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Notes:
The Morning Call, Sunday, February 6, 1995, page 4
Whistles, songs of family harmony brought closeness
I was born the day President William McKinley was shot - more than
94 years ago - and lived through historical events that include the
first automobile trip from San Francisco to new York, the first successful
flight in a propelled airplane and the invention of the telephone.
But events that took place closer to the home front are what I am
most grateful for.
When I was 6, my parents brought a farm that pretty much kept our
family busy every hour of the day and some of the night. Farming 15
acres of our own and share-farming 32 more acres with horse drawn plows
- may not seem like something to be thankful for. But it didn't leave
my four brothers, three sisters and me with many occasions to wonder
what we'd do in our spare time.
In addition to growing the crops, we were also responsible for selling
many of the crops. Three days a week we went with our father to the
farmer's market in Easton to sell our vegetables. That meant getting
up at 2:30 a.m., readying our horses and wagon and riding an hour into
town. Here we gained appreciation for our labor as people examined
our merchandise and cash was passed from their hands to ours.
Our family was so large and the children so spread out, I was 5 years
old before I realized that my oldest brother Will, who was living on
his own, was my brother. It never occurred to me that someone who didn't
live our home could be a part of our family, too.
Family, I soon learned, is family - no matter where they lived. My
brother Floyd went to live with grandmother after my granddaddy died.
She needed someone to help take care of her, and that's what family
is all about, we were told. Floyd was only 12 at the time, but I didn't
remember him uttering one word of complaint.
When I was 15, a peculiar incident proved that family help each other
even after death. One day will my grandfather was cutting his toenail,
he accidentally cut his toe. Within a few weeks, gangrene set in. Five
months later, he died.
We had no phone, so it was my duty to fetch the undertaker. On his
way to our home, the undertaker's Model-T Ford got a flat tire. By
the time he arrived at home "nearly frozen to death," it
was 1 a.m. and the undertaker needed to thaw out. Gesturing toward
the tube he inserted in my grandfather's arm, he told me to hold the
pump and commence pumping the fluid into my grandfather's body, I may
be one of the few grandchildren alive who had the "honor" of
embalming his own grandfather.
Not everyday was filled with somber responsibilities. The company
our family shared produced a joyful reprieve from our tasks. Talking
at the kitchen table or gathering at the player piano brought the song
of family harmony to life.
Saturday nights during the summer were interrupted with strawberry
festivals - one of the rare activities that took us away from home.
Walking five miles to attend a picnic after 12 hours of hard labor
was either a true testimony to the power of the human spirit or the
sweetness of the fragrant, read fruit. Friendship flourish in the countryside
surroundings where people gathered for simple fun and good conversation.
But the best friend I ever had was Carrie, the woman I married. We
were 8 years old when we attended class together in our one-room schoolhouse.
Our friendship took on a different meaning when I was walking by her
home one day and she threw a shoe at me from the attic widow to get
my attention. We were only 14 at the time, but old enough to know that
we felt very special about each other.
When we were in high school, I was at her house morning and night.
Some nights we would set out from our homes to meet each other - each
of us whistling across the darkness surrounding the pond - to let the
other know how close we were. We spend hours talking and planning for
the future, which would be shared with each other.
When we were 19, Carrie and I were married. Wearing a wedding dress
she sewed by hand, Carrie looked radiant. We were two people with one
mind, never able to imagine being separated from each other until the
day God called her home in 192.
In quiet moments, I recall how kind and patient my best friend was.
And, if I listen very carefully, I can hear that sweet, distant whistle
reminding me of how close we still are.
The Express-Times, Friday, October 8, 1999, B-4
Sterling E. Kelchner, steel goods supervisor.
Sterling E. Kelchner, 98, of Hanover Township, Bethlehem died Thursday,
Oct 7, in Holy Family Manor in Bethlehem.
He was a supervisor of inspection of manufactured steel products at
Taylor-Wharton in Easton for 47 years until 1966.
Born Sept 6, 1901, in Bethlehem Township, Pa., he was a son of the
late Milton and Lizzie Hartzell Kelchner.
He was a member of St. John's United church of Christ in Farmersville,
and a member of the choir with his wife for 30 years. He was involved
in many church activities.
He was an avid hunter and sportsman.
His wife, the former Carrie E. Bright, died in 1993.
He is survived by a grandson, Neil W. Kelchner, with whom he lived;
and four great-grandchildren.
A son, Elton A., died in 1979.
Services will be held at 11 a.m. Monday in St. John's UCC of Farmersville,
8065 William Penn Highway, Easton. Call 7 to 9 p.m. Sunday in the Long
Funeral Home, 500 Linden St., Bethlehem.
Burial will be in Farmersville Cemetery in Bethlehem Township, PA.
The family requests memorials to the Church, Easton, PA 18045.
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