Happy 100th Birthday Dad!

My dad, Bill Prothman, passed away August 29, 1995.  It is hard to believe that he has been gone 22 years.  If he had survived, he would celebrate his 100^th birthday today (August 31, 2017).  He and Mom are never far from my thoughts, but with this milestone approaching, he has been on my mind even more frequently. 

Bill pictured with family
home in the background

Dad was born many miles from here near the tiny town of Adanac, Saskatchewan, Canada.  His grandparents had immigrated to Arkansas from Prussia and their son Carl (my grandfather) operated a general store along with his brother-in-law, Paul Reiss.  The two heard stories of cheap land in Saskatchewan so they sold the store in Arkansas to seek their fortune there.  Paul went ahead and soon established himself in a general store and post office in the town of Salvador.  When Carl arrived with his family in 1913, he discovered that Paul had purchased a farm for him to operate, keeping all of the retail business for himself.  Carl had never farmed before and, to make matters worse, the broken down house on the place consisted of only four rooms.  At that time the couple had five children and would go on to add six more.  As the boys grew, they would often sleep in the granary during the summer months to make more room in the house.

Dad often spoke of his Granny Amelia Prothman who also came to live with them when she was not happy living with the Reiss family.  She was a hard worker and helped the growing family in many ways.  Granny slept in the girls’ room and would often use her cane to grab whoever walked by her bed to get their attention.  Her English was not good and the children learned some German to converse with her. 

Salvador, Saskatchewan, Canada

As you might imagine, times were hard.  Dad never seemed to complain about his childhood though and had many happy memories.  The children enjoyed ice skating—hockey in the wintertime—riding horses and playing ball in summer.  He talked of walking three miles each way to attend school in Salvador, with occasional buggy or bobsled rides.  He was able to complete 8^th grade and had begun high school when his father kept him out to do fieldwork and he never went back.  His lack of formal education did not slow him down at all.  He became a voracious reader and was virtually self-educated.  I always admired my father’s intelligence and knowledge. 

When he was 16, he and other boys from the area began to work the wheat run.  They would hop on a freight train (illegally) and follow the harvest.  The majority of his earnings would be sent home to the family.  My Uncle Greg (dad’s youngest brother) once told me with tears streaming down his face that he saw dad and several other young men horse whipped by a train worker when they were discovered stowing away on a freight train near their home.  Dad never spoke of that incident to me.  Despite all of the hard work of both my grandparents and their children, due to drought, the economic downturn that occurred during the depression and likely my grandfather’s inexperience at farming, they finally lost the farm.

Dad’s oldest brother, Carl, entered the priesthood and was sponsored financially by a family from the Wesley area by the name of Roadinger.  They corresponded with my grandparents and, learning of their large family and economic constraints, invited dad to come to Wesley and sent him bus fare.  He arrived there on October 13, 1938 to visit for six weeks.  Little did he know that six weeks would stretch into 67 years!

Bill and Evelyn
on their wedding day

After arriving in Wesley, dad began to work on farms around Wesley, Sexton and Woden. He started to make friends in the area, one of whom was a gentleman by the name of Bernard.  It just so happened that Bernard was seeing a young woman from Algona by the name of Evelyn Rammer.  Bernard invited Bill and a date to accompany them to a dance.  Bill and Evelyn really hit it off.  It wasn’t long before Bernard was out of the picture and Bill and Evelyn became a couple, marrying June 8, 1940.  Dirt poor, the couple began their marriage with all of their worldly possession piled in the back seat of a used Model A.

In front of his Model A

They moved in with Mom’s aunt who was debilitated due to a stroke and cared for her until another family member was able to assume that responsibility.  They then moved to an apartment for a short time, then into a newly constructed Quonset which had been intended for use as a chicken coop while dad was employed for the farmer owner.  Their oldest child, Kathryn, was born while they lived in the Quonset and Mom often had to sit outside with her during the hot summer as it became too warm inside the metal building.

