The Short Life of Walter Fuller

The Short Life of Walter Fuller”

October 21, 1899

Laying in my sweat filled bed; staring at a cream colored ceiling which seemed quizzically out of focus, I felt a cold hand grasp my left wrist lifting my arm. I try to focus my eyes to see who was there, but my vision was blurred. “Is… that you… Alice?” My voice seemed hollow like reverberating inside an empty drum. I attempt to raise my head, but it felt heavy laden and refuses my frail effort.
“No Walter, it’s your sister Eva.”
“Where’s Alice?”
“I’m here, dear.” Alice’s voice seemed distance, carrying a slight echo. She appeared on my right side and I tried to focus on her face, but it was blurry and hazy. “Are you feeling better? You’ve been out for about 8 hours. It’s the most you’ve slept since Thursday when you got sick.”
“What day is it?”
“Saturday.”
It all rushed back. Thursday I had gone to the stock yards where I’m the Superintendent of feeding. I felt bad when I left for work and it seemed to get worse as the day went on. By noon I had the cold sweats and decided I needed to go home. My wife Alice felt my forehead and put me to bed. My head throbbed; my whole body ached,and I was having a hard time breathing. Alice took my temperature. “ One-hundred and four, my God, Walter, I’d best get a doctor.“
The doctor’s instruction was to pile blankets to break the fever, and put cold compresses on my forehead. If it didn’t break the fever, to rub me down with rubbing alcohol. Nothing seemed to help and I spent that night and next day in a delirious state. I don’t remember much. I fell asleep Friday night and was just coming out of a deep restless sleep, bed drenched in sweat when Alice put a thermometer in my mouth.
“Your temperature has gone down,” she said. “it’s still a little high.”
“I’m feelin’ better. Still ache awful, but my vision is startin’ to clear.” I looked at Eva and Alice. “This is terrible stuff I caught!”
“Yes, dear,” Alice placed a cold towel on my forehead. She rose and started for the kitchen. “You need rest and something in your stomach. Let’s see if you can hold down hot soup.”
What in the world would I do without Alice. It must be awful hard on her only in Kansas City for seven months and I had to get sick our first year anniversary only a few days away. I hoped I’d be well enough to celebrate with her. I watched her put water in a pot and light the little apartment stove. She brushed a lock of red hair off her beautiful forehead, and placed the pot on the fire. Eva still held my hand in hers and I felt grateful that she had come to help out. She was my oldest sister. I had followed her and husband Guy Smith to Kansas City to find a job. It took a few months as most work was to commence in the spring. I finnaly found employment at the stock yards and sent for Alice We had just moved into a small apartment on the west side of town to be close to work.
I felt pretty fair the rest of the day and tried getting up, but Alice said I should stay in bed and rest. I did feel weak and lay their all day, ate some solids that evening, and went to sleep at night hopeing I would be well by morning. I slept fitfully, waking several times from bad dreams, sweating and calling out. In a haze I could see my sweet Alice sitting on the bed next to me. She swabbed my forehead with a cool cloth. I felt like I was swimming in a bed of sweat, and on fire.
My dreams were of the most horrendous kind. I was back in Okalahoma Territory where I had met an Osage Indian girl as pretty as a little red wagon. In my dreams she was being tortured by her own people. I was tied down on the ground and made to watch as they mutilated her. Then I saw snakes and worms crawling on me. I awoke screaming. It was now light. Alice was stat beside me. “I’m dying,” I weakly said.
“Don’t say that, Walter Fuller, you’ll get well. We’re all praying for you,” Alice said as I felt her cool hand touch mine.
“Get me a pen and paper, please.” I said.
“Why, Walter?”
“I need …I need to write something down, Please, Alice.”
Alice left and returned with paper and pencil. I wrote for what seemed quite a long time. Finished I handed two papers to Alice and asked she not read it until later. My eyes grew heavy laden and I fell into a deep sleep…
____________________________©__________________________________________

Walter Fuller died Monday at noon, October 23, 1899, of pneumonia. Alice’s parents, John and Anna Blankenbeker, my Great Grandparents, were summoned to his death bed from Buffalo, Kansas, but arrived after he was unconscious and in a coma. Alice returned home with Walter’s body where it was left to rest in the Buffalo cemetery.
On that finale paper he had written his wishes for his funeral.
Sing some tunes we’ll understand, he wrote, “Some one will enter the pearly gate”, “Shall we gather at the river”, “Throw out the life line”, “What a gathering”.
And for Pall Bearers, John, Joe, Arvitle, Charly H., Ed Blackwood, Sine White, Hinshaw, Perry.

