"Auntie Fran"
I always assumed her name was "Frances" until I researched her arrival in the Ellis Island archives for her 95th birthday and discovered her given name is "Francine." When I asked her about it, she said, "Oh Stan, everybody thought it was "Frances" and it didn't matter. I suspect there is more revealed in that response than we have time to consider right now.
"Auntie Fran" has left us...and she has left a mountain of love, a volume of memories, and a giant hole in our hearts. Especially, I think, for us, her nieces and nephews. She is a giant for the Verheul kids, and especially for me, born while my father was overseas in WWII. Uncle "R" was the man in my early life, and Aunt Fran was like a second mom. (When I was little, I used to wonder why a guy had only an initial for a name until I learned it was short for "Arie." I was, and still am, madly in love with Uncle R's 1932 Plymouth, which eventually became my grandpa's. Uncle "R" died when I was 5.)
Aunt Fran was so much a part of our life that I think we assumed she was part of our nuclear family, but lived with Grandpa and Grandma. She took trips with us; she was over for dinner every Sunday. Sundays really began with "coffee time" after church at Grandpa and Grandma's (in Dutch, of course). Aunt Fran always baked some cool stuff, and us kids were allowed a little coffee with our cream and sugar. Then it was dinner at our house (in English). If we were lucky (and we almost always were), the afternoon was spent at "the farm" (Uncle Warner and Aunt Joh's) or sometimes "the other farm" (Uncle Ed and Aunt Marie's). Otherwise, it was a long country ride. It's a good thing they made bench seats in cars those days. Our '49 Ford was overflowing. Mom, Dad, and Mona in the front seat. Lowell, Aunt Fran, and me in the back...with our rat terrier Pepper hanging out the back window from Aunt Fran's lap.
Cousin Roger and I are the same age, and were more like brothers growing up. I called him "Wowie" before I learned to pronounce my "r's". We each had our own moms (Aunt Joh and my mother, Jessie) but there was only one Aunt Fran, and we fought over her lap. I can still see her on the steps of the front porch at the East Third Street house, with "Wowie" on her lap, and me thinking "that should be me." My parents married in 1942, a hastened event because Dad was called up. It was a ceremony in Missouri, with only two friends as witnesses. By the time Lowell and Mona were born, I got it...but at first I would look at the simple b&w Kodak Brownie photo and ask, "why isn't Auntie Fran in the picture?"
Mom was from Denver. And yet Aunt Fran became very much a part of her siblings' lives. Mom and Dad's photo albums include photos with Aunt Fran and my Denver aunties and uncles. Because of the Denver connection, I may be the only nephew who got to take long road trips with Aunt Fran and "the girls", as they called themselves. Aunt Irene suffered from allergies and asthma, and she would spend summers in Denver where the climate was kinder to her. Aunt Fran drove her there, and I sometimes went along; mom had four siblings there and I bounced around from one cousin's house to another. Aunt Fran had no fear about driving that distance--first in the sky-blue '54 Chevy and later the 2-tone '57. We did it in a day, and I don't remember anyone else helping with the driving. Long before daybreak, she would pick me up, and then we would go get the others. It felt like some really clandestine mission, going from place to place and waiting quietly for another cohort to join us. I remember Rachel Ryken, Hilda Spoelstra, Aunt Irene, of course...and occasionally someone else. This was before the days of cell phones and interstates...we sailed through the night on 2-lane roads, hardly meeting another car. "The girls" went on to their Colorado "vacation" and my parents retrieved me later in the summer. As I reflect on it now, it must have been a real pain in the rear to drag this snot-nosed kid along, but they made me feel like I was really somebody. Aunt Fran always made you feel like you were somebody.
Once we left college, Lowell, Mona and I found ourselves spread through the country. But Aunt Fran remained a part of our lives. We saw her, of course, when we visited Pella. But she also visited us--all three of us. Our children, Robin, Leslie, and Elizabeth came to know her well, and loved to see her come. It meant adventures were going to happen, and extra love in the house. Our older grandchildren knew her as well; although she saw photos of Leslie's two kids, she did not get to meet them in person. They were born after my parents were gone, and trips to Pella became infrequent.
I'm sure we all have our quirky "Auntie Fran" stories. I remember when she learned to drive, about the same time as my mom, in the mid-50's. Bless ever-patient Uncle Warner for teaching them on little "2-tracks" carved out of the pastures. It meant a whole new freedom for Aunt Fran, and she was fearless. It was painful, later, to visit her and my mom, who lived in adjacent rooms at Fair Haven East, and see Aunt Fran's white Olds and mom's blue Sable in the parking lot, barely used anymore. Initially, Aunt Fran had challenges with backing out of the narrow driveway at the East Third Street house. Grandpa didn't trust that, so he cut out a new door at the front of the garage so she could drive in from the street and out through the alley!
When Aunt Fran spoke, it was never hard to hear her. Especially on the phone, she spoke as though she had to personally cover the distance between us. When they moved to the house on Columbus Street, a block from my parents, us kids would laughingly say that Aunt Fran only needed the phone to let us know she was calling--after that we could hear her without it. It was the original speaker-phone; everybody in the room could hear the conversation. After Uncle Warner's untimely leaving us, Aunt Fran and Aunt Joh became a traveling duo. When we were living in Los Angeles, my sister Mona was in Seattle, and cousin Roger was in Fresno. The sisters would fly to Seattle, then Amtrak it to Fresno and down to L.A. One "Auntie Fran" legend in our family was the time Judy took the two of them to the Beverly Hills mall (trust me, we did not live there!) and they were sitting in a coffee shop when Judy said, "Don't look now, but Tony Curtis (a well-known movie star) is sitting at the next table." Of course they both looked! And Aunt Fran, in her typically loud voice, said, "Tony Curtis? Never heard of him!" Bless her, she treated all of us like movie stars, but was not impressed with celebrities.
I've shared too long. I wrote even more memories. Memories are one more of her precious gifts to us, sharpening not only our relationship with her, but with each other, and those who have gone before us. Until recently, when I called, she would ask not only about each of our girls, but knew our grandkids by name. Then came that time when, every few minutes she would ask me, "now where are you living again?" And then, "Who are you again?" And, finally, "I don't know you" and she would hang up. Thanks, dear Auntie Fran, for this chance to remember again. We love you. We miss you.