Missouri has lost a true treasure of a native son, and I
have lost another piece of my heart.
Bob Fiedler passed away on March 18th.
I don't even know how to begin to describe what this man
meant to me.
In 2003, in order to continue my research on Bertha Gifford,
I took a trip to Missouri—by myself. Nine years before, I'd gone there with my
mother. Together, we had discovered all the old newspaper clippings that would
later become the basis for the chapters in Tainted
Legacy about Bertha's trial. We had also snooped around and found out that
the farmhouse on Bend Road (where Bertha lived and where Ed Brinley died and
oh, so much more) was owned by Robert A. and Claire Fiedler. At that time, I
thought I'd procured their address. Turns out I had the city wrong. All my
letters were returned.
So in '03, when I returned, I simply picked up the phone
and dialed the number in the phone book. Mind you, this was extremely difficult
for me—as an introvert, as a very private person who was being intentionally
intrusive, and for the obvious reason: How does one begin the awkward
conversation which must include this fact—"So, my great-grandmother lived
in your house... and allegedly killed a few people while there..."?
And yet, when I got Bob on the phone (after I convinced
him I was not a telemarketer—this conversation occurring just one month after
the National Do Not Call Registry had opened), he was so kind and personable
that we sailed right through the awkwardness and began navigating a friendship
that would last for years. As soon as I identified myself as Bertha's
great-granddaughter, he invited me to come to the farmhouse.
And I did. I spent five hours at the farmhouse the next
day with Bob, his wife Rosella (Claire having passed away some years before, I
was sad to learn), and Tim, Bob's son. I did not then nor do I now understand
why Bob was so gracious to me, a stranger (from California, no less, so
immediately suspect in the eyes of most Missourians), but he was, sitting down
to openly share family history, offering me a tour of the house, the barn, the
property where my mother spent "the happiest days of her life." And
he offered me something more that day. He handed me a copy of St. Louis magazine from 1981—a magazine
he had kept carefully preserved for twenty-two years. In it was the most
comprehensive article (to that date) about Bertha Gifford. "Darkness
'Round the Bend," by Joe Popper, contained several pertinent facts regarding
what happened to Bertha leading up to her trial. It also included where Bertha
had been buried. So on that same trip, I was finally able to visit her grave,
then call my mom to let her know.
Bob was so trusting (of this strange woman from
California he'd just met), he allowed me to take his magazine so that I could
have Joe Popper's long article photocopied before I left Missouri. I returned
it two days later, which gave me another chance to hang out with him for
awhile.
By then, he was already in his late 70's, but I would
have guessed his age at ten years younger. He was vibrant and amiable, with a
great sense of humor and an open heart that really was unusual for a
mid-Westerner of his generation. (Read that to mean, he was nothing like my
mother.) I loved him from the first day I met him.
As the years went by, I visited Missouri as often as I
could, especially after Tainted Legacy
was published. Always, if I let the Fiedlers know I was coming, they'd make
time to meet me at the farmhouse. Tim still continues to do so. After Bob was
diagnosed with dementia a few years ago (and the crack in my heart began), it
became difficult for him to be included in our annual reunions.
Bob lived to be 93. And what a life. He raised a wonderful
son and daughter who are as kind and gracious as he was and who will continue
to maintain the farm. And when I reached out to him, he reached right back,
gathering me into the circle of his family. I will never, ever forget him.
A beautiful story, Kay. It is another proof that the individual is almost always not the same as the stereotype we have built in our mind of a group of people. And I'm glad you had the blessing of Bob in your life.
ReplyDeleteThank you for your kind words, Art. Of all the people I've befriended in Missouri, the Fiedlers are the folks I had always assumed would be least friendly to me; some of their family members were allegedly poisoned by my great-grandmother. And yet they have always been the most gracious and accepting. So yes, we should never assume, never stereotype. Thank you again for commenting... and for reading my tribute to Bob.
ReplyDeleteIsn't it a blessing when you meet someone under awkward circumstances and find that person is truly so dear and becomes a lifetime friend. What a beautiful remembrance you have written. Have your book, Tainted Legacy and hope to get to read it soon. Enjoyed so much The Dogs Who Saved Me. LN
ReplyDeleteSo true! We never know, do we? Time and again I am reminded that we should never make assumptions about people. And I am happy to say that people continue to surprise me with their kindness. So glad to hear you enjoyed The Dogs Who Saved Me! And thanks for commenting here.
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