                       ______

In 2004 or 2005 I joined the Class of 1956’s Reunion Committee as it worked on planning our 50th class reunion. Joe Peplow had served on that committee for a number of years. It was during this time that Joe and I renewed our friendship and I learned what a remarkable and interesting life Joe had led and how he had devoted most of his life to caring for others.

Some English majors may take exception with my calling Joe a good sexton. I’ll admit I’ve defined a sexton pretty liberally and expanded its meaning to matters well past just the church. But most of Joe’s life was been devoted to caring for others. (And yes, I suppose most sextons are good—I just liked the sound of it {that is “good”} in the title.)


I don’t remember now how I first became friends with Joe Peplow. Of course, I’ve known him since grade school. Growing up in a small town you get to know about everyone around your own age. I think my friendship with Joe came about because of a mutual friend--Dave Drenckpohl.


Dave, Jim “Mongie” Carlson, John Dunmore, Jack Lindstrom, and I all hung around together starting in seventh grade. At some point, Joe joined that group. Dave and Joe were close friends.


We became closer friends after high school. Dave went on to Drake University and we rarely saw him after that. John went to Carroll College for a year and then tragically lost his life in a boating accident. Jack went into the Air Force for four years. That left Joe, Mongie and me. Both Joe and I went to college but returned after a year or so and then just kicked around Sycamore for a while. Mongie went to work for Ideal Industries and stayed in Sycamore until he moved to Tennessee later in life.

In 1960, I went into the Army. Joe returned to Southern Illinois University graduating in 1963 at which time he was commissioned as an ensign in the US Navy.

Joe is special because he dedicated much his life to taking care of other people and especially one another person, his wife Jody, who passed away in 2004. He has done so without complaint, never looking back, always positive about the future. I admire and respect him and pray that if I ever face similar circumstances I can be half the man that he is.

                                                            Early Responsibility

Joe learned responsibility early in life. Joe’s father, Elmer, died when Joe was 17 years old. He had been ill for at least a year before he passed. While Joe didn’t assume the mantle of man of the house at that time, he necessarily assumed responsibility for many of the things that men typically do around the house. While most boys mowed the lawn, he did that and performed the necessary maintenance on the lawn mower which most boys didn‘t do. He also did household repairs and kept the family automobile properly serviced and maintained. He did many of the things that fathers are expected to do.

I remember one time Joe telling us guys about a certain kind of house paint (Lucite) and why it was superior to the kind most people used. I remember thinking why should I give a rat’s behind about house paint. But that was Joe. He wanted to share his knowledge with others.

While he had some heavy responsibilities as a teenager, Joe never complained and always seemed to cheerfully perform his household tasks. I think he became wise well beyond his years because of his experience in helping his mother. Joe often had to fill an adult-role while most of us were allowed to be kids.

At the same time, his home responsibilities didn’t keep him from being involved in many activities in high school. He played on the football team and was a member of a number of organizations. All in all, he was a very popular student.

While Joe has many positive qualities, one of his best qualities is his interest and curiosity in things. You couldn’t and still can’t just tell Joe something. That is, he always wants to know why things work as they do. He wants to be involved in things.

                                                  Joe Joins the Navy and Marries Jody

He met Jody at a party at Southern Illinois University, Carbondale, in 1962. She graduated from SIU in 1963 and they were married on February 15, 1964 at Naval Air Station, Pensacola, Florida.
 

(continued "The Good Sexton")

What a handsome couple they must have made. Joe, tall, trim and athletic in his crisp white uniform and beautiful Jody, also tall with erect posture. Exiting the church, they negotiated the traditional arch of crossed swords held by Joe's fellow officers. (The Sycamore True Republican account said they were “sabres”--the Army has sabres, the Navy has swords.)

Their marriage was blessed with three children: Susan, now 53; Christopher Thor 51; and Ross, 47 and four grandchildren.

Joe had a very successful career as a navigator in the US Navy. His Navy career took him to Pensacola; Brunswick, Ga; Corpus Christi, TX; Guam; Alameda, CA; New Orleans; Hawaii; Glenview, IL; and Detroit; and, of course, the waters and airspace of Vietnam.

Joe retired from the Navy in 1984. At the time, the Peplows lived in Buffalo Grove, a suburb of Chicago. Joe took employment with the US Army working at Headquarters, Fourth US Army, at Fort Sheridan, just north of Chicago. For a number of years, Joe was the sexton for his church hence the title of this piece. Joe still lives in that same Buffalo Grove house that they purchased in 1980.

