John Keller

I always felt surrounded by love from both of my parents. Our home was also organized and happy and thus they gave me the best beginning a person could have. As I grew, and under my father’s guidance, I had a great deal of independence, first to explore the woods and be outside much of the day, and later to go on my own adventures away from home. My parents dearly wished to have more children, but since that did not work out, they gave me their all. They were supportive of our extended family their whole lives. My father was the dad—and grandpa, and uncle—that every child dreams of having. He had a physical vitality, joy, and sociability throughout his life that made it fun to be around him no matter what age you were. Children were attracted to him like bees to nectar. He enjoyed playing. You could count on him to be kind and helpful and to make you laugh or explain something you wanted to know more about. He taught me to wait for good things; I was to ignore the all the ice cream trucks that came through our neighborhood every summer day, but on Sunday we would buy an ice cream from the Good Humor man. He included me in everything he did. I began following him around the woods at a young age. He always wore his binoculars. There was only one rule: if he stopped, I should stop and not make a sound until he identified the bird. The neighbors would always bring snakes, wounded birds or animals in need to our house to get my father’s consultation. My father's birding also inspired my cousin Marc to love birding and he visited my father throughout his life to go birding with him. So let me tell you a little more about my father’s life… John Emil Keller was born in St.Gallen, Appenzell, Switzerland on June 10,1919. His parents Hermann Zuberbuhler and Berta Kellenberger were part of a group of young adults who loved to hike in the mountains together. Berta’s closest sister Sophie, who was only one year younger, was also part of this group. Hermann was an artist who designed embroidery and Berta and Sophie ran their father’s mercantile store in Walzenhausen. Just before World War One in May, 1914, Hermann had leave from the Swiss Cavalry for their marriage and honeymoon at Lake Maggiori, and John’s older brother Herman was conceived. John, known as Hans or Hansili to his family, had a happy early childhood in Switzerland. His parents, however, in 1921 decided to immigrate to the United States so Hermann could work in his brother-in-law’s embroidery factory in New York City. John was just 2 years old when they left home to take a ship to New York City. He was very out-of-sorts about leaving and bit more than one fellow passenger, much to the chagrin of his mother and older brother. It just goes to show that how one acts as a two-year old has very little to do with one’s character as an adult. The family eventually settled into a home they loved in Fairview, NJ, where their house was on top of a hill and afforded a wonderful view of the sunset, which was very important to Berta. The backyard was transformed into a Garden of Eden with a pond, a cherry tree, roses, cosmos, and many other flowers. Although the house was small, there were enough little bedrooms and an attic for the boys to allow Berta’s brother Emil to live with them for a number of years. The aromas from the kitchen wafted into the little living room since Berta was a clever cook who could make a feast out of whatever was on hand. My father would hear his parents singing their Swiss songs together and that would make him very happy. Soon John’s little sister Helen came along; she would always let them know that she was the only one of them who was born an American. They spoke Switzerdeutsch at home and English in the neighborhood and at school. On the weekends John’s brother Herman helped his father to fix and improve the home, while John helped his mother to clean the house, look after Helen who he adored, and do shopping errands. A loaf of bread from the bakery was 5 cents and my father was allowed to eat off the end on his way home. If he was sent to the butcher, he knew exactly how specify the cut they needed. When he finished his chores my father was always outdoors in all types of weather. Herman, however, preferred to stay indoors and work on constructing radios and indeed he built his life around his electronic talent. The wonderful thing was that his radios brought classical music into their home in the 1920s and 30s before other people had radios. Herman also played the piano effortlessly while the family sang along. This began my father’s life long love of classical music. My father’s instrument was the violin, but unfortunately he had the teacher from Hell who wacked him with a ruler when he made a mistake. His mother finally allowed him to quit these lessons if he agreed to play in the orchestra at school. The Great Depression hit the U.S. around the time my father John was turning 10; like most families, his family struggled financially. My father began delivering newspapers every morning and contributed this income to the family throughout his schooling. Sometimes he hitched an early morning horse-drawn wagon ride with an Italian neighbor who delivered milk for his mother who had cows in her garage. During the worst years in the 1930s his father had to work in construction with a Swiss firm in southern New Jersey. When the workweek was over mid-day Saturday John could always tell how things were going because if his father had enough cash he would come home with cold cuts, and otherwise not. During this time my father also became a boy scout, which he took very seriously, earning merit badges and trying to live the boy scout code. In fact, he did incorporate these values as his life-long values: trustworthy, loyal, helpful, friendly, courteous, kind, obedient, cheerful, thrifty, brave, clean, and reverent. I know of few people who you could count on throughout their life span to honor all these values with such authenticity. Although my father grew up in an urban neighborhood rather than Switzerland, he carried the love his parents held for the out-of-doors: the love of