Uncle Bud is a Neubauer, his father Ernest Neubauer married Lena Frerichs.
Lena was my grandfather Henry Frerichs’ sister. Ernest’s sister, Nora,
married Fred Frerichs’ brother to Lena and Henry. So brother and sister
married sister and brother and that is the way we were.
Uncle Bud’s wife is Doris (formerly Doris
Wirthele) and they had one son. His name is Ernie (Ernest Paul). Ernie is
a year older than I. Because of the closeness in age, Ernie and I bonded
and became close friends, that and the shyness I think we both shared.
Ernie’s was probably more mid-western politeness then shyness; mine I came
by honestly. Nevertheless we became fast friends and shared many
adventures when my family returned to Nebraska for its annual pilgrimage.
Oh, I guess I should mention that Ernie had two horses, and the prospect
of riding them excited me to no end; that didn’t hurt either. At one point
I think I was well on my way to being a professional rodeo cowboy,
somewhere between wanting to be the first man on the moon and a medical
doctor.
When I return to Nebraska, I still stay at
Uncle Bud’s and Aunt Doris’. Ernie and his wife Jerry and their two
children, Chad and Sandy, now live on Bud’s dad’s place, the farm right
next door. That’s the way we were.
In this house is a photo album, one of a
number, and in that album is an old black and white photo. It is a picture
of Bud, Doris, and Ernie. Ernie is perhaps 7 or 8. Bud in a pair of
“Sunday” overalls stands alone. His hands are crossed into the bib section
of the overalls (a habit he still retains today). He is in his prime,
handsome, and strong. His face is tan at the bottom two thirds only, due
to the cap he wore all the time. Except here he has it off so the top part
of his face is light.
Doris stands by his side in a fancy dress
with an apron. She holds Ernie’s hand. She is young, beautiful, and proud
of her two men. They stand in the barnyard and the shadows are long, like
on a late afternoon on Sunday in August. Everytime I see this photo, I
think of honesty, integrity, and innocence, perhaps my own. And I remember
back when Aunt Doris used to wake Ernie and me up with her gentle voice
and the smell of hot cakes in the kitchen.
I still stay in that same bedroom and
often smell those same hot cakes being fixed to offer up. And, they still
all call me “Billy”. They are the only ones left now that do.
There are many stories that emanate from
this house. Uncle Bud is like living history and when he enumerates one of
his memories he always does it with a little twinkle in his eye and the
same question/answer: “I suppose that’s the way it was, would’nt you
think? Yeah, you bet it was, yep.”