Well into their marriage, they faced some significant challenges I suppose every marriage has its difficulties. But these challenges went far above and beyond what most couples face. In fact, one situation cost Joe the friendship of an old and very dear friend. I know I invite speculation when I don’t explain what the problems were. But it serves no useful purpose to recount the details other than to say it had nothing to do with infidelity. Despite almost overwhelming challenges, Joe remained steadfast in his marriage and in his devotion to his wife and family. Never once did I hear him complain although he had reason to do so.

Unfortunately, Jody was struck down with esophageal cancer in 2004. After a difficult and courageous fight, she passed away in November 2007.

                                      A man of Many Interests

Joe lives life to the fullest. He is eager to try new things…to find and have new adventures…to find new and better ways of doing thing. Joe is never content with the status quo.

While most of us are content to sit in our Lazy Boys and surf channels as we approach our 80th year, Joe is off seeking new adventures. At 77 he learned to play tennis and is active as a player even today.

A few years ago Joe and classmate Sandy Gustafson Hill went skydiving.

Almost every year from 1980, Joe has spent a week working on his cousin’s farm near Rochelle.

A while back, he purchased and restored a speeder. Wikipedia describes “speeders” as follows:

A speeder (also known as railway motor car, putt-putt, track-maintenance car, crew car, jigger, trike, quad, trolley or inspection car, and also known as a draisine (although that can also be unpowered) is a maintenance of way motorized vehicle formerly used on railroads around the world by track inspectors and work crews to move quickly to and from work sites. Although it is slow compared to a train or car, it is called speeder because it is faster than a human-powered vehicle such as a handcar. Motorized inspection cars date back to at least 1896, when it was reported that the U.S. Daimler Motor Company created a gasoline-powered rail inspection car capable of 15 MPH.

                                      Joe and the Restored Car

Joe joined a group of speeder enthusiasts who periodically visited midwest sites where they could operate their speeders. Eventually, Joe sold his speeder and is no longer involved in that activity.

Joe says the Class of 1956’s yearbook prophecy came true for him. It was: “We just heard about a new boat industry being build on Water Street—Flor-Dun-Dreck-Pep, Inc., with Joe Peplow designing, John Florent and Dave Drenckpohl building, and John Dunmore testing-driving. Here’s hoping they all stay afloat.”

Not sure what prompted those comments. Joe says that “Until I went into the Navy, I never had a watercraft of any kind”. While in the Navy he built or bought and sailed a number of boats to include sailboats, a fiberglass canoe, several dinghies and other watercraft. Over time, be built four watercraft and owned five others.

Once Joe motored in one of his boats across the entrance of Pearl Harbor in Hawaii to deliver a case of Coors beer to Ric and Kay (now deceased) Lahti. Ric was in the US Air Force stationed at Hickam Air Force base. Coors wasn’t available in Hawaii so Joe brought it back when returned from a mission to the USA.
 

(continued - "The Good Sexton")

Joe is the person most responsible for the Memorials we are running on the class internet site. It was his idea and he has worked very hard over the past decade to get people to submit information for the memorials. The memorials have been a resounding success thanks primarily to Joe‘s efforts. These tributes to our departed classmates will live long after all of us are gone.

More recently, it was Joe’s idea to honor our classmates as they reached 80 years of age with the Octogenarian Certificates. Joe designed and produced the certificates with very little help. They have been warmly received by all recipients. Classmates should look to receive their certificates around their 80th birthdays.

                           What will Joe do next?
                            

Joe has led an very interesting life. He has had some very difficult times and yet he kept going then and keeps going now.

He has devoted much of his life serving others. In his teen years and beyond, he supported his mother and his siblings, later he showed great devotion to his wife and family and his church. He is always ready to help friends and relatives.

There is a certain innocence about him. He is honest and sincere, serious and forthright although he doesn’t take himself seriously. 

I can’t imagine what Joe will try next—he probably doesn’t know either. But if there is a challenge out there, he’ll be first in line to try it. Eighty is just a number. If a friend needs help, he’ll be there to assist.

This is a good and decent man who tried every day to affect the world in a positive way…mostly by his good deeds. I am sure he doesn’t view his life in that manner. Joe would say he just tried to do the right thing.

(Photographs related to this article can be found in the "The Good Sexton" album on the Photo Album page.)


 

I especially appreciated Gene's writing about the Dunmores. Since they were my dad's parishioners, we knew them well. Kathleen and I got to be even closer after John was killed. I was double dating with her the night she and Don got engaged! But, as Gene says, John was a really special guy. My dad talked often and proudly about John, who never missed his turn as crucifer at St. Peter's. Dad was impressed that a guy who was a football and basketball player would also be so loyal to his church responsibilities. And, he did have a great family, although his death nearly killed all of them, especially Brune, they did 'move on' however sadly.

