Hobnobbing with Emporers and Do-It-Yourself Surgeons

Today each student in my Anabaptist History class told stories about their relatives--ancestors in particular. The stories ran the gamut from family members being in the presence of some of the most powerful and respected people in the world to being so infamously misguided and unbalanced as to claim divinity.

Tim's Great Great Grandfather Noah had the misfortune one day of sawing into his finger while he and his son Jacob were working together in the shop. When Jacob saw that the finger was hanging only by the skin, he urged his father to go the house to get it bandaged up. "No," Noah said. "This piece will always be in the way, even if it heals back on." So saying, he laid his finger on the workbench and proceeded to sever the remaining attachment between the two segments of his finger. Then he wrapped it in a rag, stuck the whole assembly into a can of kerosene till it was soaked, and went back to work.

Kevin's ancestor, a Blankenburg (now Plank) from Holland, became an inadvertent immigrant when he and his young wife went aboard a ship to tell some dear emigrant friends goodbye. The captain assured them that they had plenty of time. While they were on board, the ship departed, and they could not disembark till they came to America. The passage was paid for by an American who then had the rights to Mr. Blankenship's labor for five years. This was a way for unscrupulous ship captains to make extra money.

A similar thing happened to Zachary's Riehl ancestor, except that his misfortune took him away from his parents when he was only ten years old, and he was obligated to work as an indentured servant until he was 21 years old. Because he was the child of Anabaptists, he was drawn to the Amish men he saw for the first time after a number of years of being in America. After he turned 21, he accepted the invitation the men gave him when they had first met, and sought out the community where they lived in Berks County, PA.

Sheila G. told the story of the Hochstetler deaths and injuries when they were attacked by Indians. Sheila R. told some funny stories about how her grandparents some distance back first got acquainted when a certain young man walked nervously past a long row of seated girls, and one of them unaccountably stuck out her foot and tripped him. (I hope it wasn't quite as crass as it sounds.) This close encounter must have triggered some good vibrations and they ended up getting married.

Ida told about how a relative of hers died suddenly in Indiana while threshing. His brother, Peter Wagler, who lived in Kansas, got word that one of his brothers had died. He packed up and went to the funeral, but did not know till he arrived which brother it was. Another relative was involved in a horrific car-buggy accident while his wife was with him. Rescuers took him to the hospital, and when he revived and asked about his wife, no one had a clue what had become of her. Everyone thought he was the only person in the buggy. Her body was later discovered in a nearby field.

Jared told about an ancestor who felt the need to relieve himself during the night while he was visiting in someone else's home. Rather than stumble downstairs in the dark in a strange place, he developed a plan that involved opening the window and stepping onto the metal roof outside it. The roof was wet and very slippery and he made a swift unplanned descent over the edge and onto the ground below. The conclusion to this story is a bit sketchy, but it's likely that his original mission was accomplished, minus the stealth he anticipated.

Ryan's great great uncle renamed himself John Peace Dove instead of the pedestrian-sounding Jonas Beiler name he was born with, moved to the West Coast and declared himself the Son of God. He kept mailing literature back to his sister Delila, who promptly and sensibly disposed of it. Ryan's Grandma Edna (the one from Kansas--the other Edna grandmother lives in Ohio) is really rad, we heard today. One of her claims to fame is that she is a licensed HAM radio operator--the first Amish Mennonite woman with that distinction, and now, nearly 30 years after she got her license at 50, she may still be the only such person.

Frieda regaled us with tales about Andrew Kuepfer, Jr. who had to eat soft and sticky rye bread on the voyage to America. The bread was so damp that if you squeezed it into a ball and threw it against the wall it would stick to the wall. Andrew must really have been desperate for entertainment on his long trip. Either that, or he was really sick of overly soft rye bread. "But just think, if he hadn't stuck it out, right now there would be no Frieda to grace this place," Frieda finished triumphantly, tongue in cheek. Everyone laughed in delight, keenly aware that it's a very good thing we have avoided that tragedy.

My adventurous Beachy Great Grandparents moved from Ohio to Southwest Texas to make a living with produce farming. The irrigation well they were promised was 1200 feet deep and was located 2 miles away from their fields. By the time the water arrived at the field after having run through an above-ground pipe, it was scalding hot, but, after the mesquite was cleared and the soil irrigated, they could grow wonderful crops--in freight-car-load quantities. Unfortunately, by the time they paid freight charges to Austin, Dallas, Houston, or even St. Louis, they realized very little profit for their produce growing. Once they had a train car load of onions returned with freight due. They responded by informing the railroad that they had no money to pay the freight, but they had more onions they would offer instead. The railroad never collected. The Beachys returned to Ohio and later went on to Illinois, then Iowa, where better times awaited them.

Kenneth's story topped them all. His great grandfather, Clayton Keener, along with his wife, responded to a direct request from Heilie Selassie, the Emperor of Ethiopia, to come to Ethiopia to care for blind children and teach them a trade. The initial request was for people who knew how to teach the blind. When the sending organization responded by saying they had no one with those qualifications to send, the Emperor asked instead for "someone who will love my people." For ten years, the Keeners loved his people and worked among them.

The emperor visited in their home several times, and once brought them American chocolate, some of it made in Lititz, PA, the Keeners' hometown. They conversed in French and English through an interpreter, something the Keeners realized late in the game would not have been necessary when the Emperor apparently forgot himself and spoke to Mrs. Keener in English in response to something she had said in English. Inexplicably, for royalty, using an interpreter must have seemed more proper.

Before the Keeners left Ethiopia, Hailie Selassie gave Mr. and Mrs. Keener each a large solid gold medal. They packed it with their things and declared it when they went through customs in America. The agent who inspected their belongings knew very well the law in effect at that time in the United States, that private citizens were not allowed to own gold in that quantity. That was a privilege only for the government. He asked specifically if the medals were solid gold. Mr. Keener said "Yes."

"Well, it's obvious you won't want to melt those down," he said, and gave their medals back without penalty.

Later, when the Keeners' belongings were divided, those medals went to the two family members who had in subsequent years also served in Ethiopia.

Hailie Selassie was, in his day, widely admired for his competence and eloquence. He ruled Ethiopia for 45 years and was once named by Time magazine as the Person of the Year. But somewhere in Pennsylvania, a humble Mennonite family knew him as a friend who brought candy for everyone when he came to visit. That, and large, solid gold medals.