Ramona residents remembered
By JESSICA GILBERT
Ramona correspondent
(785) 965-2621
"When you are sorrowful, look again in your heart, and you shall see that in truth you are weeping for that which has been your delight." That's one of my favorite passages from the poet, Kahlil Gibran, and I thought of it this week when I spoke with Junior Hanschu, who lost his only sister, Velma, on Saturday when she died of a stroke.
Velma was the one girl among seven Hanschu boys born to Alexander and Susanna Hanschu. Imagine it! If they were even half the "tease" that Junior is today, she must have had quite a childhood!
"We probably picked on her a little," admits Junior, who is 14 years younger. But what Junior remembers most about his sister is "she would do anything for anybody and she did that up until the end!"
I never had the pleasure of meeting Velma Hanschu Krause, but Junior told me she graduated from Ramona High School in 1941. Since the RHS graduating pictures reside in the museum where we also have our office, I stopped and looked into her eyes.
"What was Velma like?" I asked Darlene Helbach Sondergard, who was a classmate of Velma's. "She was a very quiet, studious person," said Darlene.
"She was a teacher in the country school in Lincolnville," said Orvell Brunner, who herself was a teacher. "I remember going to teachers' meetings in Topeka with her and Virginia Shields, who is Lauren's sister."
Velma was born and raised on the Hanschu farm just southeast of Ramona. "I think most of us eight kids were born in that house that you saw being moved across the railroad tracks," said Junior, referring to a couple years ago when the old Hanschu home was moved from the Ramona farm to a site in Carlton.
Two brothers remain of the original eight Hanschu children — Harold, who lives in Salina, and Junior, who has lived in Ramona all his life. Their sister's funeral service was held on Wednesday in Lincolnville.
Emma Schubert Danitschek was another Ramona native who passed from the stage of life this month. She died Sept. 4. A graduate from Ramona High School in 1935, she was so smart she was the salutatorian of the class. She married Carl Danitschek, who graduated from RHS five years earlier.
"Emma was my favorite cousin," said my mom, Martha Ehrhardt, who canceled her scheduled cataract surgery in order to attend Emma's service which was held Sept. 8. Also attending were Henry and Gertie Schubert, more of Emma's cousins. Warren and Paula Fike, along with Al and Darlene Sondergard, also were at the service.
As is typical in these parts of the country, family members gathered in a special room prior to the service and the room was so full of folks that it resembled a Schubert-Dantischek reunion. I smiled at the thought that if one must pass on, it would be comforting to know that your death created something memorable — the reunion was just the first of several meaningful moments that happened around Emma's funeral.
The Rev. Robert Hackler, himself a relative of Emma's, offered words of comfort to the family prior to the service, reflecting on the meaning of the 23rd Psalm.
Being a preacher's daughter and having heard this Psalm at many a funeral, I wondered if anything new could be said that I hadn't already heard. But on this occasion, Hackler's comments left a gem of comfort in my heart. I share that gem because we all deal with loss every day of our lives and maybe his words will comfort you, too.
He focused on the phrase: "Even though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil."
"Typically we think of this verse referring to our own death," said Hackler. "But I believe the 'shadow' refers to the time when our loved ones die and we must stand in that shadow and yet remain and endure."
He talked about the traditions of shepherds, since that's the context of the 23rd Psalm, and how a shepherd stands in the gullies and deep ravens to help his sheep get from one side of a chasm to the other — a comfort not only to the dying, but to those who must step across to a life without our loved ones.
Another profound comfort in such times as these is the presence of loved ones — each holding distinct memories of the deceased.
The morning of Emma's funeral I saw two of Emma's nieces sitting on the porch swing at our bed and breakfast. "You all look stunning in your black outfits," I said to Mary and Jeannie, daughters of the late Martin Schubert. Their mother, Dorothy, and sister, Kris, and brother, Frank, all came out on the porch for a family photo.
"Mom just told us that Aunt Emma didn't like bright colors at funerals," smiled Jeannie, as she opened her black jacket to reveal a brilliant orange blouse hidden underneath. "Good thing I brought this jacket," she said with a smile.
Ahh, we never stop learning about each other — as long as there are memories, a part of us is ever-present.
Emma was buried at the cemetery just northeast of Ramona, where the St. Paul Lutheran Church once stood — the church where her father-in-law, the Rev. Danitschek, once pastored.
At the graveside, the spray of roses that had rested on Emma's casket was set to the side, and folks were invited to take a rose home in remembrance. It was a wonderful ritual, because as I watched the bouquet disappear as people took a flower then walked to their cars, it seemed symbolic of Emma's life. Each person there held in their hearts their own singular image, special memories, and cherished conversations with Emma — fragments of a once-dynamic lady.
And that's the power of family, friends, and connections — when we all gather together, we share those memories, stories, and conversations and together create glimpses of those who have gone before us, and for brief moments they come back to life and dwell among us.
I think of this often, when I see the faces of those from the Ramona community, who have served in the military and their eyes look out at me from the wall where we've made a memorial to them in the Dirt Gambler's Heritage Museum.
Dalford Beisel and his wife Phyllis stopped by the museum this past week and delivered a photograph of Dal's brother, Allen, who died when he was just 18 years old, while serving in the Navy. Allen was the oldest son of Dave and Mary Beisel.
The Beisel's lived in the house at 501 "B" in Ramona — the home recently purchased by the Thompsons who moved here from California this past summer. Ironically the house was built by Abraham Beltz, grandfather to Phyllis Beltz who would marry Dalford Beisel in 1958.
"We want Allen's picture to hang on the wall with the other veterans," said Dal. "My brother was buried on the island of Leyte in the Philippines, but later we brought him home to Ramona and he's now buried out at Lewis Cemetery."
Allen's death was an unusual event — he fell into a cargo hold. "They'd been in a typhoon and lost the cover to the cargo hold," explained Dal. "They put plywood over it but when they came into port to load the ship, someone removed the cover and Allen didn't know it."
But the story doesn't end there. Some 57 years later, one of Allen's comrades, who was a year or so older than Allen, made contact with Dal because all these years he's felt somehow guilty and responsible for Allen's death.
"He knew about the cargo hold being open and felt he should have alerted Allen, but didn't," explained Dal. "And now he wants to come and meet us in October, and he wants to be sure that Allen is remembered in some way in his hometown."
"So we promised to have his picture on the wall in the museum so he could see it," added Phyllis.
The Beisels stayed in Ramona for lunch at the Ramona Cafe and the whole time I kept a pad and paper handy so I could record Dal's memories.
"I remember Steve Eskeldson's garage in Ramona," said Dal. "Steve Sr. had a blue Model-A touring car that had a luggage rack on the back, and I often saw him driving into town."
"And who were your best friends when you were a kid?" I asked.
"Larry Senner and Jim Brunner," Dal replied with a grin. "We were always in the principal's office." He went on to elaborate on their pranks. "We caught some sparrows and set them loose in the darkened auditorium during the high school play one year. Now, you know what happens when a bird sees light? Well, all those sparrows flew straight for the spotlight on the stage!"
And then there was the time they set up a home brewery in the basement of the high school. "I think the janitor got most of it!" said Dal.
But the slingshot and the bass drum is the best story yet. "Our band leader, Chester Lawson, also was the principal," said Dal. Mr. Lawson liked to get up and make speeches during band practice, and Dal found it terribly boring so decided to spice things up a bit.
But that's another story
