Descendants of Johann Friedrich Wilhelm Stelzriede

Fifth Generation

46. Emma Caroline Sophia Stelzriede (Carl Heinrich (Charley) , Johann Heinrich , Johann Heinrich , Johann Friedrich Wilhelm ) was born on 6 Nov 1876. She died in 1932. She was buried in North Prairie Cemetery, IL.

From Owens family of the Ozarks web site.
Middle names from Fred Backsmeier 11/2004.

Emma married Ernest Henry Frederick Gerling on 6 Aug 1902. Ernest was born on 21 Apr 1873 in North Prairie, Washington County, IL. He died on 5 Aug 1949. He was buried in North Prairie Cemetery, IL.

Henry and Emma Gerling lived on a farm south of Hoyleton, Washington Co., IL - from Fred Backsmeier 11/2004.

Ernest and Emma had the following children:

  103 F i Florence Edna Gerling was born on 2 Dec 1903 in Hoyleton, IL. She died on 6 Apr 2004 in St Louis, MO. She was buried in North Prairie Cemetery, IL.

from Fred Backsmeier 11/2004.

47. Lydia Mary Stelzriede [scrapbook] (Carl Heinrich (Charley) , Johann Heinrich , Johann Heinrich , Johann Friedrich Wilhelm ) was born on 23 Oct 1879. She died on 30 Dec 1955. She was buried in North Prairie Cemetery, IL.

From the Owens Family of the Ozarks web site.

Also some from Gynzer's genealogy page.

And from the North Prairie Cemetery web site and from Fred Backsmeier 11/2004.

Lydia married Louis Philip Peithmann on 22 Apr 1903. Louis was born on 20 May 1874 in Hoyleton, IL. He died on 5 Feb 1952. He was buried in North Prairie Cemetery, IL.

Death date from the North Prairie Cemetery web site.
Grain and livestock farmer. from Fred Backsmeier 11/2004.

Louis and Lydia had the following children:

+ 104 M i Wilfred Herbert Peithmann
+ 105 F ii Mildred Leona Peithmann
  106 M iii Warren Charles Peithmann was born on 16 Jul 1909. He died on 23 Nov 1983 in Nashville, IL. He was buried in Masonic Cemetery, Nashville, IL.

SS 359-30-5668
from Fred Backsmeier 11/2004.
        Warren married Vera M Eade on 6 Dec 1935 in St Louis, MO. Vera was born on 24 Jul 1910 in Nashville, IL. She died on 17 Apr 2002 in Nashville, IL. She was buried in Masonic Cemetery, Nashville, IL.

From Fred Backsmeier 11/2004.

Vera M. Peithman, 91, of Nashville, passed away at 5:25 p.m. Wednesday, April 17, 2002 at the Washington County Hospital, Nashville.
Born July 24, 1910 in Nashville, she was the daughter of Walton and Bertha (Stephenson) Eade. She married Warren C. Peithman on December 6, 1935 in St. Louis, Missouri, and he preceded her in death on November 23, 1983.
Survivors include one sister, Margaret Prusz of Nashville; two sisters-in-law, Harriet Eade of Nashville and Loretta Peithman of St. Louis, Missouri; brother-in-law, Milton Prest of Coulterville; three nephews, Gordon Eade of Pensacola, Florida, Richard Eade of LeRoy and Harold Prusz of Nashville; two nieces, Martha Mahon of St. Louis, Missouri, and Winonna Campbell of Wisconsin; a special friend, Raymond Cooksey of Centralia.
She was preceded in death by a brother, Howard Eade; a sister, Beulah Eade; three sisters-in-law, Margaret Eade, Olive Prest and Mildred Campbell; two brothers-in-law, Wilford Peithman and Walter Prusz; and nephews, Calvin, Bob and Kenneth Eade; in addition to her husband and parents.
She was a member of Grace United Methodist Church, Nashville, and the Washington County Hospital Auxiliary. She was a retired telephone operator in Nashville.
Funeral services were held at 11:00 a.m. Monday, April 22, at Grace United Methodist Church, Nashville. Rev. Bob Herath officiated. Interment was in the Masonic Cemetery. Pallbearers were Bob, Bill, Jeremy and Steven Eade, Timothy Mahon and Richard Tomaszewski.
Memorials may be made to Grace United Methodist Church.
The Styninger-Krupp Funeral Home, Nashville, was in charge of arrangements.
+ 107 F iv Olive Peithmann

48. Clara Louise Stelzriede (Carl Heinrich (Charley) , Johann Heinrich , Johann Heinrich , Johann Friedrich Wilhelm ) was born on 10 Jan 1882 in Richview Township, IL. She died on 11 Jan 1913.

From the Gynzers history on the web site.\

Death date from Claude Stelzriede. 10/2003 and Fred Backsmeier 11/2004.

Clara married George Henry Hoffman on 11 Mar 1908. George was born on 15 May 1878 in Hoyleton, IL. He died on 10 Sep 1955 in Washington County, IL. He was buried in North Prairie Cemetery, Washington County, IL.

They had the following children:

+ 108 F i Leona Hilda Hoffman
+ 109 F ii Clara Cornelia Hoffman

49. Anna Louise Stelzriede [scrapbook] (Carl Heinrich (Charley) , Johann Heinrich , Johann Heinrich , Johann Friedrich Wilhelm ) was born on 26 Nov 1883 in Beaucoup, IL. She died in 1952. She was buried in Hillcrest Memorial Park, Centralia, IL.

11/16/1884 Birth from Claude Stelzriede. 10/2003
Fred Backsmeier has 11/26/1883 for birth. 11/2004

Anna married Julius Theodore Brink on 31 Mar 1909. Julius was born on 16 Nov 1880. He died in Dec 1964. He was buried in Hillcrest Memorial Park, Centralia, IL.

Brinks lived in Washington, County, IL from 18. Also came from Prussia.
Death date 0f 1964 instead of 1954 - from Fred Backsmeier 11/2004.

Julius and Anna had the following children:

  110 F i Anita Anne Brink was born on 21 May 1910. She died Unknown. She was buried in Hillcrest Memorial Park, Centralia, IL.

from Fred Backsmeier 11/2004.
+ 111 F ii Vera Louise Brink
+ 112 F iii Mable Irene Brink
+ 113 M iv Irvin Charles Brink

54. Carl August Stelzriede [scrapbook] (Carl Heinrich (Charley) , Johann Heinrich , Johann Heinrich , Johann Friedrich Wilhelm ) was born on 4 Aug 1892 in Beaucoup Twnshp, IL. He died in Apr 1952 in Omaha, Douglas County, NB.

Birth 8/12/1892 from Claude Stelzriede - 10/2003.
Same as August mentioned by Fred C. Stelzriede in his notes.

Went to NB, married, worked for Railway Express. - from F.C. Stelzriede.

Listing of Carl A. Stilzride in Omaha, NB in 1930 census. (born about 1892).

Details from Fred Backsmeier 11/2004.

Carl married Sophia E (Sophie) Thaden [scrapbook]. Sophia was born on 11 Jul 1900 in Blair, Washington County, NB. She died on 27 Oct 1988 in Milwaukee, WI.

Listed as Syshie E. Stilzride in 1930 census online.

From FamilySearch™ U.S. Social Security Death Index.
Probably wife of August Stelzriede, son of Charles Henry S. (b. 1847, Hille) who moved to NB.

Edith J. PULS, 96, of Arlington, died Sunday, April 27, 2003, at Arbor Manor in Fremont. Funeral services will be 1:30 p.m. Thursday, May 1, at Reckmeyer-Moser Funeral Home in Arlington with the Rev. Lynn Martin officiating. Interment will be in the German Cemetery in Bennington. Visitation began Wednesday, and will also be held from 10 a.m. until 1:30 p.m. on Thursday at the funeral home. Edith J. Puls was born June 4, 1906, in Fort Calhoun to Ude and Bertha (Haas) Thaden. On Jan. 25, 1928, she married Fredrick T. Puls in Omaha. She was preceded in death by her husband, Frederick, in 1989; three brothers, Otto, Rhinehart and Rudolph Thaden; three sisters, Sophie Stelzriede, Helen Kay and Hulda Dixon; and a sister-in-law, Hulda Wrich. Reckmeyer-Moser Funeral Home is in charge of arrangements.

Nebraska obituary abstracts. Gives last name of Sophie Stelzriede, plus info on sisters and brothers and confirms that she lived in NB.

Details from Fred Backsmeier 11/2004.

Carl and Sophia had the following children:

+ 114 F i Lois Ann Stelzriede

55. Mabel Edna Stelzriede [scrapbook] (Carl Heinrich (Charley) , Johann Heinrich , Johann Heinrich , Johann Friedrich Wilhelm ) was born on 25 Nov 1894 in Hoyleton, IL. She died on 3 Feb 1966 in Okawville, Washington County, IL. She was buried on 6 Feb 1966 in Hillcrest Memorial Park, Centralia, IL.

Birth/death/marriage from Claude Stelzriede - 10/2003.

A picture postcard with a photo of Mabel Edna and her mother Caroline that is postmarked July 21, 1914, sent from Hoyleton to Nashville, IL to her sister, Clara Louise and husband George (Mr & Mrs Geo. Hoffmann) has the following text: "Dear bro & sis: How are all you folks by this time? We are all well and enjoying this nice weather. Did you get through thrashing? I helped at (Annie's or Arnia's?) last week. I got a card from Mae (probably her cousin, Mae Stelzriede) she is going to spend her vacation with me so I won't be quite so lonesome; Aug. is still going with the thrashing machine. Yours lovingly, Mabel
(with a note at the top of the card, "Let us hear from you sometime, mother sends her love.") One wonders how the photo/ postcard were purchased out on the farm. Note that no street address was needed, just RFD (Rural Free Delivery). Postage was 1 cent.

