Growing Through Life: The Extraordinary Tales of an Ordinary Woman

By Linda Niehoff Davidson

After being told she may only have months to live, the author decides to share her amazing life story. From her grandfather’s solo journey to America circa 1895 to her current day health struggles, Growing Through Life is written with candor, humor, and raw emotion. Linda reveals the extraordinary obstacles and opportunities she faced as she rose from a country girl to become a nationally recognized healthcare finance executive. Her story will inspire you to treasure each new day. You will feel her pain and rejoice in her triumphs as she reveals her newly gained perspective on life.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Lulu Publishing Services
• Release date: Dec 15, 2014
• ISBN: 9781483407241

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Prologue

W HAT WOULD YOU DO IF you were told you may have only months to live? That’s the question I face. Tony, my son-in-law, suggested I write to my daughter Kim and tell her everything I want her to know. The truth is, though, she knows these things already.

She knows I love her and her dad more than anything. She knows how unbelievably proud I am of her and how much I respect her and her choices. She knows I will fight to stay with her as long as I can. Through the years I have given advice to many people, whether solicited or not. Kim, of course, bore the brunt of this. Somewhere along the path that advice went from being unwelcomed to being respected. What Kim may not know is that she no longer needs advice from me. In recent times of dilemma in her life she has worked through problems logically and realistically and has shown better judgment than any advice I could give. So what is left to say?

I have had such a full life. I wish Kim could see the world as I have seen it, just as I wish I could see the wonderful things her future holds. That, of course, is not possible. Perhaps, however, by sharing some of my life stories she will know a little bit more about her mom. She may better understand how it is possible to wade through the murk of life and find happiness. Maybe it will help her grieve and then carry on. I hope so. At any rate, if you know me you know I love to write, and that I enjoy talking about myself! I hope to share the value of continuing to grow through - not just go through - life, regardless of the obstacles. Kim, this one’s for you.

Chapter 1

Loaf of Bread

T HE YEAR WAS 1905. Great-grandpa feared for his family and his land. A farmer in the region now known as Czechoslovakia (Chos Slovaka), he was well aware of the political turmoil and unrest that surrounded him. Uncertain what the future held, he prayed he would be able to hold on to his farmland and provide for his family. But what did the future hold for his children? He had heard of the freedoms and opportunities in America, but did not have the means to move his family. Even if he did, it was required that you have established work before you could immigrate to the States.

Then, an opportunity arose. The farmer’s eldest son was offered a job in a tailoring shop in St. Louis, Missouri owned by Mr. Moravec’s brother. At least one member of the farmer’s family could be spared the oppression yet to come. The boy, only sixteen at the time, was wary, but agreed to go. Perhaps someday he would prosper enough to bring the rest of the family overseas. Preparations were made, the ticket for ocean passage was bought, and the family was ready to send the boy on his way. As the moment for departure grew nearer, the boy said he could not do it. He could not leave his homeland and family.

His younger brother, Frank, age thirteen and with a fourth grade education, said he would go. The farmer and his wife worried that Frank was too young to make such a journey alone. In the end, though, they could not deny him the opportunity to find prosperity in America. And so, Frank left all he knew and began his long ocean journey.

Frank was tall and strong from working the farm at home. The galley staff gladly welcomed him into their fold, and he got extra food from them. When they arrived at Ellis Island the staff handed him a long loaf of bread. He was told that if he could not find his uncle, he should eat a little bit of the bread every day until he found work. Fortunately, Frank found his uncle, went through the process at Ellis Island, and headed for St. Louis.

Frank did not like the big city. He was a farmer at heart. He learned of a family of Czechs who were working a farm in the country, and they eagerly hired him. Through them, he met another family from Czechoslovakia who had a farm in High Ridge, Missouri, and he eventually went to work for them. That was the Korbelik farm, and on January 11, 1916, he married the farmer’s daughter: my grandmother, Anna Korbelik. Frank studied and became a US citizen, then went on to teach his father-in-law, Joseph Korbelik, what he needed to know to pass the citizenship test.

The Korbelik farm had many acres. They built a large stone farmhouse on their property as well as a barn, a well, chicken coops, and more. Frank and Anna had four children. Ann, the oldest, worked mostly indoors and was considered more frail. She married and had five children. Next was my mother Mary, baptized Mamie, and called Marie at school. She preferred Mary and used that name when applying for her social security card. She was strong and worked in the fields. The only boy, Frank, grew up to go into the US army and eventually had ten children of his own. Young Frank did not want to stay on the farm. He was eager for adventure. Lil was the youngest of the siblings. She worked for decades at Procter & Gamble and eventually had one daughter.

The school they attended was a one-room schoolhouse with a wood stove, like Little House on the Prairie only smaller. Many students were the children of immigrants but English was mandated in the school. Because of this, and because he was so proud to be a citizen, my grandfather said they should speak English at home as well. Mom did well in school and made it to her eighth grade graduation. Beyond that she was needed at the farm. When her brother entered the service, she bore the brunt of the heavy work.

When she was young, Mom always travelled with Grandpa to Soulard Market in St. Louis. There were no driver’s licenses issued in those days. One day Grandpa looked at her, handed her the keys and said, You drive. That she made it up that steep, narrow, rock road out of the valley where the farm was, and then to St. Louis, amazes me. But that was Mom. It seems she could do anything.