Dad worked various jobs early on, including a year and a half at an egg produce plant.  In late 1943 he began working as Assistant Fire Chief at the prison camp.  By this time, the couple had added an infant son, Michael, to their family.  When “Greetings” arrived from Uncle Sam, dad decided to enlist rather than be drafted.  Before he entered boot camp in May of 1944 in Camp Sibert, Alabama, the young couple purchased a house so that mom and the kids would have some security in his absence.  Once through boot camp, he was then transferred to Camp Butner, North Carolina, and then served in the Pacific Theatre on Saipan in the Mariana Islands.

Bill in his Army uniform

It was such a happy day when dad returned home after his service.  My mother often described the scene.  She knew that he would be returning at any time and so every day she would run to her back window as the train would pull into the station.  She would watch for a glimpse of his silhouette disembarking, hoping to tell the kids that daddy was home.  Dad however was intent on surprising the family and on the day of his return, managed to get off the train without detection.  He walked the short distance to the location of their house, quietly opened the door, and then rolled his dress hat across the floor, loudly announcing, “Daddy’s home to stay.”

Regretfully, I never spoke to Dad in depth about his experiences in the service.  I do know my mother said he came back a changed man.  He struggled with alcoholism to varying degrees for many years following, but later became involved in A.A. and served as a sponsor for many recovering alcoholics through the years.  In fact we would often find an extra plate at the dinner table for a “friend.”  I now realize that most of the time those “friends” were fellows who needed a good meal and a helping hand to get back on their feet.

After returning from the war, his job as a fireman at the P.O.W camp no longer existed, so dad found work in the construction field.  The economy was booming after the war, especially in the building trades.  Eventually dad struck out on his own, opening his own masonry business in 1947. He became well known for his skill at brick laying and many homes and business buildings in the area stand as a testament to his talents, including the V.F.W. Hall, the Kossuth County Courthouse, and the Algona Post Office.

Daughter Connie standing in
front of Dad's truck in the mid 1950s

Four more children were added to the family with 22 years between the oldest and youngest.  My parents never became wealthy in worldly goods, but dad often stated that he wouldn’t trade any of his kids for a million dollars.  And we knew he meant it.

In 1957 my parents purchased a house and property that had been in my mother’s family for several generations.  They fixed up the big old house which we called home for many years.  In the early 1970’s they decided to build a new split-level house on the site.  It was constructed of brick that came from the building that once housed Hub Clothiers and Finn's Bakery.  Following the fire that brought down the building on Labor Day of 1970, many truckloads of debris were brought to our building site.  I and a brother spent numerous hours sorting brick and knocking off mortar so that the bricks could be recycled into the new house.  We moved into the partially completed house in late summer of 1972, just as I was starting my senior year of high school. 

House lost in tornado of 1979

Dad worked on finishing the house in his spare time.  It contained cabinets, woodwork and trim that he constructed out of native Iowa walnut and had both a brick fireplace in the lower level and a stone fireplace in the living room on the upper level.  It took many years to complete, but only a few moments to destroy when it took a direct hit from the devastating tornado that passed through Algona on June 28, 1979.  My parents and youngest brother, Bill, Jr., were home at the time and all survived one of the most harrowing experiences of their lives.  Although thankful that all were safe, Dad nevertheless found himself at age 62 needing to start over once again.

He retired from his business then but would go on to build one more house, this time at Oak Lake where he and mom would reside until they downsized in 1994 and moved into Algona.  Dad enjoyed his retirement, taking on simple projects, helping family, and volunteering—such as helping the Algona FFA build the welcome signs which greet you at the entrances to our city.  Eventually his heart condition worsened and he passed two days before his 78^th birthday following bypass surgery.

So many happy memories remain—his endless supply of jokes and funny stories, his patience teaching me how to drive a stick shift, quiet companionship while fishing on the dock, his silliness with my kids when they would comb his hair into kooky styles, and the love and pride he had for his family.

Dad on the front porch of their final home

So dad—here’s to you!  Happy 100^th birthday!  I hope you have a great celebration in heaven with mom, brother Mike, and the rest of the extended family.  Love you always and forever.

Until we meet again,

Jean

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