The Emporia Gazette

May 28, 2012

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From Henry Leiker’s memoir:

“First I’d like to introduce myself. I’m Henry. I’m the fifth of a family of 14. Eight girls and six boys.”

“When I was young I had a heavy head of hair so everyone called me Harry and sometimes Wooly, clear through my school years. To go to work in 1936, I had to go through government and county records to find out for sure my name was Henry. The county records were destroyed by flood waters. Anyhow, after looking through state records for my birth certificate, I am Henry.

“We lived in Walker. The house we lived in burned down when Adelberg was just a baby and was thrown out the window.”

Those words reflect the unique voice of my father-in-law, Henry, Dave’s dad. Henry passed away recently, having lived a full 92 years.

In 1996, he and his wife, Clara, wrote their limited-edition family memoirs which tell the stories of their lives.

Henry wrote, “I was walking down a Salina street one day in the spring of ’40 when I noticed an attractive young girl ahead of me. She didn’t seem to be in a hurry either so I caught up and asked if I could walk with her. She accepted.”

Three weeks later, Henry, 22, and Clara, 17, were married.

When Henry passed away on May 27, he and Clara were three weeks shy of celebrating their 70th wedding anniversary. But if you count the three weeks they knew each other before their wedding, they were together the full 70 years.

They made their home in Salina and raised four sons and a daughter. Henry was a flour miller by trade. He served in the U.S. Army in the Philippines during World War II. After retiring from the Salina mills, he worked as a maintenance man at a medical clinic.

In those retirement years when they were able to get out, Henry and Clara would head for the lake with their fishing poles. Family campouts were held annually at any one of the hot and windy Kansas lakes.

All the while, Henry and Clara’s love held fast during both joyful years and difficult times. “He would always kiss me goodbye,” Clara said the other day, “even if he was just going to the store.”

Although he was a quiet man, Henry liked to make people smile so he’d tell jokes and perform magic tricks. Upon his death, it occurred to me that I had never heard this man speak one unkind word about another person. That alone seems to represent a life well lived.

Various ailments piled up on Henry and over the last year, his health failed to the point where he could no longer recover. During his final days, his family gathered around his bed - and Henry finally got to eat the cookies that his diabetes had kept at bay.

In his casket, along with a cross and a Buddy Poppy, someone had slipped a cookie into his hand. That would have made Henry chuckle.

At Salina’s First Presbyterian Church, the minister offered a fine eulogy and we sang “Amazing Grace” and “Here I am, Lord.” Outside the church, the coffin was draped with an American flag.

The Salina Police Department provided an escort as they have for each of the four funerals I’ve attended in that city. Policemen held open busy intersections for the processional and as we turned in the cemetery gate, an officer stood at attention beside his car.

The words of the 23rd Psalm hung in the still morning air while an Honor Guard from Ft. Riley stood with rifles a short way from the gravesite. When the prayers ended, six soldiers fired three volleys into the air. The clear tones of “Taps” stung our eyes as the bugle sent the word of mourning across the land.

Those six soldiers then lifted the flag from the coffin and stepped to the side in regimented unison where they folded Old Glory with deliberate respect.

With white-gloved hands, the staff sergeant presented the flag to Clara “on behalf of a grateful nation.”

Rest in peace, Henry.

“Flyover People” is online at www.flyoverpeople.net. Cheryl Unruh can be reached at cheryl@flyoverpeople.net.