Houses in Antwerp

In my column two weeks ago I mentioned that I didn’t remember who lived on the west side of North Main Street where Ralph Laisure lived.

Well, I talked to Ronnie Laisure the other day and he said that his father had said long ago that a little old lady named Tubbs had lived there. Boing, light bulb! and what do you think, I now remember that lady. Her name was Flora Tubbs and she taught me in Sunday School in 1936. That’s where the Methodist Church sat out along East River Street.

That’s a pleasant memory of Mrs. Tubbs. She passed away back in 1945, she was born in 1855. She gave me a small Testament for not missing a Sunday for a year. But that wasn’t too hard because Mom seen to it that we went to Sunday School and church every Sunday.

Thanks for the help, Ronnie, I enjoyed talking with you. Last week we talked about the big house on the northeast corner of North Main and East Woodcox Street. It had a number of renters over the years, but Lonnie Bostleman owns it now and has lived there for quite a spell. The e next house north was the home of Cloide and Dorothy Ehrhart. The e Erhart’s were big in photography in Antwerp. Their son, Fritz, owns a factory east of town called F.S.C. & E. Dorothy lived to be well up into her 90’s and was a remarkable person.

The e next house was the home of the Doctor Caine family. They had two girls and a boy. Margaret married an Osborne boy. At one time the Osborne’s owned the Bee- Argus. Margaret died early in life and they had a boy named Chris who grew up and lives around Port Clinton. Bill is gone now, but he spent most of his life in Columbus. The e youngest daughter was named Clarice. She married a man named Norwhald and lived in the Woodburn area. A little over a year ago I wrote a column about Doc. Caine and I received this letter from one of Clarice’s daughters. I think now is a good time to share it with you.

“December 3, 2005 Dear Mr. Jordan: A friend of mine sent me a copy of the West Bend News, dated November 16, 2005. She wanted me to see an article you had written about my grandfather, Dr. William H. Caine.

Mr. Jordan, I cried when I read the article. I just wanted to thank you for writing it. I made sure the rest of the family got copies of the article. The e article has traveled a few miles since you wrote it. Again I say thank you. I have some additional stories about my Grandfather. I’m not a gift ed writer like you are, but I thought you might be interested. We called our grandfather “Granda”. He came to the United States from England, not Canada. He did serve in WWI and was awarded a medal for bravery when he crawled into a field to drag a wounded man back into a foxhole to save his life. I don’t know the name of the medal, I just remember my mother telling us about it.

I have a lot of good memories about Granda. He liked to take us on his rounds to the hospital sometimes. I’ve always remembered my trips to Ft. Wayne to go to Parkview. He’d take me into different laboratories where tests were ran for blood, or x-rays taken. He introduced me to a lot of different people. He wanted me to become interested in the medical field too, like he was. Once he took me to Hicksville to the hospital there. I think he wanted me to learn an important lesson about life. One of his patients was dying of breast cancer. He told me if this person would have gotten to him sooner, she might have survived; now there was nothing he could do. He prepared me before we went into her room so I wouldn’t be afraid. He lift ed the covers just enough for me to see this horrible black mass coming from her side. He didn’t have to say another word. My life lesson was learned. Regular check ups are very important. It didn’t matter what time of day or night Granda was needed. If the phone rang in the middle of Thanksgiving or Christmas dinner, he was gone. My mother told me the story of a young boy who had been burned in some kind of accident. It was the middle of winter. Granda had to travel into the country to get to the boy. Granda’s car got stuck in the snow, and he walked the remaining 5-6 miles to get to him. He didn’t leave that kid until he knew he was out-of the- woods.

I hurt my back once. Granda knew I was hurting. He wrapped my back for me thinking the wrapping would give me extra support to help with the pain. As he was putting on the wrapping, I knew he cared. There was a look in his face that told me so. I felt safe with him I knew he was only trying to help and wasn’t going to hurt me.

Once when I was about 10 or 12 years old, a man came to the house. He somehow had gotten a piece of glass in his eye. Granda asked me if I’d hold the light for him while he did what he had to do to remove the glass. Granda sterilized a needle to use as an instrument to help get the glass out. When I saw the needle I must have fl inched. That man got up off that couch so fast, I can still see him running for the door to this day.

Granda reassured him he wasn’t going to poke his eye out with the needle. He did remove the glass. As I look back on that time, I realize 1 didn’t help him that day. I’d give anything to roll back the clock. I’d be there for him in a heartbeat.

Granda liked to walk. He’d take me for walks with him. I used to get so embarrassed because we’d meet someone on the street. He would always say, “This is my granddaughter, isn’t she beautiful?”

At the time I wanted to crawl into a hole and cover myself. At the time I didn’t think I was so beautiful. As I think about it now, with grandchildren of my own, I now realize what he meant. Grandchildren are beautiful! Granda and Grandma always took us to church with them when we were little. I can still see Granda sitting in the choir loft . When I got older, he had me sitting next to him singing too. I loved doing that. I never knew he played the piano until we walked to someone’s house once. He sat down and played and sang. He used to sing this song called “I went to the Animal Fair.” I don’t know all the words, but I find myself humming the tune to myself every once-in a- while. After Granda died, I lived with my Grandmother. I sang a Christmas solo at the Presbyterian Church in Antwerp the first Christmas I lived with her. She was sitting in one of the front seats. The lights were down low. Somehow I felt my Grandfather was there with us too. I can’t go by that church now without thinking of both my grandparents. Both of them had such a strong faith in the Lord. We never ate a meal without saying grace first. Granda usually prayed, “Lord, bless this food to the nourishment of our bodies, and make us truly thankful. Amen.”

They say that behind every good man there is a good woman. My grandmother received a nickname in nursing school, “Angel”. She indeed was Granda’s angel. She helped him through thick and thin. When my Aunt Margaret died during childbirth, my grandmother suffered a great loss, but as a doctor, Granda suffered a different kind of loss. It was the only time my mother saw Granda cry. As a doctor he felt helpless to save her. Penicillin hadn’t been invented yet. He always felt that drugs would have saved her. During WWII my Uncle Bill was shot down over Germany. He was missing in action and taken prisoner behind enemy lines. My grandparents were there for each other. They both held onto their faith.

I know he prayed for his patients too. He never preached his religion, he lived it. I know in my heart I will see both of my grandparents again in heaven. I can’t wait to sing with my grandfather again up there.

I know there are other people in Antwerp who still remember my grandparents. They too must have good memories. I’d give anything if people could share some of those memories. It would make an interesting story, don’t you think? Maybe that’s just my pride talking. After all, they were my ‘Granda and Grandma.’”