Aunt Lucille and Uncle John:Visits to Remember
by Wendel Potter
Her full name was Mary Lucille Hoeven, but no one called her Mary. She was Aunt Lucille and that was a perfect fit.
Lucille was my father’s sister, and was born in Mason City, Iowa in 1900. It wasn’t difficult to do the math when her birthday rolled around.
I don’t know as though any one aunt of mine could actually hold the title “favorite”, so many of them were such wonderful ladies, but Lucille was certainly among those tucked away in a special pocket in my heart.
Aunt Lucille’s husband, John, certainly fell into the favorite uncle category. He was truly a character with interesting stories to spin about his service to our country during World War I.
As a 24-year old from George Iowa, he joined the Army in 1917. After being stationed on the Mexican border at the time of Pancho Villa’s raid on the United States, Uncle John was sent to France where he served in the U.S. Cavalry.
After his return to the States, John went on to study at the Mankato (Minnesota) Business School and became a salesman for Standard Oil in Doon, Iowa, which is where he met Aunt Lucille, who was teaching school in Doon. In 1944, the Hoevens, with their sons Jim, Jon, and Jerry, moved to Wahoo, Nebraska.
Aunt Lucille, who had attended Iowa State College and then Wesleyan University in Nebraska, continued her teaching career near Wahoo until her retirement.
We would only see the Hoevens occasionally when my family still lived in Iowa. Then, in 1964, we also migrated to Nebraska, only about 90 minutes from Wahoo. We were then able to visit Uncle John and Aunt Lucille frequently.
By this time, their sons were married and had moved away, although cousin Jon was close by, in Omaha. When we paid a visit to Wahoo, Jon and his wife Wilma usually dropped by, along with their three children: Shelley, Doug, and Connie.
The kids were quite small then. Of course, I was only junior high age at that time. But I remember cringing watching Connie, who couldn’t have been more than two, bounding up and down Lucille’s staircase, which had the steepest set of steps I’d ever seen.
I feared that the toddler would take a nasty tumble, but she was apparently a pro at mastering her grandmother’s stairs. She didn’t even need a bungee cord. She could have put any contestant on “Wipeout” to shame.
Jon and Wilma are still in Omaha, and are now retired. We saw them just a few years ago, along with my cousin Jerry and his wife, Ann, when they all attended my niece’s wedding in Kansas City. It’s always a pleasure to visit such fine people and they are among the best.
Being a football fan, it’s a point of interest and pride for me that Little Cousin Connie the Steep Stair Climber grew up to marry a former University of Nebraska football player, Jeff Jamrog, who is now UNL’s Assistant Athletic Director to AD Tom Osborne, one of our state’s storied and most revered head football coaches as well as a former United States Congressman.
Now back at the Hoeven home in Wahoo, a visit would not be complete until Aunt Lucille had served a Lady Baltimore cake. She was proud of her dessert specialty with a cream and fig filling, and it was delicious and we always looked forward to it.
Their reciprocal visits to the Potter house were many and highly anticipated. The routine also carried with it a touch of humor. After Dad and Mom would meet them at the door and welcome them in, Uncle John would whisper to my father, “Do you have anything to drink?”
Dad usually had a nip of Seagram's stashed away for just such a visit and I would imagine it was the only nip Uncle John had throughout the year.
And Aunt Lucille looked on with a stern gaze.
Now when my aunt and uncle came to visit, it was a given that they’d stay a few days. We expected that and wouldn’t settle for a lesser visit.
But Lucille was a very proper lady who believed in protocol, so when John would ask aloud, “Should I bring in the suitcases?”, my aunt would say, “John! We haven’t been asked to stay overnight!”
Then Dad would extend the formal invitation and my brother and I would follow Uncle John out to the car to help with the luggage.
I remember that John loved ice cream, or at least he loved seeing that kids had their fill of it. A visit never went by that Uncle John didn’t suggest getting ice cream cones and taking a drive around town while we ate them.
Uncle John left us all too soon, just after Christmas in 1967. He was one of those favorite uncles you just never forget.
After Uncle John’s death, Lucille continued her visits to our house. She never missed many family gatherings. She came for my high school graduation. She came to my wedding. She was a welcome and cherished guest.
There were also rare moments of introspection that Aunt Lucille shared. Once she came to visit while my dad was in the hospital with a case of nerves.
Now my father was a world champion worry wart. His nerves were constantly jangled, which in turn affected his heart, and it made life just a bit discomfiting for a guy in high school. It seemed I couldn’t go to a ball game or a dance or a movie without wondering all the while if Dad was at home having a grand mal seizure.
During that particular visit, Lucille was wise to my feelings and she told me, “Your father is just like your grandmother. That dear woman worried so much about us she nearly ruined our lives.” Then she said, “You have to try and not let that happen to you.”
Being a life-long teacher, Aunt Lucille was interested in my writing. She never failed to ask me if I was working on a story and encouraged me never to quit.
That always meant a lot to me, to have an aunt who was truly interested in my dreams and aspirations.
I wish Aunt Lucille would have lived to see my columns published in the newspaper. Hopefully, that would have made her proud.
As I get older, I find myself dwelling on memories of family and friends, people who have touched my life in a special way.
Aunt Lucille and Uncle John were just such people. They’ve been gone a long time now and I miss them.
But I'm grateful they can still pay a visit in my memories.
Copyright 2009 Wendel Potter
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