Mabel was confirmed by Rev. F. D. Rademacher at Hoyleton, IL 4/28/1907.
from Fred Backsmeier 11/2004.

Mabel married Gustav H (Gus) Backsmeier [scrapbook] on 19 Feb 1917 in Nashville, IL. Gustav was born on 3 Apr 1892 in Irvington, Jefferson Co., IL. He died on 7 Jun 1945 in Village of Wamac, Clinton Co., IL. He was buried on 10 Jun 1945 in Hillcrest Memorial Park, Centralia, IL.

from Fred Backsmeier 11/2004.

Gustav and Mabel had the following children:

+ 115 M i Carl Frederic Backsmeyer
+ 116 M ii Living

56. Henry Frederick Christian Stelzriede (Christian Frederick (Frederick) , Johann Heinrich , Johann Heinrich , Johann Friedrich Wilhelm ) was born on 30 Jun 1878 in Hoyleton, IL. He died on 5 Jun 1968 in Mount Auburn, IL.

Found on
Phyllis Scott
In IL in 1910 & 1920 census.
In SS death index.

Listed as a farmer in the 1920 IL census. From Darin Harshman.

Henry married Mary Ann (Anna, Annie) Hartman on 24 Dec 1901. Mary died Unknown.

They had the following children:

+ 117 F i Helen Freda Stelzriede
+ 118 M ii Orville Henry Stelzriede
+ 119 F iii Alma Francis Stelzriede
  120 F iv Evelyn Irene Stelzriede was born on 26 Nov 1918 in Mt. Auburn, IL. She died on 30 Jan 1920 in Decatur, IL.

Some info from - Phyllis Scott on
Born on T.T. Roberts place.
In 1920 census in Mosquito Township, IL on 1/22/1920 - died 8 days later.
+ 121 M v William Frederick (Billie) Stelzriede

57. Ida Stelzriede (Christian Frederick (Frederick) , Johann Heinrich , Johann Heinrich , Johann Friedrich Wilhelm ) was born on 29 Mar 1880 in Hoyleton, IL. She died in 1967 in St. Louis, MO.

Lived in St. Louis, MO.
Some info from - Phyllis Scott on

Ida married Otto Meisner about 1900. Otto died Unknown.

They had the following children:

  122 M i Ernest Meisner was born about 1900 in IL. He died Unknown.
  123 F ii Living
        Living married Living.

58. Emelia Mary (Amelia, Millie) Stelzriede [scrapbook] (Christian Frederick (Frederick) , Johann Heinrich , Johann Heinrich , Johann Friedrich Wilhelm ) was born on 30 Jul 1882 in Hoyleton, North Prairie, IL. She died on 22 Mar 1969. She was buried in Hillcrest Cemetery, Centralia, IL.

Some info from - Phyllis Scott on

Emelia married August Henry Ludwig (Gus) Meyer [scrapbook] on 1 Mar 1905. August was born on 16 Sep 1877 in South Hemmern, District Of Minden, Germany. He died on 7 Feb 1969 in Centralia, IL. He was buried in Hillcrest Cemetery, Centralia, IL.

Came to U.S. about 1893 at age 16. Settled in Irvington, IL area.

August and Emelia had the following children:

+ 124 M i Albert Frederick August Meyer
  125 M ii Living
+ 126 M iii Lester Arthur Meyer
  127 M iv George Jacob Meyer [scrapbook] was born on 16 Sep 1918 in Irvington, IL. He died on 13 Jul 1949 in Centralia, IL. He was buried in Hillcrest Cemetery, Centralia, IL.

  128 F v Infant Meyer was born about 1920. She died about 1920.
  129 F vi Living

59. Arthur F. Stelzriede (Christian Frederick (Frederick) , Johann Heinrich , Johann Heinrich , Johann Friedrich Wilhelm ) was born on 19 Oct 1885 in Hoyleton, IL. He died on 1 Jan 1983 in Centralia, IL. He was buried in Ashley Cemetery, IL.

He worked on a farm in Richview since moving there. In his later years on the farm, he ran the dairy portion of it. From daughter Ada via Claude Stelzriede. 7/21/2003.

Some info from - Phyllis Scott on

Arthur married (1) Dora M Smiley on 21 Feb 1909 in Richview, IL. Dora was born about 1890. She died in 1964.

From a children's home (orphanage) in Hoyleton, IL. (from Ada Stelzriede via Claude - 7/21/2003).

Arthur and Dora had the following children:

  130 M i Lyle Stelzriede was born on 8 Oct 1909 in Beaucoup, IL. He died in 1954 in MO.

From FamilySearch™ U.S. Social Security Death Index as L. Stelzriede only. More information elsewhere.
Had Heart Condition. My understanding he had his own construction company, as told to me by Aunt Ada - from Claude Stelzriede 7/21/2003.
  131 M ii Everrett W. Stelzriede was born on 11 Jul 1911 in Beaucoup, IL. He died on 21 Sep 1984. He was buried in Richview, IL.

From FamilySearch™ U.S. Social Security Death Index.
Heart Condition Buried in Richview Cemetery. He retired from Eltra Die Casting Company. - from Ada & Claude Stelzriede 7/21/2003.
        Everrett married Esta Vera Thompson on 20 Jun 1935. Esta was born on 16 Jan 1908 in IL. She died on 2 Jul 1995 in Thompsonville, Franklin County, IL.

From FamilySearch™ U.S. Social Security Death Index. Zip 62890
+ 132 M iii Oscar J. Stelzriede
  133 F iv Mildred Stelzriede was born on 3 Mar 1916 in Beaucoup, IL. She died on 15 Oct 1998 in IL. She was buried in Richview Cemetery, IL.

Mildred A., born March 3, 1916, died October 15, 1998. In Nursing Home. Had both legs amputated at one time. Buried in Richview Cemetery.
        Mildred married (1) Living.
        Mildred married (2) Living.
+ 134 M v Claude F. Stelzriede
+ 135 F vi Ada Alice Stelzriede
  136 F vii Living
        Living married (1) Living.
        Living married (2) Living.
  137 F viii Ada Mae Stelzriede was born about 1925 in Beaucoup, IL. She died about 1925.

Infant - died at birth. - From Claude Stelzriede 7/21/2003.

Arthur married (2) Olive Jack on 27 Jun 1966. Olive was born on 30 Jun 1890. She died on 18 Jan 1981.

62. Mae Mary Elizabeth Stelzriede [scrapbook] (Christian Frederick (Frederick) , Johann Heinrich , Johann Heinrich , Johann Friedrich Wilhelm ) was born on 18 Mar 1892 in Hoyleton, IL. She died on 24 Feb 1982 in Fayette County Hosp., Vandalia, IL. She was buried in Elmwood Cemetery, Centralia, IL.

Some info from - Phyllis Scott on

Mae married Living.

They had the following children:

  138 M i Living
  139 F ii Living
        Living married Living.

63. Frederick Carl Benjamin (Fred) Stelzriede [scrapbook] (Christian Frederick (Frederick) , Johann Heinrich , Johann Heinrich , Johann Friedrich Wilhelm ) was born on 14 May 1894 in Hoyleton, IL. He died on 11 Aug 1989 in Alton, IL. He was buried in Valley View Cemetery, Edwardsville, IL.

(Recorded Spring 1982 at age 87, recorded by Keturah (Kaye) Stelzriede Sickbert and transcribed by her daughter Sandra Sickbert Thompson)


I, Frederick Carl Benjamin Stelzriede, was the third child of Frederick Christian Stelzriede and Anna Maria Charlotte Krietemeier Stelzriede. My first sister died shortly after birth, about two years later my sister Mae Elizabeth was born, and then I was born on May 14, 1894. I have a hazy memory of my maternal grandfather dying when he was somewhere in his fifties, I think. He had been a coal miner and a miller, and they were living at Nashville, Illinois, at the time he died. The hazy memory of mine is that we called there after he had died, and we were in my grandmother's home. I just recall being in the rooms and especially in the hall which, in the small house they had, was between the kitchen and the bedrooms. Then I remember Mother and Father bidding my grandmother goodbye, and that's all I remember of that. I think that is about the earliest memory I have.
Another memory that I have is of my father. I just don't know exactly how old I was, but my mischievous nature showed up that time because we had a pile of lumber by the side of the barn lot. The pile was raised up a little bit by some wooden blocks so that there was room for chickens to get under it. There was a chicken that had a flock of little chickens, and she was scratching around that old woodpile and all the little chickens were running around. When I came up, she had her chickens underneath the pile of lumber and she kept them under her wings. Well, I got the idea that I'd like to see those chickens come out, so I got a pole and began shoving it under the woodpile. The old hen would get angry and she would come out at me and ruffle up her feathers. That amused me, and when she would get back under with her little chicks, I'd poke it again. We had some slop, we called it, that was really the garbage that came out of the kitchen from preparing meals and that would be put into buckets along with perhaps some water, dishwater, or something like that, father would take that down to the hog pen and feed it to the hogs in a trough. They liked it because it had so much garbage in it. Well, father came down along that way while I was poking at the hen with her little chicks and he said, “Freddy, quit that!” Of course my father was very stern, an old German, and I quit it for a little bit. Then he went on down with the slop for the hogs and I started poking the old hen again to see her come out with her little chicks. I didn't realize my father was coming back behind me, and he picked me up and gave me a good paddling. Oh, I knew I needed it, - I didn't bother the hen anymore.
Another memory I have is of the time I started to school. I began school, I guess it must have been September or October, when I was between five and six years old. My mother didn't want me to wait until after I was six, so I started then. I recall that my feet were rather large and the shoes I had were pretty rough shoes. When I walked through the woods, which had kind of a low spot in it and a lot of leaves and moisture, there was also a little road that we used to get out to school and it was quite muddy. I recall that I was having a hard time plowing through that mud. My sister Mae, two years older than I, was going ahead and she was always worried that we would be late to school. She'd say, “Hurry up, Freddy, hurry up, we'll be late!” I got into that mud and I was just having an awful time wading through it. She just said, “Hurry up, Freddy, hurry up, Freddy. We'll be late!” Well, I just didn't like it at all because she was hurrying all the time, but I managed to get through. I guess my feet were pretty muddy when I got to school. But I always felt that I was slow, and actually my mother said on occasion, “Freddy is stiff. He's a little stiff. He doesn't get around very well.” I guess that must have been true. At any rate, nearly all of my life I have felt that I have been hurried, ever since that.