Another example of this was Mom’s first job. Everything you needed could either be bought at the grocery store, feed store or Werner’s general store in High Ridge. Mr. Werner was very conservative and a little difficult. Women were not permitted in the store unless they wore skirts. The clerk was, of course, male. It was not a job for a woman. When all the young men went off to World War II, Mr. Werner was in a pickle. A former teacher at the school told him that Mary Moravec was really good at math and a hard worker. Mr. Werner was not convinced, but hired her conditionally until he could find an appropriate clerk. Well, Mom was great at the job. When women came in to pick out cloth to make a dress, she would show them thread, lace, or trimmings that would go with the material. Perhaps they would like this hat; it would go beautifully with the dress and be the envy of the ladies in the church. Sales increased, Mom stayed until the boys returned from the War, and before she was done women were wearing slacks in the store.

When I was young, most Sundays were spent at my maternal grandparents’ farm. We would bring groceries and Mom would do chores. There were a dozen or so stray dogs at any time and Grandpa fed them all. Grandma would kill a chicken for dinner by holding its head and spinning it around until the head came off. I never understood how the chicken could still run around, but I witnessed this horrendous display many times. I’d help de-feather the chickens in water and can remember how bad they smelled. Nevertheless, the fried chicken was really good and served to prove what a true carnivore I am.

There were so many fun things to do at the farm. There frequently were puppies or kittens to play with, as well as an old mule to pull the plow, a cow, a horse and a bull. Once the cow chased me and I was completely terrified. I ran over the little bridge that led to the steps leading up to the farmhouse, thinking that if the cow followed me she might crash through the bridge into the creek. Apparently she had the same thought and stopped at the bridge. It was much later before my heart stopped pounding.

There was a pond with little fish behind the barn. Grandpa would show me how to dig for worms, bait a hook and fish in the pond. I would never bait the hook myself. One day I was fishing, standing alone in a wagon by the pond, and got a tug on my line. I pulled and pulled but couldn’t get the fish out of the water. I was sure I had caught a whopper - until I saw a huge snapping turtle slowly making its way out of the water toward me. I screamed for help with all my might, certain I was going to be eaten by that turtle. Grandpa came running in fear but got quite a chuckle when he saw me up on that wagon with my catch of the day. I never cared much for fishing after that.

The hayloft over the barn was a favorite play spot. When he was cooperative, my cousins and I tried to get the old horse to let us ride him in a circle around the barn. Sometimes Grandpa would pull up a bucket from the creek with a nice cold watermelon inside. The strawberries and pea pods were my favorite crops and there was a peach orchard near the road. Grandpa sold peaches and sometimes my older brother Gordon and I helped out. Actually Gordon did the work – I sat by the road with a big OPEN sign. Did mention I was spoiled?

When Grandma got older, she could no longer stay at the farm but Grandpa would never leave. Grandma stayed with us or with my Aunt Ann. The day that we watched a man walk on the moon, Grandma was with us. I still recall her face as she watched with wonder. She had seen the arrival of cars, planes, and rocket ships, as well as the emergence of the telephone, radio and television as part of daily life. Now she was watching man travel to the moon. Can you imagine? That generation saw so much change. Grandpa did not even believe the moon landing was real.

Mom called Grandpa three times a day – at 8 a.m. 12 p.m. and 5 p.m. Grandpa would always make sure he was in from the fields at those times. One day he did not answer the morning call. When he did not answer at noon either, my cousins went out to check on him. They found him in his chair by the phone with a cold cup of coffee. At the age of 79 he had passed waiting for Mom’s call. It was meant to be that he never left the farm. Grandma passed away years later at the age of 85, always having referred (sometimes fondly, sometimes not) to her dear Frankie. It was emotionally difficult to sell that farm. The buyer was interested in the land but not the farmhouse. It was hard getting rid of the animals. We each took a few mementos. I took an old trunk, a chair, and a silly salt and pepper set shaped like dogs. We should have auctioned off the rest of the household belongings and farm equipment, I suppose. No one had the heart to, though, and eventually it was all pillaged.

The farm as we knew it no longer exists. The steep gravel road leading down to the valley is gone. The once plowed fields now have homes on them. The memories, though, live on forever.

Chapter 2

Who Needs Cows?

M Y PATERNAL GRANDPARENTS HAD A very modern house for the era. It was built in the early 1900’s. It was obvious that at one time the family had money. They had nice material possessions, many of which were wedding gifts, like the elegant china set with service for twelve. The white two-story house had both front and back porches and was built on a large lot with a a fantastic view. There were many windows on all sides and lots of gingerbread. On the main level there were three bedrooms, a large kitchen, a dining room, and parlor which could be separated off by heavy wooden sliding doors that recessed into the walls. The upstairs had two all-purpose rooms. The house had old-fashioned push-button electric lighting, and a mantel clock above the large fireplace that Nanny wound up religiously each day. Her name was Truma Brundage and she did not want to be called Grandma. Her ancestors had emmigrated from England to New York. My grandfather was William Niehoff. His father was Wilhelm Erst Niehoff, married to Henrietta. Wilhelm was an immigrant from Prussia seeking to escape the aftermath of the 1848 revolution.

My