And then he wrote in pencil on a small piece of paper:
Swing afar ye gates of night let the night of heaven shine through
While angle hosts so bright Bear to earth the tidings new
The worlds redeemer now is born. This the song that mortals hear
Tis the earth’s first Christmas morn. Wa? The wondrous message
far and near

4 measures rest
Peaceful plains of Palestine where the shepherds watched their sheep
Highest honor now is thine, wake oh waken from thy sleep
There comes amoung us now to dwell He whom the prophets long
Foretold
Comes to be Emanuel God’s great goodness to unfold
Oh heavenly song o angle thy come from the wondrous story
Never tidings half so sweet for the news that came that day
Brings to men a joy complete power to b? sin away
Give welcome to angels song
Tell every heart with love (shall thrill and it’s sound proclaim)?
Peace on earth good will toward men

Lead-foot Disease

“”Lead-foot Disease”
Early evening, In the summer of 1962, I had reached the White Mountains of Arizona. I was having a grand time, zooming along at a cool 80 miles an hour, hearing tires squeal on curves, and, as I let off the gas down hills, my pipes, make popcorn sounds, pop,pop,pop,ptrrrrrrrrr. I thought it was great until I saw a patrol car’s red lights appeared in my rear view mirror. I stopped and the trooper pulled in behind me. The officer climbed out and walked over. He was wearing a “Smoky the Bear” hat and dark sun glasses.
I had the “Lead-foot disease when I was young. It was typical among my age group. It was pedal to the metal and see how fast she’ll go. My first ticket was for 100 miles an hour. My second, while attending traffic school, was quite a contrast, impeding traffic, or going to slow.
When I was eighteen I drove out to California and was returning to Pueblo, Colorado, a thirteen hundred mile trip. I was driving a fluid-injected Oldsmobile Jetfire.
“Goin’ a little fast there son,” the officer stated. “Clocked you at eighty. Where’s the race?””
“Yes sir…I was goin’ a little fast.” I addmitted.
“Do you have a hundred and thirty bucks you could spare?”
“No sir.”
“Then slow it down…And by the way fix those loud pipes.”
I felt relieved as I drove slowly away. However, thirty miles down the road I was back ten miles over the speed limit. I was out of the mountains
and into high desert. The sun was dropping down behind me. The rocky hills and prairie were on fire with beautiful reds, purples, and oranges. I was enjoying the panorama when I saw figures ahead in the road. I slowed down right away, but didn’t stop fast enough as I ended up a few feet ahead of them. A shotgun was shoved through my open window. The bore looked the size of a large tomato. At the other end a cowboy wearing a black cowboy hat. “That’s a good way to get killed, mister!” He excitedly stated.
I was surrounded. Mean looking Cowboys, wearing badges, side arms, and carrying shotguns encircled my car. A sheriff’s vehicle sat off the highway. I realized I had run a road block.
The cowboy pulled the shotgun out of the window; others looked through the window into my back seat. The one at my window stated, “Next time ya see a road block stop. There’s been an escape from the prison in Florence. We think he’s up ahead in St Johns. If yer planning on stayin’ there make sure you lock your car.”
I agreed and they let me drive away. I drove slowly into St Johns and through the small town. By the time I reached the other side it was dark and I speeded up. About three miles out of town I was back over the speed limit. Around a bend a flash of bright light greeted me and I thought, no, not another road block, and slid a few feet through the lights. Another shotgun was shoved through my window, the barrel this time big around as a Cantaloupe. “That’s a good way to get killed!” a cowboy said.
“Y-Y-Yes, sir…t-t-that’s what they said at the other road block!” I exclaimed.
To my relief they let me go on my way. The rest of the trip I drove the speed limit and I obeyed every law. I had learned my lesson. Of course I still speed, but now have a living, breathing, reminder to SLOW IT DOWN, my wife.