Another memory I have of school was when I was older. In the springtime we used to go down into the woods or the creek just below the schoolhouse. (By the way, this was just a one-room schoolhouse and the teacher taught all of the classes, all of the age groups, one by one. We went to the front of the school room to recite around her desk, and then when the recitation was over, we'd go back to our decks and another class would come up.) Well, about this creek that ran down at the bottom of the schoolyard, we often went down there to play in the fall We got the idea of taking some old boards or an old tub or something, and we would slide down the bank of the creek which was quite steep. It was dry and, of course, it made a lot of dust. Sometimes we would fall off what we were sliding down. …
It comes to my mind that after I had grown, in fact was married, my wife and I (I don't know if any of the children were with us, but I think maybe it was just the two of us) went back to that old part of the township and visited the school. Of course the school had been abandoned a long time ago, and I think they kept chickens and pigs or something like that in the school. It was kind of a nostalgic and disappointing experience that I had then.
We had a neighbor who lived just beyond the border of our part of the farm. By the way, there was a creek that ran through our farm too. Across that ditch fence there was a mother and her daughter and her daughter's son living there. I'm quite sure that he was born out of wedlock. His name was Clint and the family's name was Newman. He went to my school, of course. He was just about my age, and I recall one day we were going home from school and he said, “Let's go down here and get some wild onions.” It was early in the spring and we got some wild onions. We had a sandwich or two left in our lunch buckets, because that was the way we took our lunch to school, and we made some sandwiches with some onion in it. That tasted pretty good, and I recall that that was one of the first times that I really played with Clint because it was kind of a shameful thing, you know. That was the way people looked at it then, to be the child of an unwed mother. But that was one of the times that I can recall going back from school. And sometimes we'd go by that same fence row and get some sassafras. We'd chew off the bark in the early spring and get the sassafras taste, which we rather enjoyed too.