sunsets, walking, mountains, trees, and all aspects of nature. As he grew, this love transformed into a passion for the weather and birds. Starting at age 10 he wrote a journal about the weather in his tiny neat printing. “A cold snap which came over New Jersey and New York got the people to put warm coats on. The temperature dropped to 10 degrees…” He would have liked to have become a weather scientist if the realities of the depression and World War II had not intervened. The summer when my father turned 12, his mother and sister Helen went to Switzerland for the entire summer since Berte’s father was ill. My father was longing to go but since he was 12 he would have been full fare so he had to stay home. To make things worse Tante Guilliama came and made his life miserable. The only good side to this was that her teen daughter saved him from drowning when he swam out too far into the Hudson River at Uncle Ott’s place. He had to wait 35 more years before he finally was able to visit Switzerland and meet the relatives who everyone wrote to each week. John was a hard working student at school and he graduated a semester early in January, 1937, at 17 and a half years of age. The next day he went to an employment agency in New York City in his best church-going suit. They recommended he buy a hat before he started out to look for a job. As he walked down the streets in his new hat he saw an ad in the street-level window of the Chrysler Builder saying that Owen Illinois Glass Company was looking for an office boy. He went up and applied and he had his first job. Forty-two years later he retired as a vice-president of Owens Illinois. An office boy does errands and handles all the mail. Soon they discovered that my father could write and communicate better than most of the salesmen and he became a secretary and eventually a salesman. John was a very conscientious worker but once he became a salesman his boss had one bit of negative feedback: no one could pronounce his last name—Zuberbuhler—and could he please change it to Zuber or Buhler? Unfortunately, German sounding names were not very popular in the 1940s so John looked for short family name and came upon his mother’s mother’s name “Keller”. Berta thought this would be fine but his father hit the roof. Later John found out that Hermann’s greatest competitor for Berte, who was also in the hiking group, was Arnold Keller. That is how I became a “Keller” rather than a “Zuberbuhler”. Herman was working at Eifler Electronics and John at Owens Illinois; they paid room and board at home to help keep the family afloat. My father, however, taking thriftiness to heart, was saving every extra cent. Herman was spending every extra sent on new radio parts. Herman suggested that they buy a car together, the first car anyone in their family had ever had. It was an old wreck of a car but they loved it. Herman being older had the car on Friday nights and John on Saturday nights. When John got in the car he knew that there would not be enough gas left from the night before so he would coast down the hill to the gas station to buy one gallon before he started the car. One of Herman’s good friends was Bill Kilventon who lived in West New York. They organized a party with their mutual friend Bill Hensler and invited their 19-year-old younger siblings. When Grace Kilventon and John met, it was love at first sight. John and Grace both worked in New York, so they met every day and took the ferry back and forth together, as well as meeting for lunch at the automat. When they had been together for a couple of years my father got cold feet and called off the relationship. My mother was crushed, but her older and wiser sister told her to “make him jealous.” While my father was out of town on a bike trip my mother went to a single’s camp and met three men who dated her on Thursday, Friday and Saturday nights respectively. When my father returned and found out, he recommitted to the relationship and they were engaged shortly thereafter. Mom's older siblings Bill and Helen and their partners would take John and Grace along to Bear Mountain lodge on Saturday nights where there was live dancing. My parents would dance every dance together all evening which always prompted Helen's husband Alex to exclaim, "You're burning the candle on both ends!" John enlisted in the Army/Air Corps in 1942 and was eventually stationed in St. Louis. He returned for a whirlwind New Year’s Day weekend (1943) and they were married in a ceremony planned by Mom’s sister Helen. Then my mother accompanied him back to St. Louis and eventually Louisiana where they both worked on the base. They had to get used to cockroaches and how much everyone liked coca cola, and they began their frugal approach to life since they saved my mother’s entire salary during the war. When my parents first returned from the army they lived with my mother’s family, but eventually they found an apartment. They joined the Hudson Valley choral group. When I was 2 and a half, they bought their first home. Since my father loved birds and nature (keeping detailed lists of every bird he ever saw), every home they bought from then on had to back up to a woods, starting with the 40 acre beech-tree-filled Borg’s Woods in Hackensack, New Jersey. Everywhere my parents lived, they got to know their neighbors well, joined the Audubon Society, joined a church, and spent time with family. On Saturdays we would happily visit with my mother’s family - my Aunt Helen, Nana, and cousins Betsy and Sandy - and on Sunday my father’s family. My father's sister Helen was 4 years younger and my parents' were her confidants and I adored her. We were so happy when she finally met Uncle Ben. When I was 5 my father’s parents, my Mommom and Poppop, retired to Florida, so we took 3 weeks off every year for our Florida retreat. This was a treat for all of us since it was an adventure and we all loved them dearly. My father was a hard worker and a skillful employee at Owens Illinois (OI) glass company. His promotions caused our family to have to move. When I was in 3rd grade we moved to Penfield (Rochester), NY where my Dad became