Remembering the tragic deaths of 40 years ago

I was eight-years-old when twin girls from my church were killed in a car accident along with their mother and a younger brother and sister.

That was 40 years ago on Friday, June 6, 1975. 

Christmas '72: Karleen, Marce, Stacie, Carissa

Everyone was devastated.

Pat, the mother, was a prominent member of the community and served on the South Dakota Board of Regents, the board that controls higher educational institutions in the state.

As I reflected on this milestone, I realized it was my first experience with death.

The twins were born two months before me, and I often wonder how my life would have been different had Carissa and Karleen been around.

I never played against them in a basketball game. Never sang in the church choir with them. Never told them, “Hey, I finally got my period” or “Mom let me start shaving my legs” or "Todd asked me to the prom."

Would we have drug Main Street in Huron together? Discussed the cute boys at our respective schools? Made the trek to Tabor during our college years?

Marce, Karleen, me, John Wollman, Kristine Wollman (standing )
Stephanie Peters (her birthday party), Carissa

From what I recall, Carissa was loud and blunt; whereas, Karleen was more girlish and quiet. But that’s my eight-year-old mind remembering.

I've never known another Karleen, and had I ever been a mother to a girl, Karleen would have been her name.

The twins usually wore matching clothes. I remember their colorful ponchos and shag haircuts. Their doll house was the size of my dining room table with the leaf in. I wonder whatever became of that. They shared a large room with twin beds. I envied them having a playmate in each other.

my 6-year-old birthday party
I'm seated with Carissa & Karleen standing to my left with Marce in front

I've never known another Marce, their brother. Their little sister Stacie had gone through multiple procedures to correct an issue with her legs. My young mind wondered why God would put her through all that if He was just going to take her home anyway.
 
When I learned about the fatal accident, I was in the middle of the yard playing. Mom came out and said, “Pat and the kids were killed in a terrible accident while on their way to see Don at National Guard camp in Minnesota.”

Just like that. She said it. No beating around the bush. That’s my mom. She said it like it was.

In shock, I responded with, “I said goodbye to them after VBS today.” Then my eight-year-old reasoning mind set in, “They just got that new car.”

The Mendels had driven a tiny, light blue car with a hatchback. It wasn’t really a station wagon—it wasn’t big enough to be called that. I can picture that car now. But they’d finally gotten a bigger vehicle, a regular-sized four-door car. Everybody at church was so happy they had a roomier vehicle. Strange how my mind went there after Mom told me.

On that Sunday, a couple days after their deaths, we didn’t have a normal church service, but the sanctuary was packed. The funeral, held in the Doland gym, was the same way.

Five caskets.

I have a book that Pat, the twins' mom, gave me. She was our Sunday School Superintendent at Ebenezer Church. She wrote a personal message in it to me. Ironically, it’s a book about a teacher. And take a look at what she wrote in it.

Pat's note to me in 1974:
I hope you enjoy this book. Maybe someday you'll be a teacher.

I guess Pat knew something I didn’t. It wasn’t until I was a sophomore in college that I changed my major from mass communications to English. I hope I’ve done her proud. 

God has blessed me with a joyful life and few regrets. Good health, a fulfilling career, a husband, a step-daughter and son-in-law, and most recently, a beautiful little grandson.

As I reach each milestone in my life, I think of the twins in a special way.

Carissa and Karleen. Never to be forgotten.

Skinned Knee with a Slice of White Bread

Outhouses only. Indoor bathrooms were off-limits. Basement only. Do not venture into the sanctuary--ever. 

Those were the rules for VBS when I was a kid. No elaborate skits put on by parents or the high school kids. Simple crafts. No masterpieces. No snacks because we got to bring our lunch.

Mom would pack mine in my Family Affair lunch pail. Baloney on white bread, plain with no mayo, butter, or mustard—nothin’ but meat. Potato chips. Kool-Aid. Maybe an apple or carrots. But always my favorite: chocolate pudding cups in the peel-back can. 

My lunch box. Pretty rusty inside now.

Ebenezer: my childhood church in South Dakota.

And we would eat lunch outside on the north sidewalk of our small country church in rural Doland, South Dakota.

After lunch, the big kids played baseball while us younger ones enjoyed organized games. Must have been competitive because during my first-ever VBS, I skinned up my knee. Bad enough they thought it deserved a picture at assembly time. Here I am after Mrs. Miller patched me up.

Mrs. Miller displaying my boo-boo. Second row: Jaimie Gross and Helen Enander. Last row: one of the Millers' daughters, Darcie Decker, and Peggy Tschetter. I have no idea about the boy in the striped pants. Maybe a visitor from another church?

Pastor Miller's daughters were ventriloquists, so I guess we got some fancy performances then. Ironically, if I remember correctly, our next pastor’s daughter had the same skill.
 

That preacher was Reverend Edwin Goosen (pronounced go-son) and his wife Laura. They served our church during most of my elementary days. At VBS, Reverend Goosen lead the singing and pitched during recess-time baseball. One year he taught us to sing in German, “Gott ist Liebe.” Translation: God is Love.

Edwin & Laura Goosen

Edwin Goosen was quite the character. My parents hired him to help remodel our house before my sister Brenda got married. For more on those wedding preparations, read the blog post entitled, Curlers, Bras, & an Airplane Ride.

Reverend Goosen's carpentry skills got us new cabinets in the bathroom, entryway, and bedroom. Laura's baking skills taught Mom how to make awesome croissant buns. I use this recipe too, but I can’t make 'em like Mom did, and Mom complained that hers weren’t quite like Laura’s. 

My attempt at these buns.

How they should all look. Slightly browned. Curved like a quarter moon.

Some of those winter days when I got off the school bus, we would have a fresh snowfall. Laura would play fox and goose in the snow with me. Oh, how I loved that game!

You see, my mom never ran except to get the clothes off the line when it was raining, and Dad rarely made time for that sort of thing, so I soaked up the attention and enjoyed having a playmate.

I can still picture Laura, not only playing fox and goose with me, but her heavy marching-type walk in church with her long dresses. And I still have the polished rocks her husband gave me. That was one of his hobbies--polishing rocks. 

 

But at some point during that winter remodeling, I got sick in my eyes and even missed school. Mom thought I had pink eye. Upon examination, the eye doctor said there was nothing wrong with my eyes except what was irritating them.

Sawdust.

I had to stay away from wherever Reverend Goosen was working. I’m sure I was quite the pest. But he liked me.

How do I know? Because when summer came and my birthday rolled around, the Goosens sent me a card with a little gift in it.

Sawdust.

All packaged up in a small baggie with a note attached to use it for my eyes. 

Like I said, he was a character.

Since this post evolved into a walk down memory lane of one of my childhood pastors, I'll have to save my other VBS stories for next year.

What are your vacation Bible school memories? Ever get in trouble there? Break a bone? Embarrass yourself at the program?