A Tribute To CHD

     CHD are the initials for my Dad's name, Carl Henry Diederich. He was born on January 17, 1896 which would have been 115 years ago. My Dad died in 1982 at the age of almost 87.


     CHD, as he liked to sign his name, lived all his life in Garrett, Indiana--except for his first nine years. He was born in Mellonhagen, Germany in the Province of Mecklenburg. This Province is the farthest north and the farthest east of modern day Germany, right next to Poland. Its northern border is the Baltic Sea. When CHD was 9 years old in 1905 he came with his parents, three brothers and two sisters to America. Older relatives had already come and were leading financially rewarding lives working for the B&O Railroad in Indiana.


     Here is the earliest picture I have of my Dad. It is of his school in Mellonhagen dated 1902. He is in the light suit in middle of the the first row 3rd from the right and left. (I note the boy with the dog and wondered about why old world school masters are purported to be stern.)

     This next picture is of CHD on his confirmation day; he is a young teenager. Shortly after that, his father showed up at school and made him quit (age 14) to go to work in the railroad shops. This is where they repaired the railroad engines and passenger cars among other things. He worked there until in his early 20's when he took the exams to become one of the train crews. In 1917 he met my mother, Rosa. They married and started a family, two sons (one died shortly after birth) and three daughters; I am the youngest. Here's a picture of Rosa and Carl shortly before they were married in 1917.

     I loved my Dad. I thought he was as handsome as any movie star. Especially when he was in his conductor uniform or dressed up in his overcoat, Fedora on his head, and smoking a fat cigar. Favorite outings were with him and my mother going to the movies, then stopping at the ice cream shop afterwards. Or riding with them on the Tilt-A-Whirl at the DeKalb County Fair. He won a big stuffed Lassie collie for me playing Bingo at the fair. He sang "Oh Tannenbaum" every Christmas and dressed up as Santa. I remember some of the stories he told of his memories of Germany and have told them publicly. Here's my favorite picture of the two of us together; I'm somewhere between 1 and 2 and he's in his Conductor's uniform.

      
     I'm happy to say that life circumstances allowed me to be geographically close to my Dad the last two years of his life. He volunteered to move to a Seniors home and to our great surprise truly enjoyed it. He sang in their choir, befriended a young mentally challenged resident, was a substitute grandfather to a visiting lad from the local school,  produced a resident's newsletter, and flirted with the female staff. Here's a photo of him in his 80's.

     My one regret about my Dad is that I haven't been able to say "Happy Birthday" more than 87 times. Happy Birthday, Dad, wherever you are.