Thanks for all you're doing to keep this website up and preserve some memoories that might otherwise be lost.

Peace!
Louise Emenheiser Bower (11/1/09)

 

Louise (Emenheiser) Bower: Interesting Article in AARP Magazine on growing up in a small town like Sycamore.

Just today I've been reading an article in the AARP Magazine (Face it, folks! We all get it - and have for some time.!) The article by David Halberstam, historian and journalist of much fame, is called "How We all Turned Out" and tells of his one recent attempt to go back to a school reunion in a small town in Connecticut where he spent some of his pre-WWII school years. (After the war, his dad - by then a decorated war veteran - tried to set up medical practice as a surgeon there. But, as a Jew, could not get surgical privileges at the local hospital, so the family relocated to New York.)

Apparently, his little home town as he describes it sounds a lot like the Sycamore Gene described in his essay - a safe, quiet place where kids could play together all summer long with few cares, though their parents were just half a generation away from the Depression and fighting hard to give their children a better start than they had.

Just thought I'd mention this, as I'm sure most of you would enjoy reading what Halbersham has to say about his school/community experience. It's in the September/October issue.

Also Louise's refections on Life and Death.

This seems to be a summer when, as it comes to an end, I am feeling as if I've done little but go to funerals and write sympathy notes. (Of course, I've also had a successful recovery from the only major surgery I've ever had, and - once recovered - helped clear, paint, and reorganize our garage with a whole new storage system.) But, the dominant sense every since mid-May here has been the loss of friends and colleagues: several colleagues from around our local church area, an old college friend, the guy who was Best Man at our wedding, and - just today - received word of the death in June of John Weaver who was the Band Director when a lot of you were in junior high, I'll bet. He was my father's organist at St. Peter's Church for over 50 years. So, that's the local connection for those of us who grew up or spent part of our growing up years in Sycamore. I'm trying to become reconciled to the fact that we, at nearly 70 are at "that age" when we will be going to more and more funerals, until it's our turn.

I'm starting to think about things I'd like to be sure are completed before it's my turn: family photos, mending an antique quilt so I can pass it on, organizing some things no one else would know about. But, how do we prepare for our own death? Is that too gloomy a thought for a summer's evening? We'll either be "ready" or we won't give it a thought and the time will come anyway. Surely it would not be out of order to spend a few minutes now and then looking back and asking ourselves what difference it has made that we were here, what memories our families will have of us, and what we'd like to be remembered for.

Reading the biographical material all of us sent in before the reunion last year was a wonderful way to catch up on the 50 years since we last walked out the door of Sycamore High. Most of us seemed to be saying that we had had good lives, filled with friends and family, love and laughter, tears and loss, changes (always that!), yet satisfaction with lives well lived within whatever limits life had imposed.

My best prayer is that we all may rejoice in the lives we've had, forgiving ourselves and others for past hurts, enjoying every day we are given, and preparing to face whatever the rest of our lives holds with confidence and peace. 

Pat (Cretsinger) Nelson: Whose telephone number was Hudson three-two-seven hundred, skate keys, and kick the can.

My Dad was transferred to the Anaconda factory in Sycamore from Marion, Ind. in 1942.  Our house was one of the “war houses” on West Street.  I think these houses were actually built for the returning servicemen, or maybe they were called that because they were built during the war.  Dorothy Becker, Jack Daniels, Marilyn Plucinski, June Balsis, and Arlene Jackson all lived in this west end of town.  We had a lot of fun playing baseball in the vacant lot by Arlene’s house, and at night we would gather to play kick-the-can until one of our mothers would yell for us to come in.  I remember Dave Drenckpohl and Joe Peplow would sometimes wind up with us too.  Since this was a new edition in town the sidewalks were all straight and even and we’d roller skate lots of mornings.  Remember those old skates with keys?  I actually found a skate key at an antique store – now that was a bummer!   I wish I could remember all of the jump rope verses we use to sing – and then there was hopscotch, red light and even “Truth or Consequences” or some such I-dare-you game.   Life was good for us kids back then!

Not every thing was roses and sunshine though because in the course of our growing up, Dorothy had polio, Jack got whopping-cough and I had scarlet fever.  I guess you could say these diseases are antiques now.  Of course with each of these diseases we got a “quarantine” sign posted on our front door.

Remember the outdoor swings and gym ladder at West School?  I remember once swinging and teetering on the ladder and whoever was on the other end let go and I went to the ground under the ladder and got the wind knocked out of me.  And then I remember, I think it was Nancy Reh, swinging (a swing that actually had a wood seat!!!) and pumping hard, trying to go over the top bar.  I don’t remember if she made it or not.   Boy that wouldn’t happen today.