I recall that before my father's death, there was a neighbor who had a little boy just about the same age that I was. All the rest of the family were girls, so they had a hired hand to help the father in the farming. This hired hand was out plowing with five horses. The five horses would draw two large plows. We called them gang plows because they worked together. They had wheels on them, and you could let the plowshares up or down according to whether you just wanted to ride to the field or whether you wanted to plow. The ground was plowed in lands - that is, a certain number of yards was stepped off. That meant that when the field was plowed, there was always a furrow between what we called lands. Of course, when you got to plowing with five horses, three behind and two in front, you had quite a lot of lines to begin with. But when you got to the end, you had to be careful the way you turned around. When you finally got down to plowing this land piece of ground that you were on, you couldn't very well turn that plow around because it always got narrower and narrower, the land that was left unplowed. When they got a certain number of these lands, they would take the two horses off the front. Usually they were tied up to a fence post. The little boy had come with some lunch for the hired hand. The hired hand ate his lunch and I guess he thought maybe this little boy (he must have been about five years old) could take this team home. The team was fairly gentle, so he let the boy take the team home. When plowing with a walking plow, just one plow, you walked behind it holding the handles. You always put the lines around you, around your waist, or over one shoulder and the other arm. This little boy thought he was pretty big taking this team home, but the trouble was that when you had nothing behind the team to pull except this (we called it a double tree and then there were single trees on it - each horse was hooked to one of the single trees and the double trees was hooked to the single trees), when you didn't have a weight behind it, the double tree tended to follow the horses and the single trees would bump on their heels. Well, this team didn't like that. They were a fairly gentle team, but they didn't like the bumping and they tried to get away from the single trees. The faster they went, of course, the more it hit them on the heels, so they tended to go faster and faster. This little boy couldn't hold the team, but he had that line around his waist. They went so fast and began to run and to gallop that they just dragged him along and it killed the boy. My father heard about it and knew from the neighborhood when the funeral was to be, and he took me along. That was a real traumatic experience to me because in those days the undertaker didn't fix the body all up so it looked natural. The body was just washed and put into a suit or a dress and laid in the coffin. The coffins were very cheap, too. We went into the home. The sisters, of course, had doted on their little brother, as did the mother and father too. There they were and the sisters especially were all moaning and crying because of their little brother's death. Then I went and I guess my father probably lifted me up or else maybe I could see, and I saw the little boy. He looked terrible and it gave me a great fear of death.
I guess it must have been a year or so after that when my father was still alive. He was home helping my mother make apple butter. They made apple butter in a large black kettle (they used that kettle for many other things, too), and they had a stirrer on the end of a long stick (a piece of lumber). The stirrer had holes on it, and you would have to stir the apple butter to keep it from sticking to the kettle. My father had stayed home to stir and Mother, of course, was bringing out the apples that had all been peeled and cut up to put in the kettle. They were both busy doing that, and I had taken some lunch to my half brother, who was in the field in the same way with a team of horses with two in the lead, just like with the little boy. My brother was in the same position, needing to take two of the horses off the front and plow with the three. He said to me, “Freddy, can you take these horses home?” Of course I was eager to do that and I wanted to be a man. He said, “Whatever you do, don't put those lines around you because you remember what happened to that little neighbor boy of ours. Whatever you do, don't do that.” He unhooked one side of each single tree and that put the horses a little farther away. Yet they apparently knew that I wasn't somebody who knew how to handle horses. I just held the lines in my hands, and the horses began to walk toward the house, They were in the same position as that other team was, and the single tree kept bumping at least a little bit at the heels of these horses. They started to walk faster and faster to get away from this bumping, and I got to the place where I couldn't hold them. They started into a run, then into a gallop, and I just let go of the lines and let them go. They ran and ran toward the locked gate near the barn. My father saw these horses coming and he was frightened. He dropped that stirrer and started out to the little road that led up to the gate. I guess he was greatly relieved when he saw I wasn't hanging on the lines. At any rate, the horses stopped right at the gate, and he went to get them. That was a very scary occasion to me!
It must have been the winter following that, or maybe two winters following, that we had nothing to burn in our stoves. We had a kitchen range and also a stove in what we called the parlor, but there was a bed in the parlor too because our family was pretty much crowded in the little house that we had. My father went to a woods that belonged to somebody else and was quite a distance from home, perhaps five or ten miles away. He went in a farm wagon and took enough feed along for the horses to use as the noon meal. Then he had a lunch to eat for his noon meal. My father was a hard worker, and he cut up a lot of wood. He would cut it up with a saw and then use an axe to split the wood, or perhaps he might bring it up to the house and split it there. I recall there was a big woodpile, and it looked like a mountain to me. It looked like it was almost as high as our house, which wasn't very high to begin with. My father had a big pile of wood, but he just kept going. This was sometime in late December or early January, sometime like that, and he contracted pneumonia in doing that. He would work hard and perspire, then get chilled while he ate his cold lunch. He came home one day, and he was ill. They didn't know how to treat pneumonia very well in those days. Of course we had a doctor who came to the house from a little town about three miles away. My father probably was sick less than a week. I guess they were really very much afraid that he might die. One night I remember I was sitting in the kitchen. We had a long table in the kitchen and a bench behind it. I was sitting on that bench and had gotten so sleepy I put my head down on the table and went to sleep. Then I was awakened by crying. I don't know, perhaps it was some neighbor (I think we did have some neighbors there waiting too and watching my father because the so-called crisis was coming), but one of them came in and awakened me, saying “Papa is dead.” That was another traumatic experience for me because we were not rich at all, and I guess the funeral, the way of taking care of bodies was not anywhere near what it is now. At any rate, I remember that we had a very black, cheap-looking casket (at least it would be in today's eyes), and my father was placed in that. Then I recall going to church to the funeral. This was a church that was out in the country called North Prairie. There was a cemetery right next to the church. After the service the family gathered around to take a last view of the deceased one, and I recall seeing my father lying there so pale and emaciated in that old black casket. That was another traumatic experience too - my father's death. After that, of course, what were we going to do? My mother was very much broken up. She had four children - three girls and a boy - and there was a stepdaughter and a stepson who were left with her there, so what in the world was she to do? It was a great shock to my mother, I know that, so my Uncle John Kihnlein, who had married my mother's next younger sister, Aunt Julia, came to live with us. He had been working in a factory in St. Louis, and I guess was doing pretty well because he was a good carpenter and a good workman. He came to live with us and to manage the farm. He and Aunt Julia built a little two-room house that they lived in and the rest of us lived in the other old house. Uncle John was a wonderful man. He had a very high temper, but yet he was a good man. He chewed tobacco and smoked a pipe when he had a chance. However, my father did not. I recall that I found a cigar, an old cheap cigar, lying in the bureau drawer and I knew better than to do anything with that cigar because my mother had left it lying there and my father never smoked. He either would put a cigar that was given him, because he had paid a bill or something like that, in the bureau drawer. Sometimes he would just take it and lay it up on a joist in the barn, but he never smoked it, he never chewed, and he never drank any liquor. In fact, when we had his funeral, the obituary the pastor wrote to be put in the paper in German said that he was an “echten Christ,” which mean that although his middle name was Christian, he was a good Christian. I've always cherished that thought because he was, even though I don't remember him too well.
Uncle John worked the farm until the farm itself was sold. Of course there had to be a lot of legal things that had to be taken care of. There had to be a certain amount of time, about two years, I think, before the full estate could be settled. Mother, of course, got what was called a dowry, a certain percentage of what Father had. The price of the farm that was finally gotten had to be divided, however, and each one of us children (including the stepchildren because they were his own) got a portion, so there wasn't a great deal left. Uncle John was certainly a kind of a surrogate father to me, and I always have thought very highly of him. In fact, he did live a good life. Uncle John and Aunt Julia moved to Centralia, Illinois, so finally we moved there too, which was quite an experience itself.
There were a lot of things that came in there in that period. I don't know whether I should put this in or not, but a near neighbor, Christ Uphoff, lived between a quarter and a half-mile from us. [Note by R. Nelson- It is quite likely that the Uphoffs came from Hille or descended from Hille inhabitants. There is an Uphoff in the Stelzriede family tree.] They were always good neighbors. I always thought that he was pretty long on his prayers, but they were members of the same church that we were members of. Sometimes I thought that he was awfully hard on his family. I know that he had a daughter, really his only daughter that was at home. He also had three boys, I believe. At any rate, they finally sold their farm. I often had gone over to their place and played with their son Leslie. He and I were pretty good friends. They had a hammock made out of barrel staves and wire, and we used to swing in that hammock. They decided to sell out before we moved to Centralia, and they sold their farm. They had to give the people who bought it a chance to get in at a certain time to harvest their crops. Wheat was sown in the fall, so it was in the fall that they came. This was after my Uncle John had moved to Centralia and gotten a job in the mines there. Of course, the crops had been harvested on our ground too, and I think the people who bought the farm had put in the wheat crop on our farm also. The Uphoffs came to live at the little two-room place that Uncle John had built for himself, his wife, and little boy. So they were living there right next to us. I recall that even though Leslie and I were very good friends and had been neighbors for a long time, I was mischievous and would get Leslie angry at me and then I would run. I would run around the pigpen, the barn lot, and everywhere to keep him from catching me because he was about to hit me with a stick. Then I'd laugh at him and that would make him pretty angry, but we were good friends until they moved away. I recall that my half brother Arthur and my Uncle John came, and with farm wagons we moved to Centralia, which was perhaps a dozen miles, or maybe fifteen miles, from where we lived. I can recall that Mae and I were on the spring seat in that wagon loaded with our farm goods. We followed my Uncle John, who had another wagon in front with a lot of our household goods. I recall we made that trip to Centralia, where my mother had bought a little house on the edge of town not far from where my Uncle John lived, so we had them near. Then my Uncle Ed, who had married another sister of my mother's, Aunt Lizzie, came from St. Louis. I guess for some reason the jobs must have been less or he decided he could make more money in the mines than he could make as a motorman on the streetcars in those days. At any rate, they moved to Centralia too, and they were living very near to Uncle John - almost next door, I think - so we had people to help take care of us and watch after us. But my mother had a very difficult time. I didn't realize it, but oftentimes we were indeed very poor. I can remember once when I was perhaps twelve or thirteen years old, coming through the bedroom (I slept in what was called the front room) to go to my room, and I saw my mother kneeling at the side of her bed with a tithe box. She always tithed her income and had it in a baking-powder can. We had to buy some things on credit quite often, and she had gotten a statement from the grocery man saying she owed so much money. I don't know what else he might have said, perhaps that he would have to cut off the credit or something if she didn't pay. At any rate, she was kneeling at the side of her bed there with this tithe can in front of her, trying to decide if she had any right to take the tithe to help pay this bill. I tiptoed on through to my room, and it made a great impression on me.
It was perhaps a year after that. Mother was always good to us children, but there being three girls, she had them to do the housework, of course. She never seemed to be hard on me at all. The girls have said since they thought I was Mom's pet. Maybe I was in a way, but of course I was the only masculine person around the house and perhaps she thought, “Well, Freddy can take care of me when he gets older.” At any rate, I recall that I thought to myself one evening, “Here's Mom in the wintertime. She's always making the fire in the dining room where we eat.” We had a little stove in there, and we had nothing but coal and maybe sometimes corn cobs to burn. We had a range in the kitchen, the old range we brought from the farm, and we burned coal in that. Well, she made all the fires and her hands would crack in the wintertime. The skin would crack and get coal black in those cracks. It was hard to get her hands clean, so I thought to myself, “Here I am, old lazy lump, lying in the bed early in the morning and waiting for the room to get warmed up, and Mom's in there doing all that.” So I said to her the next day, “Mom, I'm getting up to make the fires. You stay in bed.” Well, she was surprised, but she did. She let me go ahead and from that time on, I built the fires. We had to take up ashes first and then build the fires and get the room warm.
I remember another thing from before my father died about my oldest half brother Henry. I don't know what his age was but he must have been past eighteen (boys were supposed to have reached their majority when they were eighteen). Maybe he wasn't quite eighteen - he might have been seventeen - but I recall he had a strong head and will of his own. One evening, (I was still a very small boy, perhaps about six or seven years old - I guess I must have been six at least because it was before my father died) they came in. I didn't notice it especially, but I thought Father was very quiet. He always was a quiet man anyway, so I didn't think much about it. But I saw a big hickory stick sitting there in the corner of the kitchen. Finally Henry came in and Father began talking to Henry, that he hadn't done what Father had asked him to do and apparently he had been in that position for some time. He was, of course, an adolescent, grown and he felt like making up his own mind about things. I know that finally my father said, “Henry, either you can take a whipping from me right now or else you can leave home.” Well, Henry chose the next day to leave home, and he went up north to northern Illinois (really we call it central Illinois now, but then we called it going up north). He went up north and got a job with some farmer up there. He lived there and he never came home until my father's death. By that time he had married, and they had a little girl they called Helen. I can just recall when my father died that they came home and that Henry, of course, was sorrowful. His wife was with him and also his little girl. Helen was just a toddler, just starting to walk, and I recall that very sad experience. Oftentimes I have thought of it and wondered what Henry's thoughts were when he came. Of course, I think Father had been too strict on him the way they treat young people these days, but my father had been born in Germany and those old Germans were very strict with their children. He had just followed that pattern that he had learned at home, of the children having to obey their parents as long as they were at home.
I can remember a Christmas before my father died. One Christmas Father took me and Mae to town with him. He traded at the store of a man who must have been either a brother or an uncle or something of my father's first wife. It was a Krueger store, and my father wanted to do some Christmas shopping and perhaps he had to arrange for a little credit with Mr. Krueger too. ... We went on home after a while and Christmas came around. At home instead of hanging up stocking like they do here (which practice I think came from England), we put plates on the table at the place where we usually sat at the table. I think that was an old German custom. Sometimes children put a dishpan there and sometimes their parents would play a trick on them and not have anything in the dishpan. We had plates and we got candy and other little gifts there. I recall this particular Christmas before my father died, I came in there to my place at the table and my eyes nearly bugged out because there was a beautiful little red express wagon right at my place. What a surprise that was and how I treasured that little express wagon!
We had a lot of Christmases when Mother was there. She always had something to give us. It might be something she had made herself or it might be some little toy or trinket. I recall that usually we children, even when we first moved to Centralia, would perhaps be given a nickel or maybe even a dime. Usually the amount was in copper pennies or we changed them to that. Then we would buy little sticks of candy or something like that to give to each other. We learned the way of giving to everyone and trying not to miss anyone that was in our family. Oftentimes, too, we would make little things to give to our uncle and aunt and our cousin Wesley Kihnlein, who lived close to us because Uncle John built a house that was next door to us. He did quite a little carpenter work even after he quit mining, and he also dabbled a little bit in real estate, buying some land right next to our place. That's how they happened to be such close neighbors to us. I also remember one Christmas when Uncle John made a Christmas tree by boring holes in a broomstick in which he stuck cedar branches to make a tree.
There is another memory of something before we moved to Centralia - my first trip to St. Louis. It was after my father's death when Uncle John had come to work on our farm. My Uncle Ed and Aunt Lizzie were living in St. Louis and they decided, I guess, that Mother and we children too should have a little vacation. They had us come to St. Louis to stay with my Uncle Ed at his house while the St. Louis World's Fair was going on in 1904. That was two years, perhaps, after my father had died. I recall that we were taken to the station three miles away at Beaucoup, Illinois, and went in on the railroad train. What an experience that was! Going across the bridge over the Mississippi River, as I looked down it looked to me like the people were just like little dolls walking around, as I was looking at that distance from the train down to the riverbed. When we got across, we went through a tunnel on the train. The train stopped at what was called the Washington Street Station, and then we went on a little farther still through the tunnel until we came out to the Union Station, which was 'way over on Market Street (Market and 14th or 16th or something like that). There was where we got off. Then we had to take a streetcar (they called it an electric car or trolley car) to Uncle Ed's place. I recall being there and I recall that of an evening we would see the fireflies around in the air because they lived near some large empty lots. I remember how Mae would get an old tin can of some kind and catch those fireflies. She would put them in the can and cover them up, and then she'd open it up and they would be glowing then with their lights. I recall the trolley cars running through St. Louis, too. Of course, Uncle Ed was one of the motormen. They had open-air cars for the wintertime. There were a lot of people riding on the trolley cars in those days. We went out to the Fair in the trolley cars. I enjoyed the animal cages and looking at the various animals a great deal. But when we got to the buildings, it was something else. Of course, they had many things in the many great buildings but there were a lot of concrete places in between. I just didn't know whether I enjoyed it too much or not unless I got to something that aroused my curiosity. Then I wanted to spend quite a little time. Of course we got some ice-cream cones, I think perhaps the first I'd ever eaten. Maybe they were not the first, but they were very rare if I had ever eaten any at a picnic before that. We had quite an experience there in St. Louis and finally went back home again, but I never forgot that experience at the World's Fair in St. Louis.
Aunt Julia was always a great lover of animals especially. She liked flowers too (she raised a lot of flowers), but she liked animals and they always had at least a little dog or a dog and a cat. Uncle John had built a cage of very small wire netting. On a farm like that, especially in those days, hogs were always being killed for winter meat. That's the way we did it - we smoked it or fried it down (fried-down ham) and then put it in lard. Then we sealed it with paraffin or something of that sort. That's where we had our meat in the wintertime, and sometimes we would even kill beef (I know Uncle John did). They would be skinned and cut up in pieces. Then they would be processed in one way or another. Sometimes the meat was canned like a canned fruit, and sometimes it was put up in tin cans. You would have a lid that went on it, and then you melted sealing wax and sealed those cans with that. You learned that you had to live off the land - the things that you raised. In order to get meat, hogs and cows and chickens and ducks and things of that sort were killed and used for food in that.
I recall that one time while we were still on the farm, Mae and I were playing out in the yard near this old machine shed, and they had pulled one of these gang plows that had two plows on it. Those plows were raised or lowered with levers. I would get up on those plows and play like I was plowing, the way we expressed our imaginations of what was being done all around us during the year. I recall that someone had taught me (I guess this was before my father died), had taught me some rhymes. One of them was in German: “Ich bin der Herr Pastor, Ich predich euch was vor. Und wenn ich nicht mehr weiter kann, Denn fang ich wieder von ersten an.” It meant, “I am the preacher, I am preaching something to you, And when I can't go any farther, I start again from the beginning.” That's the translation, and I can recall always standing up there as proud as can be and I was the Herr Pastor. I wasn't thinking anything of going into the pastorate at that time, but I've often thought since in my older years that maybe that's where something got started in my brain. You never know.

