WYNANT
Mother's Day always brings back a long ago memory.
On a Saturday, January 26, 1946, I was awakened from a deep sleep. I had just turned 5 years old on January 9th and I remember I was very aware that something was amiss. My parents took me to my Aunt Grace who lived just a block away and she tried to console my concerns. She put me to bed in one of their bedrooms and lay down beside me, telling me to think of happy things. "Think of baby ducks," I remember her saying. And I did, until I fell asleep.
Later that night, my parents returned to fetch me and my mother was crying. My 16 year old brother, Wynant, had been killed when he was hit by a drunk driver while crossing the street in the nearby town of Caldwell. He had gone to the movies at the Ritz theater with friends and as it was a cold Kansas night, when they crossed the street after the "picture show," one of them stopped to button up his coat. Wynant paused to wait for him and the driver rounded the corner and struck him, knocking him into the air and then hitting him again. He never regained consciousness. My parents lived nine miles away in Corbin, Kansas and by the time they got to the hospital, he was gone.
I remember him for funny reasons and two have stuck in my mind to this day. He had a chemistry set which he loved to "experiment" with and I was forever pulling on the tablecloth after he had everything in place, knocking over the various vials and such, much to his annoyance and my childish glee.
My other recollection is of my other brother, LaGrant, (two years his senior) goading me into opening the "out-house" door when Wynant was inside so he could spray him with the garden hose. To a four year old that was hilariously funny.
By this time, LaGrant was away and in the Navy but allowed to come home for the funeral which was a very sad time for my family and the many friends who attended.
On the brighter side and the reason I recall it, the young man who Wynant had paused to wait for on that fateful night always sent a Mother's Day card to my mom for many, many years to come and it was a great comfort to her. And a wonderful memorial to him.
The picture below was the first page from the high school yearbook that Spring. I often wonder what might have been.
On a Saturday, January 26, 1946, I was awakened from a deep sleep. I had just turned 5 years old on January 9th and I remember I was very aware that something was amiss. My parents took me to my Aunt Grace who lived just a block away and she tried to console my concerns. She put me to bed in one of their bedrooms and lay down beside me, telling me to think of happy things. "Think of baby ducks," I remember her saying. And I did, until I fell asleep.
Later that night, my parents returned to fetch me and my mother was crying. My 16 year old brother, Wynant, had been killed when he was hit by a drunk driver while crossing the street in the nearby town of Caldwell. He had gone to the movies at the Ritz theater with friends and as it was a cold Kansas night, when they crossed the street after the "picture show," one of them stopped to button up his coat. Wynant paused to wait for him and the driver rounded the corner and struck him, knocking him into the air and then hitting him again. He never regained consciousness. My parents lived nine miles away in Corbin, Kansas and by the time they got to the hospital, he was gone.
I remember him for funny reasons and two have stuck in my mind to this day. He had a chemistry set which he loved to "experiment" with and I was forever pulling on the tablecloth after he had everything in place, knocking over the various vials and such, much to his annoyance and my childish glee.
My other recollection is of my other brother, LaGrant, (two years his senior) goading me into opening the "out-house" door when Wynant was inside so he could spray him with the garden hose. To a four year old that was hilariously funny.
By this time, LaGrant was away and in the Navy but allowed to come home for the funeral which was a very sad time for my family and the many friends who attended.
On the brighter side and the reason I recall it, the young man who Wynant had paused to wait for on that fateful night always sent a Mother's Day card to my mom for many, many years to come and it was a great comfort to her. And a wonderful memorial to him.
The picture below was the first page from the high school yearbook that Spring. I often wonder what might have been.
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