Dealing with my Father’s death

Alvin L. Dalke: September 25, 1923-April 22, 2010

Sibari, Italy---I had made a plan. But when the captain got the text from Mary Beth, handed me his Internet key and said “You need to Skype your sister right now,” tears welled up.

I knew the message I was about to receive. My ailing father who suffered another mini stroke the week before I left, had passed away.

It was good to have the ability to see my sister via Skype, and hear the news from her. We reviewed the plan; who would do what, cried and talked about our feelings now that it was real.

No one can really prepare themselves for how they are going to deal the death of a parent. I thought it through, a lot. I imagined getting a call someday. I went to California before I left to say goodbye in person (see blog post: Dec 4) I sorted through the feelings of not being at the funeral, I discussed it with several people including my self-adopted dad/hero/mentor, who is a Pastor in Tulsa, Ok. But when it really happened, nothing seemed to feel “according to plan.”

It was 9pm my time, nine hours ahead of California. He had died on the 22nd but in Italy it would have been the 23rd of April. After the Skype Video call, I climbed the companion-way stairs and said, “I’m taking a walk,” back towards the captain, tears rolling down my cheeks.

And there, walking around the marina under the stars over Italy, I let myself cry and cry. I have no idea how long I was gone but I ended up on a bench overlooking the sparse amount of docked boats, only to have the British couple and their 4 dogs walk by. Seeing my distress they sat down on each side of me and we chatted, one patting my back. As virtually total strangers, bound by the common thread of elderly parents, and a lifestyle far from home.

The one emotion that surprised me was the love I felt towards my Dad. I say this not to say I did not love him, but because of the dynamics of my family and his oddness, I always thought I loved him out of “duty” and “respect that he was my blood father.” But what I was feeling was real love. It took me this long to know.

Included are two writings. His basic eulogy and a story about him I wrote a couple years ago. Read on if you would like;

Alvin Levi Dalke was born September 25, 1923, in Henderson, Nebraska to Agnes and Peter Dalke. His father was a farmer there. During the Great Depression, when Alvin was about 5 years old his father took the family to Detroit, Michigan seeking work. They had no car so they got a ride with someone else. They settled in Garden City (Detroit suburb) and his father went to work at the Ford Factory. He worked the production line stamping parts on the Model T.

Alvin went to school up to the 11th grade in Michigan. At 17 he got a job with the Post Office delivering mail for about 3 months. He took a train to Hillsboro, Kansas to finish high school at Tabor Academy. He finished his 12th grade class in 1 semester which meant taking History class all day Saturday. He graduated from Tabor Academy.

He then went to Henderson, Nebraska and worked on a Farm for 6 months. He went back to Hillsboro where he was drafted for World War II. Due to working for the Post Office in his past, he had to prove that he was a Mennonite hence, a conscientious objector. Once he was investigated, he was sent to the Conscientious Objector (C.O.) Camp in Colorado Springs.

Note; like the Amish, Quakers, and several other religions, Mennonites are pacifists.

C.O. camps were set up as a way to serve the country without going to war. At camp, he volunteered to be a test subject for typical pneumonia, a government test in Pinehard, North Carolina for 3 months.

He volunteered to go to Greece for relief work. He joined the Merchant Marines do this. They left Houston, Texas on the S.S. Charles Woster with 150 pregnant Mares. The farmers in Greece needed the horses. Greece was very poor and suffering very hard times due to the war. It took 21 days to get there. There were no storms. At the port, the ship wrecked against the pier and it took 2-3 weeks to fix.

They returned to a port in Maine. He hitch hiked back to the C.O. camp center to get re-assigned. He only had 2 more weeks of service left on his record. They forgave the time owed and released him.

He went back to Garden City, Mi but no one would hire a C.O. due to the resentment associated with being a pacifist so he started a surplus business.

His father went to Newton, Kansas and bought a trailer park. Alvin followed and ran it for him. He met and married Adina Funk. They married July 24, 1956. Alvin and Adina lived on the grounds of the Trailer park in a 10’ x 20’ cabin and had 2 daughters: Ruth Loree in 1957 and Edith Louise in 1960. The 4 of them lived in the cabin until 1963 when he bought property on the edge of town in Newton.

In 1968, Alvin had a terrible accident when a car he was working on fell on him and pinned him for 5 hours. Near death, the neighbor boy found him and men from the neighborhood rushed to lift the car. His injuries were to severe for the local hospital so he was transported to a hospital in Wichita where he was in Intensive care for 1 month, followed by the hospital for another 2 months. With lots of internal injuries, 6 broken ribs, and a crushed leg, he was on the kidney machine for a period of time. The medical doctors informed him that he would never walk again. However, Alvin had other plans.

Refusing a regular wheel chair, he was sent home in a chair with 4 little wheels forcing him to use his legs to move. Slowing he recovered with Chiropractic care and prayer. A proud day for him was reporting to the Social Security Office to cut off the full benefits our family had gotten due to his disabilities. When walking out of this office, the two women who had helped with the paper work commented in astonishment, “And he doesn’t even limp.”

Most of his married life was self employed was a brief job at Hesston, Corp as a welder. Finding various things to buy and sell, he supported the family the best he could while Adina worked full time and most often 2 jobs.

He was a founding member of Keorner Heights Mennonite Brethren Church in Newton, Kansas.

Five years after the death of his wife, Adina, he met Glenna. They were married and moved to her home in California. Alvin has enjoyed 6 years with Glenna seeing the mountains and the ocean many times and doing things he never thought he would get to do. As his health deteriorated they decided that he would live in Kingsburg Care Center near their home in Selma, Ca. Here he got good care with the freedom to leave with Glenna for Church, time at their home or mini vacations.