After Uncle John came to our place (it may have been the following summer), some of our family (I think maybe even Mother for a little while,) had what they called a touch of typhoid fever. Of course they didn't know how to handle that as well as they do today, but we had old Dr. Meer come out from Beaucoup, three miles away, and take care of the sick. I came down with it and really had it. We didn't know for certain whether or not it came from contaminated water in our well. The well was cleaned very thoroughly after that, of course. (By the way, I'll just throw this in. When they were cleaning it, they found an old brass hand bell and we still have that.) To get back to my story of the typhoid fever, I was very low and they were not sure whether or not I was going to pull through. I think I was in bed about six or seven weeks, and I didn't know anything from the time that I really began to feel the effects of it. I recall that before I was down in bed that I was standing on the sill of the old smokehouse door where the meat was usually smoked, looking out the open door across the pasture and the creek where I had often played. I don't remember anything more after that. I simply was out of my head. I recall that my half sister Millie would come to the bed and sit with me because I was always picking at my skin somewhere. I would actually get sores on my hands and sometimes on my face from clawing at my hands and my face. She would sit with me and would grab my hands and hold them for long times until I went to sleep again. One of the medicines they gave in those days was quinine. I would call when I was beginning to feel better and finally woke up to where I was and what shape I was in. I was hardly anything more than skin and bones. At first I couldn't walk across the room without help. Finally I got so I could walk around the place a little bit. I recall one day I went to the orchard and had found a good apple there. I thought, “Boy, that would be good to eat.” Then I walked down to the pumpkin patch where there were a lot of pumpkins. There was a big orange-colored pumpkin, and I sat down on it and started to eat a little bit of the apple. I knew that I had been warned not to do it so I didn't eat anymore, but when my folks found it out, boy, did I get a scolding! “You shouldn't do that. Don't you know the doctor said you mustn't eat anything that's hard? It's all got to be soft!” At any rate, I got along all right, but I never have forgotten that experience - how I walked around and staggered around for days on my thin spindly legs.
That brings to mind another story. Not too long after that (this was when Uncle John was there - I had that typhoid fever shortly after they came), that fall then, Arthur and Uncle John (Arthur was my half brother) were husking corn. Many crops would be cut and stood up in shocks to sort of let them cure. They did that with corn, too, but they didn't put any caps over the top of it because the ears that had the grain in them were farther down. Then early in the fall or at the time there was even a little frost, they would go out with a wagon and the team. They had husking pegs they would put on their hands (sometimes they wore gloves), and they would pull the husks or shucks off the corn, shuck the corn off, and throw it into the wagon. I was in the wagon and we were going across the corn hills. Before the corn matured, while it was still green, they would go through with plows and hill the dirt up to the corn. We were going across those corn ridges with the wagon, and I was up in the wagon bed doing the driving. I was still not very old, about ten or eleven years old, and the men (Uncle John and Arthur), were husking out, taking the stalks of corn off the shock and husking it out and throwing that in the back of the wagon. We had one old mare and her colt which was now old enough to drive. They had been put in harness and hitched together. One of the men (I think it was Arthur) suddenly came from behind the shocks of corn and his sudden appearance apparently frightened this young mare that we called Puss (her mother's name was Nellie). She took one lunge forward, pulled her mother along with her, and both of them got scared. The wagon was going up and down over those corn ridges. Fortunately the tongue was a little bit long and the double tree came loose from the tongue. Then the neck yoke came off the tongue, and I had hold of the lines. I didn't have a great deal of strength, and the edge of the lines cut my fingers. Before the double tree came off, the tongue went into one of those ridges. Pulling on the other end of the tongue, the end nearest the wagon box, caused the front wheels of the wagon to rise up, and the double tree came out. In the meantime, when the wagon rolled up, I slid to the back of the wagon box. When the double tree came out, then the front wheels went back down and I sort of lunged to the front. I cut the front of my head on the edges of the wagon box, which were lined with iron. I've often thought of that - that was a providential thing. I could have been killed with those horses running if they hadn't been undone because they were going right for the house with no lines to hold them anymore. I got out a very shaken boy and was taken to the house. I think of some of the narrow escapes I've had, and they look providential to me.
My half sister Millie, who was home quite some time after we had moved to Centralia, finally married a man. I don't really know how she met him, but his name was August Meyer and we always called him Gus. I always sort of felt close to my half sister Millie. When I was about twelve years old, my mother asked if I could go out there and stay with them during the summer. They decided I could go and help a little bit with chores and maybe some field work on the farm. I did this each summer for quite a number of summers. I recall they had big maple trees in their front yard, and I used to climb up in those maple trees and look around. I enjoyed that very much. Also they had a dog they called Carlo. He was just kind of a small dog - brown and black - and was a good old dog. He didn't like strangers to come around the place very much, but he didn't offer to bite them. There was an old fellow that used to come around in the harvest time. We called them bums. They were apparently men who just for one reason or another liked to drift around and get jobs where they could. This old fellow whose name was McKittrick (we always called him McKittrick) was kind of fat and slept in the little box bedroom where I usually slept. My half sister Millie put me on a pad in the front room, the parlor. Their room was in between this little bedroom and the parlor, and of course they had an entrance to the kitchen too from their room. McKittrick slept in this little box bedroom and he snored. Oh my, how that man snored! I could hear him in the parlor if I was not asleep. He was snoring like that one night and Carlo just didn't know what it was. He would run around the house just barking like everything and trying to locate where this terrible noise was coming from. It kept me awake, of course, and it got funny to me after a while. I was mad because I couldn't go to sleep, but it got awfully funny when that dog just chased around the house. I don't remember what night that happened but it was quite something!
When I was working for Gus during the year, oftentimes I would plow with a walking plow. I recall one spring, it was one of those chilly March or April days, we were having just a little drizzle. It really wasn't enough to wet us through and through, and I was barefoot, although I was wearing a jacket to keep the drizzle off me. I was plowing along with a walking plow and all at once I stepped on something that was colder than the ground. I looked down and there was part of a snake that was coming up off the moldboard and the other part was still in the ground. I had stepped on that, and I jumped as high as the plow handle, I'll bet. I used to run the cultivator too, cultivating corn. We had a piece of ground that was full of stumps. The thing that held the shovel was held rigid by a little oak peg through holes. When you happened to run into something, it didn't wreck your plow but it just broke the pin and pulled the shovel back. I remember all those pins that I whittled and stuck in there while I was plowing that stumpy ground. Another time was when we had a wheat harvest. I was at Gus's the same as usual and drove the binder. I was really too light and too weak to shock the grain, so Gus said, “I'll shock it and you can get up here and drive this binder.” It wasn't very much like the combines they have nowadays - it didn't work that way. It cut the wheat with a sickle that ran back and forth at the front, and there was a reel that threw the wheat back onto a canvas. That canvas traveled, then hit another canvas, and traveled up to the compartment of the machine that would take the stalks of wheat and pack them up. Then there was what we called the needle that took the thread and somehow worked around that bundle and tied it very tightly. Then it was cut off and the bundle would drop off into what we called a carrier that was made of small pieces of iron, long pieces of iron bent somewhat, about the size of one's little finger. We'd carry as many bundles as the thing would carry, and then we would hit a pedal that would bring those bars back to the side and the wheat would drop off. There it was in piles, and Gus would take it and set it up straight and put a cap on top of it. I was driving that binder and we were on some ground that sort of sloped off toward the creek. Oftentimes during the summer rains, there would be places in that ground where the water would gather and then run off toward the creek and cut a sort of a deep furrow, not very wide but rather deep. One day I was driving along, cutting wheat, and wasn't paying too much attention except to the horses and watching the wheat falling on that canvas. All at once, without my being able to see it on account of the wheat, the big wheel (there were two or three wheels on that thing to run along the ground) which ran all this machinery hit that thing and just dropped down and almost kept me from staying on the seat. When it bounced back up, it bounced me up and I thought for a minute that sure as the world I was going to fall down on that canvas and maybe even get hit by the reel and put down on the sickle. I thought that just for an instant, but I caught myself and I stayed there. That was kind of a frightening experience, but all that wheat harvest I think I cut all the wheat. As I recall, I was twelve years old and here I was doing the work of a man on a binder like that.

