Manor House Anthology - (1) Leroy Brown

When I was a teenager I played organ for my local Catholic Church. The church led a religious service once a month for each of the local nursing homes. I would play piano and accompany the singers during the service. It was a chance to hone my piano skills and learn the old classic Protestant hymns often requested by the residents. The residents were not people I knew, but rather a small sea of elderly folks. Over time some became more known to me.

Thirty years later I find myself back at the Manor House Care Center. My brother asked my sons and I to help provide some music for an afternoon program. Arriving early, I walk down the hall toward the performance area, glancing left and right as I walk by rooms. It strikes me that time has changed the unfamiliar names on the doors to names of people I know.

Francis Harris, Winifred Wehr, and Bonnie MacDonald, Lucille Northup, Wanda Shirk, Norman Collins, and Leroy Brown

No longer anonymous, but rather names of people who were very much a part of my growing up. They are parents of friends, local businessmen, teachers, 4-H leaders, and school custodians. The change surprises me in a sobering way.

I see Leroy Brown’s name next to an open door and look in to see him in a chair watching television. He is neatly dressed and looks as I remember him from my childhood. I step in and introduce myself as Herb and Jeanene’s daughter and he remembers me. I promise to stop back and visit with him after the music performance.

While our group performs music I am thinking of the Browns and the part they played in our rural community and in the lives of the neighborhood children. Leroy and his wife Winifred ran the local feed store in East Lancaster Township. When my father, a farmer, purchased feed at the store, one or two of us children would go along. There was joy in those outings: Getting to ride with my dad with the truck windows rolled down and my arm hanging out the window had a grown-up kind of feel. The feed store was located in near Lancaster, IA, a “town that used to be”, and was a journey of a few miles over paved highway and country gravel roads, made longer by the steady but careful pace of dad’s chore truck.

A trip to Brown’s Feed Store came with a special treat. Upon arrival I would wander into the office area where Leroy’s wife, Winifred, was often working. She was a generous, kind lady, with a lovely smile and sparkling eyes. I could count on being handed a dime by either Leroy or Winifred to use to buy a drink from the office pop machine while dad was purchasing supplies, talking about the markets, and sharing the news of the day with the Browns. Did it get any better than hanging out with my dad while sipping a cold strawberry pop on a warm summer day? I don’t think so.

After the music performance I head back to Leroy’s room to visit. It does not seem right to see Leroy without Winifred. They were inseparable, working side by side in their business for 42 years. Leroy tells us (my brother has stopped by, too) that he and Winifred were married 72 years. While he feels he was blessed to be with her for such a long time, you can sense he wished for more time with her. She died in his arms in 2012. How much he misses her cannot be measured.

I glance at photos on the wall and find pictures of a B-24 Bomber and crew from World War II. Leroy was a nose gunner on the plane and still, at the age of 96, keeps in contact with a remaining crew member. We pass the time, sharing memories. Leroy does most of the talking. He tells my brother and me stories of his life, how he started his business in the country, and about selling chickens.

I remember the newly hatched chicks from his store. The chicks came in boxes that sat briefly on our farmhouse porch. The soft and yellow fuzzy chicks corralled in the four compartments of the box would emit a chorus of peeps. Within a day the chicks would be moved to the chicken house to eventually become layers or fryers, but for a little while they were our pets to pick up and gently hold. I still love the sweet sound of baby chicks.

Leroy’s children now are in Texas and Virginia. I think they are too far away to relieve the loneliness of their father. My visit winds down. I ask Leroy if I can give him a hug goodbye. “Yes, and thank you for visiting. Please come again.” It saddens me to walk away.

My brother tells me later that as he passed by Leroy’s room a second time he saw him crying. He stopped in briefly again and Leroy thanked him again.

As I drove away from the Manor House, I thought of Halloween when I was younger. Trick or treaters traveling from farm to farm in the country usually received apples, cookies, and often better than average goodies. The best place to go, though, was Brown’s. The reward for each of us for simply knocking on their door and saying “trick or treat” was often a whole Cracker Jack box with a pack of gum, tootsie pops, and other goodies taped on for good measure. Leroy and Winifred managed to create a sense of wonder with their generosity and conveyed to the children of the neighborhood that they were special.

Visiting with Leroy, forty-five years after I last chanted “trick or treat” at his door or pulled a cold bottle of pop from his office pop machine, I can still feel the Brown’s warmth. I still feel that sense of belonging and being valued. Leroy and Winifred took a little extra time with me and others when we were children. Following Leroy and Winifred’s example and to remind me of their kindness when I was a child, I hand out full size candy bars to the neighbor children each Halloween. It is fun for me to see the surprise and delight in the children’s eyes - as it must have been for Leroy and Winifred.

God bless you Leroy.