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Rose Ann’s Table
Sonia Crandall
(story told to me by my mother, Roselma Syrcle)
In farm families, the kitchen or dining room table is the hub of activity in the farmhouse. In our family, it was a large, very sturdy oak table that, it seemed to me as a young girl, could be infinitely expanded. They could be expanded for holiday family gatherings, for the feeding of hungry “hay hands” (neighbors who helped bale hay and stack it in the barn) and for impromptu lunches and ‘suppers’ for folks who would drop by on the way into town, or on the way home from church, or who would just drop by because they were out for a drive to admire the crops in the field or the cattle.
On our kitchen table we ate countless wonderful home-cooked meals, kneaded bread, folded laundry, churned butter, cooled the jars after canning the pick-of-the-day from the summer garden and, during the school year, did our homework. After the day’s work was done and the supper dishes cleared, we sat around the table to play cards or other games (this was long before laptop computers, Game Boys and iPods, although we did have a TV), listened to stories from our elders and shared our hopes and dreams…and secrets.
But I want to tell you a story about another particular table, one that belonged to my great grandmother, Rose Ann Hanke. This story was told to me by my mother, Roselma Zeiger Syrcle, Rose Ann’s granddaughter, as told to her by her mother, Ethel Frances Hanke Zeiger.
January 10, 1913, was a day to remember for the family of Rose Ann Hanke, who was 35 years old at the time. It was a day of anxiety and surprise as she held on for her life and the life of her unborn child. Rose Ann had been sick for two weeks. Seeing that her doctors in Clayton could do no more for her, Dr. Peters (a “very young doctor,” as described by my grandmother) called Dr. Miller in Quincy, Illinois. Dr. Miller and his nurse, Ms. Gwendolyn, were driven to Rose Ann’s home in a new Model-T Ford. They drove on icy roads for 20 miles to the farm home on Wolf Ridge Road, south of Camp Point, Illinois.
Doctors Peters and Miller, Ms. Gwendolyn and the driver (name unknown) ate a country supper of smoked ring sausage, homemade bread, butter and preserves and other “country food” prepared by Mary, Rose Ann’s sister-in-law. They ate on the dining room table. Apparently, the patient was not in a critical situation if they had time for a meal…
Dr. Miller must have had an idea about what he was going to be facing when he arrived on the scene, since he had come prepared with the proper tools-of-the-trade to perform surgery. At 8:00 pm, Ms. Gwendolyn boiled the instruments in the family copper wash boiler and prepared Rose Ann for an appendectomy and the dining room table for surgery. During the prep for surgery Dr. Miller discovered that Rose Ann was pregnant. The situation was precarious.
Rose Ann was given chloroform (or perhaps ether). Mary was asked to hold the kerosene lamp over the patient so the doctor could see. Poor Mary didn’t last long; she fainted, so the driver was conscripted for this task. Now picture a very cold winter night. The house was warmed by a coal furnace. Chloroform, or ether, is floating in the motionless air and a kerosene lamp is being held over Rose Ann for what had to seem to be a very long time (if you are the person holding the lamp).
My grandmother, age 9, her two brothers and their father went upstairs to one of the bedrooms and on their knees prayed all night for their mother and wife. I can only imagine their fear. When telling the story to my mother, my grandmother remembered the tears, uneasiness and praying “as if they were yesterday.”
Rose Ann was very sick for three weeks and recovery was hard. Ms. Gwendolyn stayed by her side night and day until she recovered. Farm folks are tough, and Rose Ann had someone watching over her. After the discomfort of a summer pregnancy, Rose Ann delivered a girl, my great-aunt Anna, on September 3. This event made the pain and waiting bearable.
Four years later, my great-grandparents had one more daughter, completing the family of three daughters and two sons. Rose Ann lived to be 88 years old. My grandmother Ethel (Momo to the grandkids), Rose Ann’s eldest daughter, lived to be 101. My mother is 85 and enjoys good health. By the way, on February 2, 1923, that young Dr. Peters delivered Roselma, my mom, at the old Zeiger homestead.
Now, this story is not all that rare given the state of the art and science of medical practice during the early 20th century. Many kitchens and dining rooms were transformed into surgery suites. I encourage you to interview your grandparents, great-grandparents and other older relatives to record your family’s stories. I missed quite a few by not doing this.
Finally, I want to say thank you to the doctors who have paved the way for you. Their courage, dedication and sense of purpose are unrivaled. A special thank you goes to the doctors who made house calls, and to Doctors Peters and Miller, and Ms. Gwendolyn, who cared for my great grandmother. Her children, grandchildren and great-grandchildren have this wonderful story. I am ever thankful for that dining room table, whose sturdy frame and legs supported my great-grandmother in a way no one ever expected. It continues to be the heart of the family. If only that table could talk. |