I remember one summer (I guess I had been there maybe a couple of summers or something like that), Gus came to me. He must have had a pretty good harvest, and when I was ready to come home, he brought me twelve big silver dollars. He said, “Here now, you can take these home with you. I'm giving you those for your work this summer.” That was quite a thrill! I don't think I spent any of the dollars because Mom needed them too badly.
Another thing that comes to my mind about the school, every once in a while in order to have something more for school funds (perhaps that's where our library came from, too), they would have a pie-and-box supper. The older girls and a lot of times the married people and single people that were at home would bring a box of food. Oftentimes this was in the fall after the pears and the apples had ripened well. By the way, in Pleasant Grove Township, Washington County, we grew some of the best apples - Roman Beauty, Golden Delicious, Jonathan, and Grimes Golden. They would have those pears and apples in there as well as sandwiches and maybe some pie or some cake. Then they'd auction these boxes off. Of course, the fellows who took a notion to certain girls would be the ones who would bid. They'd come prepared usually to bid the highest they could to see if they could get that box. I can recall one time my half sister Millie had a box there. Some of the pears that were on that pear tree next to our home, oh they were delicious! I think they must have been some of the best pears around. They were simply delicious and very juicy. Millie had some of those pears in there. I don't remember who got her box, but I can remember she laughed about it when she got home - how that fellow would take a pear and take a bite and then he would shake the juice off his hand. It was fun to watch that!

Another time we had a teacher and I felt very sorry for her. She was having a hard time. I think she probably had some T.B. and was not very strong. She was a fairly good-sized woman but she wasn't very strong. There were some with the devil who were always pretty mean because they thought they could get away with so much with her. I can recall for some reason or another some boy had done something pretty bad. I guess she knew an easy mark, so she said, “Freddy, will you go down and cut me a switch?” She told us she was going to give him a whipping. I went down to the creek and cut her a switch and brought it up. Of course, the boy got a whipping in front of the whole school, and I got threatened about that. I don't think they ever really did anything to me, but I didn't feel I could refuse and anyway I felt sorry for the woman. She was just doing the best she could with a whole room full of kids, and some of them were little devils too.
I can recall one of the things they used to do - some of those boys would bring apples to school and put them in their desks. Then while they were supposed to be studying (some of the classes within that room - fifth grade on through the eighth - would be reciting before the teacher), they would get out the apple and take a chomp out of it and make a noise, then slip it back in the desk and be chewing apple. Of course they would get scolded for that and sometimes they would get slapped for it.
These are many of the memories I have of my childhood.

On his birth record (in German) his name is listed as Benjamin Karl Frederick Stelzriede. Thanks to Murl Sickbert for this.

Immanuel’s Retired Minister’s Sunday

Frederick Carl Benjamin Stelzriede was born in the country (Hoyleton) near Centralia, Illinois, May 14, 1894, of German parents. He grew up one boy among four sisters but with two additional stepbrothers and two stepsisters. His wife, Emma Ruth Kinney, was born near Carlinville, Illinois, and was the only girl in a family of four boys. She was born August 17, 1893. Their home was blessed with five children: Keturah (Kaye Sickbert), Betty (Simpson), Bonnylin (Castle), Wesley, and Carmen (Nelson).

As a very young man he began working as a bookkeeper for a lumber yard, and perhaps it was in that lumber yard that he learned skills as a carpenter which he has used throughout his life to improve parsonages, make furniture and toys for his children and grandchildren, and added a large living room and bath to his retirement home with the help of his son.

During World War I he served as a secretary for the medical units. After the war he enrolled as a student at Shurtleff College in Alton where he completed both high school and two years of college.

During this period at Shurtleff, he preached (as a student minister) at Alton’s Washington Church. On April 4 (following the Easter service), the young minister invited the congregation to remain for his wedding in which he married the pianist and organist of that church, Ruth Kinney. He and his new wife moved to Lebanon where he attended McKendree College and completed his degree. During this time he preached at Belleville Epworth one year (1921), Glen Carbon one year (1922), and St. Jacob finally moving there to a rented parsonage to continue preaching for two years until 1923.

His wife and family then traveled to Drew University in New Jersey where he was granted a Bachelor of Divinity degree.

By special request he returned to Alton’s Main Street Church to finish out the year for Rev. Cates with the understanding that he would remain there, but seniority ruled and he was sent to a three-point circuit at Equality, Illinois, in 1927.

He was a pastor of Granite City East in 1929-30. He served Flat Rock, Illinois, until 1932 and Palestine and Green Hill until 1934. Then he traveled back across the state to serve Edwardsville’s Immanuel for six years. From Immanuel he moved to Cairo’s First Church in the southern most part of the state, returning at last to Lebanon in 1943. While serving the Methodist Church in Lebanon, he became a teacher to the student ministers at McKendree College where he had received part of his early education.

In 1947 he moved to the Illinois Conference serving Fisher, Illinois. DeLand was his home in 1950, Rossville in 1953, Mason City in 1957, and Pawnee in 1959. During his pastorates he served as secretary for the Southern Illinois Conference and Registrar on the board of ministerial training. He retired in 1962 returning to Edwardsville and to Immanuel Church that had long held a special place in his memory because of its German heritage.

However, his retirement could be more aptly described as just a slight slowing down as he continued to serve as a supply pastor of the area for ministers on vacation or those unable to fulfill their duties because of a prolonged illness. He served as Assistant Minister to Immanuel and for many years tutored SIU foreign students of many nationalities in English through a volunteer program.

He continues to serve the Church he loves by teaching an adult class every Sunday and serving on commissions and committees.

On April 4, 1980, he and his wife will celebrate their 60th wedding anniversary.

The Rev. Frederick C. Stelzriede, 95, of rural Edwardsville, died at 12:55 a.m. Friday, Aug. 11, 1989, at Memorial Hospital, Alton.
He was born May 14, 1894, near Hoyleton, Ill., a son of the late Frederick C. and Anna Marie Krietemeier Stelzriede.
He married E. Ruth Kinney in Alton on April 4, 1920. His wife died Jan. 2 1983.
He is survived by a son, Wesley Q. Stelzriede of Edwardsville; two daughters: Mrs. David (Betty) Simpson of Green Valley, Ariz., and Mrs. William (Carmen) Nelson of Tallahassee, Fla.; 12 grandchildren and 15 great-grandchildren. He was preceded in death by two daughters, Bonnylin Castle and Kaye Sickbert, and by four sisters.
Mr. Stelzriede was a graduate of Drew Theological Seminary, Madison, N.J. He served as a Methodist minister in the Southern Illinois and Central Illinois Conferences at churches in the following communities Belleville, Glen Carbon, St. Jacob, Equality, Granite City, Flat Rock, Palestine, Edwardsville (Immanuel Methodist Church from 1935 to 1940), Cairo, Lebanon, Fisher, Deland, Rossville, Mason City and Pawnee. His career in the ministry began in 1921, and he retired in 1960. He was a member of the Board of Ministerial Training and Qualification for Southern Illinois Conference, and taught speech at McKendree College In Lebanon, Ill. while serving as pastor there.
He served with the U.S. Army during World War I.
He was a member of Immanuel United Methodist Church.
Funeral services were held at 11. a.m. today at the Weber Funeral Home Chapel with the Rev. Ellis Dugger, pastor of Immanuel Methodist Church, officiating.
Burial was in Valley View Cemetery, Edwardsville.
Memorials may be made to the Preachers Aide Society.

Frederick married Emma Ruth (Ruth) Kinney Brown [scrapbook] on 4 Apr 1920 in Alton, IL. Emma was born on 17 Aug 1893 in Carlinville, IL. She died on 2 Jan 1983 in Alton, IL. She was buried in Valley View Cemetery, Edwardsville, IL.

She didn't like the name Emma - used Ruth always. She said that she was 1/8th Cherokee - this would mean that a great-grandparent was Cherokee.
Broke a hip in later years. Cause of death was stroke.

