Marian Lang’s Family Chronicles – Her Beloved Brother John

May 30, 1993

My Brother, John, was buried yesterday, and a part of my sister-heart with him.  Is it strange to say that part daughter-heart is with my Mom and Dad and certainly; my lover-wife heart will always be with George? A heart must have many facets because I still have much love to share with my family, friends, and you, whoever might care to read this.

As part of the funeral Mass, four speakers eulogized John, each with their own memories of him as an adult. My memories and thoughts went back to our childhood memories of John, the early years with you, if you will. I would share a few.

Mom told me many times over that John was never ever jealous of me when I was born.  I was his little sister and he looked out for me, always.  I like to think that it was never in John’s nature to be jealous or envious of anyone.

My very first personal memory took place on Ward Street in Chicago when I was three years old.  My Mom was talking in German, almost in a whisper.  Translated, “Johnny, Johnny you could have been killed, you have to be careful”. It seems that he had almost been run over by a car. John was six years old and allowed to a play outside. I do not have any of the details, only the memory of that conversation.

John, if anything was always enthusiastic and excited about everything.  He attended Prescott School for the first grade and when the family moved to Belmont Avenue, he was enrolled in the Schneider School. The spring after we moved a baseball game was scheduled between Prescott and Schneider. John burst into the house after the game and was so excited. “Mom, we won” he shouted.  Mom was happy because it meant that he was adjusting to the new school.  Somehow, she must have mentioned Schneider School.  “No, Mom, it was Prescott, when I saw Schneider was losing, I went over to the other side”. True story which was told and retold by Mom and always with a hearty laugh.

John coaxed me to play marbles with him on the living room rug.  He would lay a string in a circle to be the ‘pot’. And he would show me how to hold the marbles and how to shoot.  No matter how hard I tried he always won. When he played with the boys in the dirt, and dirt it was, I could be a spectator.  However, I always rooted for him and was happy when he won some good ‘aggies’.

The kids in our neighborhood were great for flying kites in the springtime.  Hamlin Park ball field was the favorite spot.  I was very young but just old enough to cross Belmont Avenue.  Mom would pack a sandwich and cookies and I would take them in my doll buggy to bring lunch to my brother so that he wouldn’t have to wind in the string and come home. I loved that.  Then he would show me how he sent messages on slips of paper up the string to the kite.

And we would wrestle for fun on the living room floor. Of course, he would always win but eventually I learned a trick.  If I could manage to kneel on his arms and make him laugh, I had it made.

And then there was fudge. I hated fudge. But John wanted to make fudge and had a recipe that called for putting a small amount of the cooked ingredients into cold water for testing.  Something always went wrong with the testing because the candy would have to be recooked in order to harden.  The result was crumbly and sugary but I was coaxed to eat it so he could make more another time.  The first time I made my recipe for ·•Old Fashioned Fudge, I sent him a box and marked it ‘Cooked only once, honest’!

Miss Doerr was our Fourth-grade teacher.  She was a tall, heavy woman and most kids were really scared stiff of her. One day John came home from her grade with all ‘E’s in his subjects and a big red ‘F’ in deportment.  Disaster!  A bad mark in deportment was not tolerated in the Kahles household. When Mom talked to Miss Doerr the teacher told her that John had not misbehaved but that she couldn’t talk to him.  He always cried. So, Mom took John to our family doctor for a checkup.  Dr. Becker prescribed a rest period after school.  It was to be done in just this way. He was to sit in the big, overstuffed armchair with his arms resting on the sides for fifteen minutes before going out to play. John never cried in Miss Doerr’s room again and got good grades in deportment. I like to think that the rest period might have helped, or John began to think that crying was not worth fifteen minutes of play time.

When John was in the seventh grade he cried again. His then girlfriend, Ruth, told him she liked another boy. Elsie Schilling, another classmate, consoled him with the old saying, “There are other fish in the sea”.  And how happy how grateful we all are that John found a magic sea in Cincinnati and there found his beautiful, true love, Bea.  She was and is the love of his life.

And there are many stories of John’s early years. The school yard fights all the way up to the fun of waiting up for each other to talk about our girl and boy parties.

But it is nearing midnight and now my thoughts are of Pearl Buck, the author of ‘The Good Earth’.  After her husband of many years died, she could find no rest, no peace, no consolation.  Finally, after a few years she returned to China where she had spent many years.  There she climbed up a mountain, alone, and when she reached a certain point she sat down and put her back against a warm rock.  She wrote that she sat there for a long, long time and finally found peace.  I like to think that we must all find our own warm rock, whatever that may be, to find peace within ourselves.

There is a rock waiting for me to heal the hurt of John’s death. I don’t know where or what it is.  I only know for certain that it is there, and I will find it.

I loved him.  Marian (Babe) John’s sister.