first an assistant manager and then branch manager. My father always enjoyed his work and prided himself in his ability to solve complex social problems and motivate his employees. Upstate New York was a lovely place to live and we went on weekly outings to visit beautiful places in the area. Both my parents enjoyed playing golf and bridge. My cousins and grandparents came to visit for weeks in the summer and we always went back to New Jersey for the holidays. We went on some very special vacations such as a trip via Canadian National train to the Calgary stampede and the Canadian Rockies. When I started high school my mother’s mother Nana came to live with us, and my parents looked after her for the following 30 years. When I was a junior in high school my father was promoted again and we had to move to Sylvania (Toledo), Ohio. As always we had lovely neighbors and friends. Our family finally visited Switzerland for the first time when I graduated from high school. My father was reunited with his Aunts and cousins and this started new life-long friendships. Then I was off to college (in Ohio) where my parents loved to visit. In preparation for being a vice president, my father was sent by Owens Illinois to a summer program at Harvard Business School for two summers where he met businessmen from all over the world. He now had multiple trips to Europe as part of his work as VP of the closure division. He would always carve out a little time at the end of these trips to visit family in Switzerland. When my husband Barry and I moved to Oregon, my mother was determined to get my father to retire. When they discovered that I was pregnant with their first grandchild, that was the deciding factor. My father retired at age 59 after 42 years with OI. They bought a 15-acre farm in southwest Oregon on the beautiful Applegate River, near Jacksonville. They loved their new place and quickly met dear friends. They joined the local church choir and my father became president of the Rogue Valley Audubon Society, and joined the board of the Symphony. They didn’t miss a Britt festival or an Ashland play. Most of all they loved being grandparents and wonderful grandparents they were. They would come up to Portland for the opera and we would visit them frequently on the Applegate. As soon as they awoke, the grandkids, Karl and Kaye, would dive into their grandparents' bed and start playing. My mother, whose father had once said “What will poor John do, you don’t know how to cook!” had by now become a wonderful cook, in part by cooking with her mother-in-law. They always had a fruit pie, a strudel, or cookies on hand, made with the healthiest ingredients and the least amount of sugar possible. My father was very involved in cooking these treats. They grew a huge garden and ran out to collect the veggies just before dinner. And of course swimming in the Applegate River was the ultimate fun. Throughout their lives my parents were amazing correspondents. They wrote detailed joint letters to my father's parents and my father's sister Helen and husband Ben each week. They also wrote other friends and relatives frequently and as a result they were in close contact with people all over the U.S. and Switzerland. Many of these folks came to visit my parents and that resulted in many trips: road trips to Yellowstone and Utah with Swiss cousins or to Vancouver, B.C. with Helen and Ben, multiple cruises or golf vacations with dear old friends like Bill and Patsy Yorks, trips to the beach or the mountains with nieces and nephews and their families and so on. My father’s trips were always well planned ahead of time and well executed. Some of their most special trips were to Switzerland to visit my father's family, including the trip when they took his father Hermann/Poppop back for one final trip in his 80s. After 15 years on this wonderful farm, my parents were in their mid 70s and decided to move up to Lake Oswego to be closer to family. They bought the first house that was not on a woods, but it did look out over the lake. My father was awarded an “Unsung Hero” award from the city of Lake Oswego for delivering Meals on Wheels, along with a good measure of cheerfulness and empathy, to homebound seniors for a decade. After taking great care of Nana for so many years, they were determined to find a living situation that would work when they were elderly. They heard about Mary’s Woods and they were in the first wave to move there. My Dad selected the ground floor apartment with a SW exposure that would be perfect for his garden and bird feeders. They had many happy years at Mary’s Woods and celebrated their 90th birthdays together before age started to catch up with them. (My Dad always said that he married an older woman because my mother was 2 days older.) In 2010 they moved to a beautiful adult care home on a blueberry farm south of Lake Oswego where my father still had his garden and feeders and went for his daily walk. They were so happy to know that both of their dear grandchildren were happily married and they loved watching their first great grandchildren grow up. My mother died of natural causes at home on the day before her 92nd birthday. My parents had been together for 72 years, and married for 68 years. Four years later my father died peacefully of natural causes. He was 96, the same age that his father was when he died. He died in his (adult care) home with his granddaughter at his side. As she said, “He was lying there peacefully. We were holding hands and it was like a wave came over him and he just stopped breathing and sailed away.” Amazingly my father remained cheerful to the end, waking up to give smiles frequently during his last days. He was very attached to the warm-hearted people who cared for him. (Love those Romanians.) He was always so happy to see me and other family members. He had less than a month when he could no longer be up and about. Even though he had dementia these last 5 years he was still social and contented and connected. He was really the best of all fathers…and husbands. And can you imagine my mother’s joy to be with him again! – Kathy Keller Jones