(Recorded Spring 1982 at age 88, recorded by Keturah (Kaye) Stelzriede Sickbert and transcribed by her daughter Sandra Sickbert Thompson)


I was born on Thursday, August 17, 1893 - Old Settlers Picnic Day! My first memories are of playing post office with my cousin Louise, who was ten years older than I. I remember visiting relatives in St. Louis where I was given a taste of beer, I was spanked for spitting it on the floor. When my older brothers could not add or subtract their arithmetic, I would put my hands behind me and add or subtract on my fingers, giving them the answers. (That was when I was five years old.) I saw horses race on the St. Louis race tracks. I always was able to tell when my oldest brother, who left home at 14 or 15 years and earned his own living, was coming home -- he was sick or had fallen from his horse and cut his face.
With my brothers I would play hide-and-go-seek. My grandmother, sitting in a rocker and with a full, long dress, would hide me under her skirt. I could get to base free as grandmother would tell me when to come out. Finally I miscued and they caught me. My brothers brought other boys to play at our house, and I listened to their language. We had tiny little chicks. I cuddled one in my hand and said to Mother, “Ain't they cute little sons of a b----!” Mother was horrified!
My father's foster parents - the man was a minister, lawyer and businessman, and was rich. He educated five children. I remember Mother helping foster grandmother with Thanksgiving dinner. My father washed me and took me over later. My foster grandmother gave us some apples. Joe and I went after them. Some big boys persuaded us to go a longer way. They took all our apples and left us stuck in the mud. Mother finally went out to look for us and there we were in the mud with no apples.
I was told that before her marriage, my grandmother would sneak out her father's razor and trim her tough toenails!
A Pentecostal woods was near our home and real Romanian gypsies visited there each summer and told fortunes to any who would cross their palms with silver. My mother had no money so they told her fortune for a loaf of homemade bread.


My parents sold our 4-room home and moved to Alton with an old-maid Aunt Emm, my four older brothers, and me. We lived for one year in a 6-room duplex on the ground where Lovejoy* was killed. (*Elijah Parish Lovejoy was a newspaper editor who, as an abolitionist newspaper man, was forced to leave St. Louis by angered townsmen. He moved across the river to Alton, Illinois, where he established the Alton Observer. He was killed in 1837 by a pro-slavery mob. ) His monument is on 4th and Monument Street in Alton. Then we moved into 4 rooms back of Dietz Grocery Store. There were no screens in the house. We had malaria each summer for 7 years.
It was a very ignorant and evil neighborhood. (I can't tell you all that went on there.) One mother of two sons and two daughters taught her girls to steal and live immorally. She really ran a house of prostitution. Other neighbors were uneducated, dirty, or Catholic. None attended church. My brothers and I attended a mission Sunday School in a little room beneath the home of the above-mentioned evil mother and her daughters. I visited a dirty family. One daughter was called Greasy Mag. There I was taught to dance in their home. When they moved below a public dance hall, I would go with them to the dance until my oldest brother told my mother. During this time I learned to pray my first prayer. After “Now I lay me down to sleep...” I prayed for three things: to be good, to be beautiful, and to have hair to my waist.
The 4-room house we rented from a German woman, Mrs. Dietz, whose son had built a 2-story building against our little house. He had a store on the first floor and lived with his three brothers and two sisters, all unmarried. The boys were very immoral except the youngest one. He took me to see the explosion at the Western Carriage Company in East Alton. The two old maids used half of one of our bedrooms as a laundry. Often they would let me go upstairs to eat with them. I loved it! They would steal my little dolls and outfit them with lovely clothes.
My three brothers drank water from an abandoned sistern behind a saloon. All got typhoid fever and nearly died. We had a young doctor in his first year of practicing. He had fourteen cases of typhoid and lost none. The saloon keeper's family lived above the saloon. They were clean, honest people who would not touch a drop of what they sold. Incest was not an uncommon practice (you know, they would tell me what was going on and I didn't understand it because it didn't mean a thing to me) when nieces and nephews visited their grandparents in the home of Greasy Mag.
I visited a circus with my brothers and was pulled up on the platform and told to go behind the curtain. I refused to go and returned to my brothers. The next day we heard they had stolen a child, but they were caught and the child was returned unharmed.
I would take evening walks on the railroad with my father. One evening we were coming to a curve in the tracks. I noticed father holding my hand with a death grip. He knew I was sure the train was on our track, and I would have jumped directly in front of it. He saved my life!
Father hunted raccoons and possums at night across the Mississippi River. One night he killed and put a possum in a sack, brought it home, and threw the sack on the kitchen floor. The next morning we found the possum underneath the stove in the room where I had slept.
A sewer muskrat got into our home, but we didn't know how. Three men sat in our kitchen with shotguns until they killed the animal.
Mother jokingly said to me, “I am going to sell you to the gypsies,” and I believed her and would not leave her day or night. I was terrified for months but said nothing about it to anyone.
In the evening Mother would sing hymns and Father, from the kitchen, would join in. But Mother, who had a perfect ear, would say, “Charlie, keep still. You are off key.” He was! We attended a Congregational Sunday School taught by two old women. I learned much about the Bible there.
When my oldest brother left home to earn his own living, he first tried to be a jockey for horses owned by an uncle. He was too heavy and gave it up. He was offered a free course in a Chicago art school but refused it. Our doctor and his brother got him to train as a prize fighter. He lacked one fight for the heavyweight championship. He was perfect physically.
I started school at six but was told I was too young. I stayed home for one year and returned. On the first day of school, I saw a man stop with a load of rock, take a large rock, and hit his horse in the head because it could not pull the load. When I was sick and allowed to stay home, my brother Frank always got sick also. He wasn't really sick but was an excellent actor and made Mother believe he was.
I attended a Catholic funeral where they carried the casket up and down each aisle in the church, preceded by men carrying candles as “Lead, Kindly Light” was played and sung. When I asked why, they said, “To get the devil off the track.”
My father, Charles Nathan Kinney, was a college student of Blackburn College in Carlinville. My mother, Lydia Tracey Kinney, only went to grade school but had the better mind. I had four brothers. The oldest one became a boxer from the influence of our family physician. He was also given a free scholarship to the Chicago Art School but refused. He we an excellent cartoonist. He drew pictures of three kindergarten teachers whom I entertained for dinner. He drew the three pictures, framed it, and put a purple bow on it. Then he put it above the dresser. When they went in to comb their hair and powder their noses, they saw those horrible pictures (caricatures) and when they saw it, they blew their tops!
My next oldest brother went to school through fifth grade, then worked as a clerk in a grocery store for many years. His last years he worked at Alton Box Board as a carpenter. He was fired just before 65 years of age and lost all his insurance.- My third and fourth brothers quit school at fourth - grade. They could learn everything but math, yet our father was considered a math whiz, according to his professor at Blackburn College in Carlinville, and Mother was very quick in mental arithmetic. They worked in the Illinois Class Company from ages 11 and 13 years for 25¢ a day. They were hidden in pits when the inspectors came through to check on child labor. Molten glass would drop on their backs leaving terrible scars and causing them to be rejected for the Army. The glass blowers were making from 12 to 18 dollars a day, and would work for nine months, then charter a train to take them to Atlantic City for the summer. This was in the early 1900s. My youngest brother worked in the tannery at Wood River, Illinois. He lost his thumb in unguarded machinery. He was promised a lifetime job but was let go later with no compensation.
My father was a good carpenter. He had beautiful shaded handwriting. He was exceptional in college in math. He was also stubborn as a mule. He was injured as he worked digging a hole. A large lump of dirt fell on his bent back, and he died of this injury later.
My mother was an excellent mother and very religious. She had a true-pitch voice. She could paint flowers and wanted to be an entertainer who went into wealthy homes and gave readings.
My oldest brother Milton left home at 14. He became a jockey, then a newspaper writer. He read the history of the U.S. at ten years of age and could remember dates and facts. He was also a boxer and was one short of the championship.
My second brother Albert was a wonderful mimic. He worked as a delivery boy and clerk for a grocery store. Also he worked at the Box Board factory and the Illinois Glassworks.
My third brother Joe was docile and patient. He could remember facts and figures connected with a political campaign only, but couldn't remember four things in a grocery store.
My youngest brother Frank was a clown and loved to read. Milt, my oldest brother, was last heard from in Los Angeles. Albert died from burns at the city dump -- he may have had a stroke. Joe and Frank I put in a nursing home and sold the home place. Both died in hospitals-Joe at Alton Memorial and Frank here in Edwardsville.


When we moved on the hill, I entered a new life experience because I met and visited clean, moral young people. I took my first piano lessons and gave the neighbor girl lessons as I learned. The eighth grade of the entire city was in one building, like present-day junior high schools. I had a neighbor who made her two teenage sons lick up some sugar spilled on the clean floor. I met a family who were ignorant and coarse and became infatuated with their handsome son, an apprentice glass blower. I gave up high school after one year. My English teacher was sad because I was a good student and wrote fine themes, she said.
A neighbor woman asked me, a 13-year-old, to go with her 13-year-old girl to have her tonsils removed. I little knew what I would encounter. The doctor set the girl in a chair and he sat in one facing her. There was no preparation. He said to me, “Hold her head,” and to her he said, “Open your mouth.” He then proceeded to clip the tonsils off without an anesthetic or anything.
When I wanted to go to St. Louis shopping and was told by Mother that she had no money, I filched change from her purse and hid it under all four sides of the rug. When I had enough, I pulled it out and said, “Here, Mother, is enough money.” I was never scolded for it and I never used any of it either.
At Cherry St. Baptist Church, we played games back of the kindergarten building. The young people would make a circle around a huge fire. With the help of the minister, we would pull until one had to leap over the fire. I was usually chosen to leap over the fire.
I borrowed 4-5 rings to wear on my fingers from young married neighbors. They lived on each side of us and were jealous of each other. They used me as a buffer. The neighbor on the right side had a husband with tuberculosis and one 3-year-old girl. Another barber visited her regularly when her husband was at work. When I was converted in a Baptist revival, both neighbors were there. One said to me, “Aren't you going back and speak to the other neighbor?” She had misjudged me and told my mother a lie on me. I said, “No, I have done nothing wrong.” When I did go to her, she said, “I knew you would come.” We both wept in each other's arms and all was forgiven.
A neighbor died leaving a large family of children from 8 to 20 years old. The older children deserted the younger ones. I brought the 6-year-old girl to my home and bathed her.
Mother and I raced to beat each other getting dressed when we were going shopping. She thought she had beaten me and started out the gate, but she had forgotten to put on her outside black skirt. She was in a black petticoat. I called her back when she reached the gate.
Another time I was talking to Mother, who was in the outside toilet, and left her there when I went to the store for groceries. I had jokingly locked her in but fully intended to unlock the latch before leaving. I forgot and when I got back from the store, she was furious.
My father inherited a farm and $1,000 to stock it from the people who raised him. He had been shipped from New York with a carload of orphans. His foster parents adopted or raised four children. The man was a lawyer, businessman, and minister. When he died, his will said all money was to be divided equally between the girl and my father. No money was to be used except for charitable purposes, but his wife took in this girl with a husband and 12 children. They used up most of the money. My father lost $75,000 which he should have had. We sold the farm and bought 3 houses and 4 lots in Alton.
Dr. J. had one of the first cars in Alton. He would keep us in his office as his last patients. Then he would take us home in his automobile. It was a wonderful treat!
Quotations I remember: Let's go to bed, said sleepy head. Let's tarry a while, said slow. Let's put on the pat, said Greedy Gert, and eat before we go. 23 skidoo, vamoose, bugs me.


