Remembering a true gentleman

Friday, February 1, 2002
Wendell and Donna Cheney

The loss of Wendell Cheney to Southwest Nebraska is a big one. He was another of my father's classmates, he married Rick and I in the ballroom of the Keystone Hotel almost 15 years ago and we had some great adventures.

One story that Wendell told me that I captured on tape in his wonderful lilting voice was about the time in 1932 that he listened to Franklin Delano Roosevelt's speech at the Red Willow County Fairgrounds when he was in town campaigning for president. Wendell said that the Secret Service had FDR (who had polio) propped up against the open door of the convertible automobile to give his speech so he could stand on his own.

When FDR finished his speech, the Secret Service got him settled back into the seat of the auto, then they backed off and stood at a distance. The many members of the press backed off also. Judge Cheney said that, with those thousands of people watching, it seemed like FDR sat there doing nothing for 15-20 minutes but was probably only about 5-10 minutes. After a time, the Service swooped back in and FDR was driven off in his car but no explanation was given for why he was just sitting there for so long. Judge Cheney was listening to the radio on election night when FDR was being interviewed.

The reporter asked him what his favorite moment was in the campaign trip across the U.S. had been. Roosevelt said that, "It had to be the sunset ... at McCook, Nebraska." Roosevelt was just sitting there enjoying one of our beautiful sunsets while the thousands, including Wendell Cheney, sat and watched him.

Wendell and his wife, Donna met and married in mid-life but definitely made the most of their years together. They traveled extensively and I was lucky enough to see one of their slide shows. I remember a close-up of red and orange leaves on a vine on a house in my neighborhood. It was absolutely beautiful and I never saw that house or that simple vine the same again. I can still see that photo in my mind.

Donna wrote several books but the only one I found in my library was "Thoughts On Being Human." Part of her chapter titled "Driftwood" I think describes the personality of both Wendell and Donna.

"As my husband and I were strolling beside a lake not far from our home, I picked up a small piece of driftwood, worn to satin smoothness, and carried it along, enjoying the feel of the surface beneath my fingers. It has been scoured, scraped and ground against the stones of the lake until it had lost its rough places. The thought came to me that the formation of a beautiful character is similar to that of creating a piece of driftwood-the angles and corners must be ground away, and the process is agonizing. While people can and do resist this process because of the pain, a beautiful character can seldom be created without it. A person who has never had the sharp edges of his character worn away by some adversity can be very hard for others to endure."

Don't we all know people who could use their sharp edges clipped?

When I was director of the Community Hospital Health Foundation, my office was way down on Red Pod. Wendell would drive out to the hospital with four huge hibiscus blossoms filling two cardboard beer flats. He was using two canes to get around at that time and would get out of his car in the parking lot and somehow grasp a cane and a cardboard flat in each hand and head for the front doors. Just inside Wendell would somehow readjust so that now his hat, that he had just removed was also dangling from one of the fingers on the cane and he would begin his trek toward Red Pod ... to bring me one of his beautiful flowers. He was a gentleman.

He and I tried to grow hibiscus from seed one time when he was striving to make McCook "Hibiscus City."

Mine would get to about nine inches high before starting to weaken ... we never did get a good crop. Wendell had fallen in love with them while stationed in Hawaii during World War II.

I can think of no one who inspired me more to get out and go when I didn't really feel like going more than Wendell. The sight of his head barely visible above the steering wheel as he piloted his old Horizon along McCook streets, attending concerts, funerals, meetings and programs was a familiar one. I marveled at his stamina and his determination to be independent. He was in (and out) of local rest homes several times, always preferring to be in his home on Sunset Road. When we made two trips to Stockville last spring, I asked if he was going to make the move to one of the retirement homes and not deal with the grass, sidewalks and driving anymore. He said, "No, this is my home and until I am carried out of it, it shall continue to be my home." He was an admirable and honorable man and I will miss him.

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