Alvin was a devout Christian man who fought a lifetime of mental challenges. On April 22, he left all the earthly struggles to join his heavenly father.

Alvin is survived by a sister; Alma (Mitzie) Baker and her daughter Susan Finlayson of Williamsburg, Mi, His daughter Ruth Dalke Krause and her children Benjamin Krause and Anya Krause of Kansas City and His daughter Edith (Edee) Dalke, currently in the Mediterranean crewing on a small sailboat until summer of 2011.

My father was a Salesman, By Edee Dalke, 2008

My father did not have much to say...unless he was selling something or had an idea to sell something. The 5 hour trip to see relatives in Corn, Oklahoma from Newton, Kansas easily took 8 hours if Dad was driving. The extra 3 hours? They were spent stopping at small towns along the back highways from Kansas to Oklahoma. Dad would inevitably have the car’s trunk loaded with this or that and he would find a business open to go in and try to sell something to. My sister Ruth and I would stay in the car with our Mother who had been blessed with more fortitude and patience than any human I knew.
Thus began my first memories of My Dad, the salesman. I never thought that much about it, assuming everyone grew up with an entrepreneur father, determined to make a million dollars with every new idea.
And ideas, they were a plenty! I’ll review some of them:

Waffle Stompers.
One year, Dad got a “great deal” on new hiking boots nick-named Waffle Stompers. These were the predecessors of the modern day Hiking Boots. These boots made any foot look about double its original size with its brown bubble shape toe and large tire treads. By their weight alone, they could easily double as a weapon if say, being attacked by a bear while hiking in these. Somehow, Dad had bought dozens upon dozens of pairs. All sizes. We had a great deal of fun testing the tread on slices of bread to see if they indeed made “waffles” or not. After very few sales, Dad decided to outfit the extended family and welcomed anyone that could find their size to have a pair. I believe the rest sat in boxes for years and then were donated to Goodwill. Dalke Sales was out of the shoe business.

Dented Groceries.
Somehow, Dad discovered a place that sold canned food that had been in a train wreck. All he had to do was go pick them up in a warehouse somewhere near Kansas City. Dad’s idea was to mark up the price some, which was still way below retail, and sell it at Auctions and to poor people around town. The only problem was, they were mostly gallon cans that were dented and many had lost their labels. Tomatoes, Corn, Beans, Peaches and Pudding by the gallon! Dad found a talent for shaking the cans to try and determine their content, but it wasn’t an exact science. The prices were so good that people didn’t mind the dents. But this meant our family inherited all the unlabeled cans. I still remember Mom’s anticipation as we got out the can opener…there was no telling if we were opening a gallon of corn or a gallon of pudding for supper! Since the prices were so low, he had a good following of clients. I, his youngest daughter had less responsibilities on a Saturday, and would keep him company on many of his Auction trips. He would park, open the back doors of the old red van and we would be open for business! He assumed where a crowd was buying other things, they could warm up to canned goods as well. He did fairly well, the demand was there but supply ran out. Turns out, groceries that were in train wrecks were not an everyday occurrence! Dalke Sales ran out of canned goods.

Barrel of Chocolates
I will never forget the challenge my dear Mother had the day my Dad brought home the 50 gallon drum full of Chocolates. Yes, chocolates. Not the wrapped up, labeled kind. No, that wouldn’t be a challenge. We’re talking unwrapped-mixed variety-mystery filling-chocolates. It was like someone took 500 boxes of Russell Stover chocolates and dumped them in a barrel! From peanut clusters to caramels, they were in there. Oh, and did I mention they were aged enough for most of the chocolates to have a white color around the edges. Needless to say, this barrel was kept in the garage, lid tight. But that didn’t stop any of us from indulging. And since this episode occurred in the fall, Dad insisted that we bag these chocolate has-beens and hand them out for Halloween. Can you imagine being handed this at the door! As much as I begged for store-bought candy to hand out, we became the house on the block that “handed out a baggy full of melted together, clumped up, turning white, aged chocolates.” After we had each gained a proportional amount of weight, the barrel ran dry. My Mom begged my Father to not find more barrels. And Dalke Sales was out of Chocolates.

Drill Bits
Long before I was a home owner and appreciated any tools around the house, I was exposed to the value of a drill bit. I was 11 years old and Dad had bought a large quantity of brand new drill bits. The twist on this find was they had been exposed to a fire and the wax casing that they were housed in had melted around the metal and there was no way to tell what size the bit was. This became my summer job. For 10 cents a drill bit, my dad paid me and a neighbor girl to scrape the wax off them and shine them up, ready for him to sell. This was also my first exposure to child labor because it sounds easy enough but it wasn’t. Each drill bit took about 20 minutes to get to perfection. I have never looked at a drill bit the same since.

And More
And yes, there were barrels of glue, sheep, a school bus, a barbecue pit invention, the scrap metal business, many, many vehicles bought and sold, and so many ideas and purchases it could fill a house basement, a garage, sheds, a shop, two semi trailers and several acres of land. And it did. In all the selling “adventures” Dad put our family through, my Mother continued with her steadfast faith that things would work out, and get better. And between her 2 jobs, she held the family together. It wasn’t until years later that I found out that my father’s eccentric style and his un-dying belief that the million dollar idea was just around the corner was really the signs of some mental illnesses. However, my unusual childhood has provided me with certain advantages in the business world and how I see things. And if anything; many funny memories.