Television was new in the 40’s and 50’s.  The one advertisement that I still remember is:  Hudson three two seven hundred.  Do you remember what you could buy if you called this number? 

I think we all have lots of memories to share – this was just a small portion of what I remember.   It seems sad that things change, but I guess that’s called progress.

Alta (Kuntz) Hough: Remembers the time before indoor plumbing and refrigerators.

I, of course, was born at home; like many of us were I am sure. It was on Townsend Street in Sycamore at my grandmother’s house. My folks lived in a little house behind her house until my dad built a house out of cement block on Wild St.. It had one bedroom that my mom, dad, sister and I all slept in. It had a living room, dinning room, kitchen and a bath that we had to carry water to from the pump in the kitchen. It also had a back porch. We had an outside toilet until my dad got a septic put in outside and running water in the house, then we had inside plumbing. I’m sure you can all relate to that.

I don’t remember what year, I think in the late 40’s, my dad added to the house and put in a grocery store, and when they closed the store that room became my sisters and my bedroom. The store was called Kuntz’s Grocery. We had a lot of neighborhood people for customers. I thought the store was great because I could get free ice cream and candy. I guess we didn’t have a lot of money, but neither did anyone else.

The ice truck would deliver ice to people with iceboxes and we would run after the ice truck and he would chip off ice for us to suck on. Nancy Hardesty lived across the street so I used to play with her a lot.

My dad worked at Anaconda Wire and Cable. He worked at what they called they south plant during the war and had to wear a uniform and carry a gun.

I remember going to south school, which was across the street from where Jack Lindstrom and Tootie Edwards lived. I also remember going to the Fargo Theater with my mom and sister for the cowboy movies. I think they were on Friday night. Don’t forget the drive-in theater on Sycamore Road. We would go to Lothson’s Carry-Out  and get chicken dinners for my mom, grandma, my sister Jane and myself and take them to the drive-in theater and eat them while we watched the movie.

Some things were good about the good old days and some things are better now.

Jack Lindstrom: Memories of Lake Delavan also know as the place where there wasn't  any drinking before noon (most of the time).

I happened to turn to the western movie channel on the TV the other day and there was a old Lash LaRue movie on. I don’t know if you remember Lash LaRue or not. He was a cowboy who dressed in black, rode a black horse and carried a whip. I watched part of the movie and couldn’t believe how bad the acting was. Had to be at least a ”B” movie; maybe even a “D or E” if there is such a thing, but I really liked Lash LaRue when I was a kid. It made me think of the Saturday Matinee’s I used to go to at the Fargo Theater when I was in seventh or eighth grade. Does anyone else remember going?  I don’t recall how much it cost  to get in but I know it wasn’t much. I do remember Roberta Anderson used to go once in a while. Don’t ask me why I remember Roberta being there unless it was because I thought she was pretty special at that time.

As Gene mentioned in his "Great Adventure" article we spent many weekends at my aunt and uncle's cottage at Lake Delevan. There would usually be a group of us, John Dunmore, Mungie Carlson, John Florent, Dave Drenckpohl, Joe Peplow, Gene and myself. At times we even took our girlfriends up for the day. Someone usually had a boat or at times we even had two boats. We would water ski or take a boat ride over to Flemming's for the greatest hamburger in the world. I also remember my aunt had a house rule of no drinking before noon. At that time it was legal to drink in WI when you were 18, so we used to play alot of cards in the mornings to pass the time. Those were good times. I'll bet Jackie Behler remembers getting dragged through a gravel pile by a boxer we were taking care of. All Jackie had on at the time was her two piece swimming suit. Later I tried to drown the dog. Not on purpose though. We went down to the lake and I threw the dog off of the pier into the lake. It seemed like forever and he never came to the surface so I jumped into save him. He came up then, as he clawed his way up my body. Jackie and I both had scratches all over our bodies.

 

Barb Miller Stone remembers.......

5-7-08 Hello to all ,
I have been reading the "Reflections" page. It's cool the way each has added information to share.
Do any of you remember the Halloween Party we had at Sally Lease's house? We were in the basement, the lights were dim. Her Mother read us a scary story about a witch and passed around parts of the witch's body for all of us to feel. Peeled grapes for eyes, cooked speghetti for her brains, etc. 
I also charish the memories of all the fun we had at the slumber parties. We were "Cool". I don't think any of us were able to stay awake all night, which was our goal. We ate, talked, played music, talked, danced, talked, ran around in our underware, told secrets and stories and had pillow fights. I think 3 or 4 in the morning was the longest I stayed awake. Now I'm lucky to stay awake till 1:00a.m. I wanted to share some memories..Barb(Miller) Stone