After Father inherited the 120-acre farm, we were going to move to the farm each March 4 for many years, but we never did. Instead he sold the farm to Judge Early of Edwardsville for the 3 townhouses and an extra lot. We then moved to one of the 5-room houses and rented the other two. Here I lived until I married, 13 years later.
I lost my maternal grandmother who lived with us during this time. She washed dishes for us until the night she died. She just went to sleep in the night with my father sitting on the edge of her bed until she died. He knew she was going, but we didn't. She was 79, I think, and she wouldn't let anyone move a dish or a pan after she placed them in the cupboards.
I lost my mother when I was about 24 and my father died a number of years later.
I had several work experiences during this time. I worked in an Italian settlement. I taught little children how to cross stitch and sew little things. The first Sunday School class I was given at the Baptist Church was the 12- to 14-year-old girls, and then they took me upstairs and put me in the membership training class where I trained the children to join the Baptist Church. I taught two years of kindergarten at the Baptist Church. The woman was a graduate of Chicago Kindergarten Training School and she taught us -- then we in turn taught. It was on-the-job training. After one year of high school, I entered Brown's Business College. I didn't know it, but there was another girl there that was rotten (although I didn't know it at the time) and she worked in his office after school. She quit (she couldn't learn) and I went to him and said, “May I have Mabel's place?” He said, “Sure.” He thought I meant her seat in the classroom, and I meant the job after school. So I went in there after school and he looked at me and said, “What do you want here?” Then he explained to me that he didn't want me to work for him, because it was an immoral situation. So I changed and went to the Ursulan Academy and stayed there until “graduated.” It was a poor, poor training. I lost my touch system while there because they didn't teach it. When I had been there long enough she wrote me a letter of recommendation to a man in St. Louis. I don't think I could have held a job. Anyway, I got sick because I didn't want to go and never did go, and that was the end of that.
I had one year of photography. I began as a retoucher and ended up doing everything but snapping the pictures. Then I had one year, beginning as a bookkeeper, in a shop. There were 15 to 25 men on contract work doing interior and exterior work. I ended up as a supervisor of the store while the boss opened up another store. Finally when they opened up the extra store, they got me both a bookkeeper and stenographer and let me take charge of the store.
Then came the story of the theater salesman, when I worked in the exterior-interior decorating shop. While I was working as an assistant manager of the paint store, a man came in and asked for the little black-eyed girl -- that was me. He asked to borrow from the cash register $2.00 but not to record it. I loaned him the $2.00 but put a note in the cash register. When the boss looked at it, he asked me to explain. He said nothing to me but went to the theater manager and together they caught the salesman, He had been doing that kind of stealing in other places, only getting bigger amounts as time passed and had not been caught before.
Also while I was working at the decorating shop as a bookkeeper, we had Kinlock and Bell Telephones. I would cross the two so my boss's wife and her friend could talk to each other.
I went for 6 weeks to an evangelistic meeting every night. Dr. W. N. Y. Critchlie gave me a book because he said I had a brilliant mind.
I had a Mexican boyfriend and he took me to see a movie wherein the trey of hearts is a death sign. I refused to marry him, so he took me to see this movie of death and gave me a trey of hearts.
We had a hammock in our yard where my girlfriends and I would eat and sleep. We had a lawn swing later where I entertained my boyfriends. One offered to bring me election returns and a box of candy, but before he left he had failed and said, “I have accomplished nothing.” He went away kicking rocks in his path.
A drunken neighbor stole all of Albert's tithe money from his church envelopes. A neighbor told us they saw him go in our house often.
The boy next door tied me to the front porch and left me so all the men coming home from work could see me.
My brother Albert worked on the railroad and was very late coming home because of a wreck. My mother would say, “He'll never come home, but when he does, I'll whip him.”
For a while I worked as a secretary for Doctor Jones. I had to put drops in eyes, and I had never done anything like that before. I also kept his financial records.
I took a Swedish girl and another woman took another daughter because the father was in jail for drinking. The minister took two boys to the orphanage. The mother grieved so I went to the orphanage and got the two sons. The father was finally released and all were united and moved north.
I had an old-maid aunt who was an excellent cook. She worked in St. Louis for a wealthy lawyer. I visited my aunt and was taken in by the family. A sister of the woman also lived with them. Her husband was a judge and divorced. They had one son. They tried hard to get me to marry their handsome son. After Christmas my old-maid aunt would comb the department stores for reduced bargains. She would load us with wonderful Christmas gifts.
I sold Baldwin pianos in a contest and I was asked to work out a time schedule for five other girls. They resented my orders, so the head man said, “The way to win every argument is to state facts, then keep silent.”
My father gave me my first Christmas gift after Mother died -- a rose-colored sweater.
Gangs of boys on the street corners would wait to attack young girls. Often they succeeded. I saw one young girl in a casket. She had committed suicide by taking carbolic acid. Oh. it was a terrible thing!
Milt would watch for the paper and tear out the weather so poor grandmother couldn't ask what it was going to be like. Also he changed the hands of the clock so she couldn't tell the time. He also got a friend to act as a doctor. He examined grandmother and fixed up a bottle of medicine -- orange extract, cascaria, and water -- and gave it to her. Several days later she said, “Milt, that man was not a doctor. You are fooling me.”
When Mother was ill, the doctor came to see her. It was raining and she said to me, “Stay in. You'll get wet.” The doctor said, “No, she won't get wet. She's so fast she can run between the raindrops.”
A ditch was dug just outside my father's house for city water. At night I put two pies out there to cool. It was dark and Al forgot and kicked both pies into the hole. Another time Al lifted his shotgun which was supposed to be empty and shot a hole in the wall.
Sometimes when I came in from school, I'd find the neighbor children laying Mother out for dead on the couch. She loved to play with the children. I brought some goldenrod home from the country once. My mother wept with childhood memories. My father sometimes would spread a piece of bread with milk and gravy and cut it in small cubes for me to eat. When Milt came home on a visit, he would give his brothers five cents apiece for their pieces of pie.
Two tales told to me: A girl who was to get married had a picture taken. The photographer called her back three times. Finally he told her a person mysteriously would appear in the picture, holding a dagger over her head. My mother told me this story and said it was supposed to be true. Another story was about an old lady who wanted a set of china dishes and a closet. When she got there, she had waited so long that she went crazy and would sit in front of the china closet and make a noise like a goose when anyone approached.
When my boyfriends would call before my marriage and stayed a little late, my father would call out, “Breakfast will be ready soon.”

E. Ruth Stelzriede, 89, of Edwardsville died Sunday, Jan. 2, 1983, at 7:30 a.m. at Alton Memorial Hospital. She had entered the hospital on Wednesday.
She was born Aug. 17, 1893, in Carlinville, Ill., a daughter of the late Charles and Lydia Tracy Kinney.
She married the Rev. Frederick C. Stelzriede on April 4, 1920, in Alton. He survives.
Also surviving are a son, Wesley Q. Stelzriede of Edwardsville; three daughters, Mrs. Murl (Kaye) Sickbert of Colorado Springs, Colo., Mrs. David (Betty) Simpson of Bonners Ferry, Idaho, and Mrs. J. W. (Carmen) Nelson of Tallahassee, Fla., 12 grandchildren and 13 great-grandchildren.
One daughter, Bonnylin, and four brothers preceded her in death.
Mrs. Stelzriede was a member of the Immanuel United Methodist Church in Edwardsville and the United Methodist Women.
Friends may call from 3 to 8 p.m. Tuesday, and Wednesday morning until 11 a.m. at the Weber Funeral Home; and from 11:30 to 1:30 p.m. Wednesday at the Immanuel Church.
Funeral services will be held Wednesday at the church with the Rev. Ralph Totten, pastor of Immanuel Church officiating.
Burial will be in Valley View Cemetery.
Memorials to the Immanuel United Methodist Church would be appreciated.

Frederick and Emma had the following children:

+ 140 F i Keturah Ruth (Kaye) Stelzriede
+ 141 F ii Elizabeth Marie (Betty) Stelzriede
+ 142 F iii Bonnylin Naomi (Bonny) Stelzriede
  143 M iv Living
+ 144 F v Living

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