Widow & widower come out of the closet. I've forgotten the names of the man & woman at the centre of attention in this photo, but they made quite a stir in Plum Coulee during the 75th anniversary celebrations. They'd dug into their closets and pulled out somewhat older garb in the spirit of the day and, for the first time, let the community in on the secret that they had struck up a relationship.
I doubt that the word "promenade" or the term "stepping out" would have been in their Low German vocabularies, but that was happening here.
While I know seven of the people in the photo, I still have incredibly fond memories of the seated gentleman with the glasses case clipped to his shirt pocket, Mr. Doell. I want to say Wm. C. Doell, but it may have been C.C. Doell. They were brothers. My Mr. Doell was a widower who lived behind my family's store (the building that acts a backdrop to this tableau) right next to the firehall/village offices. He always used the warehouse door to enter the store and, like about six-to-twelve men, would show up just before the 9 a.m. to listen to the funeral announcements on CFAM. They'd crowd around the little bakelite radio at the front of the store (in the yard-goods section), listen with rapt attention, then launch into a social and genealogical exposition of their knowledge and/or acquaintance with each of the deceased. But, back to Mr. Doell.
He was every bit as kind and good-natured as his visage would suggest – even to a boy of six and beyond. I inserted myself into the life of the store as soon and as often as possible: after school, on weekends and during summer holidays. By the time I was twelve, I took on as much of the annual inventory count as possible. I served customers, made deliveries using the truck (my application for my driver's license four years later is an interesting story). Although I don't remember this, my younger brothers tell me I had migraine headaches from a very early age. On one particular afternoon, I was minding the store on my own when Mr. Doell appeared from the back as usual. I had a migraine that had me slumped over the counter, eyes closed and covered to block the painful light. Mr. Doell told me to lock the front door and put up a 'back in five minutes' sign. He then took me to his house where he administered to me a substantial shot of schnapps mixed with sugar.
I have no recollection as to the effectiveness of the medicine, but the act of kindness abides with me still after nearly 50 years.
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