He didn't say "I love you" much but he lived it in ways big and small. Like taking his kids deep into forests and onto rocky crags - where they could hear wind roar through forests that stretched for miles. Or shouting "all aboard" as he served up a Sunday steak dinner.
The youngest son of a string of youngest sons, Elroy was born on Feb. 23, 1927, at home on the farm in Schaumburg, Illinois. His family — which can be traced to Hinrich Pfingsten marrying Catherina Hecht in 1604, in Lower Saxony (but let’s skip forward) — helped found the town in the 1840s. Elroy was the second generation born in the United States, but the old farming communities outside Chicago held fast to their roots and stayed a world apart. He started school late, at age 8, speaking only German. He caught up quickly, then skipped a grade.
As a child he got polio. He also played the tuba. He joined the Army during World War II, hoping to be a pilot; he ended up in a Sherman tank. The war ended before he finished training and he served as a staff sergeant in Japan during reconstruction.
The way he remembered it, he took notice of Betty Ann Hapke at a dance hall after returning stateside. (She remembered taking his stock years earlier.) They married in 1950. He attended Iowa State University on the GI Bill and got his Bachelor of Science in 1951. Elroy and Betty moved to Waterloo, Wisconsin, and started a poultry farm. They had their first child in 1955; four more came after.
They moved to Tucson, Arizona, in 1959. He had an egg ranch, sold it, then worked for Henny Penny, a supplier to restaurants. His oldest son would ride along on road trips to deliver eggs, up to Flagstaff, or over to El Paso, and on the way would sometimes ask, “Why would someone build a town here, in the middle of nowhere?” Elroy would hand him an encyclopedia of towns and their histories, and say, “Look it up.”
In 1969, Elroy was laid off and learned of his dad’s death on the same day. He had five kids and no job. The family moved to California where, in time, Elroy completed the move from farm to fork, owning two Sir George’s Royal Buffet restaurants, in La Mesa and Chula Vista, and investing in a third in Huntington Beach. Early in that journey someone took a bet on him and lent him $5,000. He always appreciated that.
Elroy and Betty were lifelong partners in family and business; they built a home in Bonita, California, where Elroy lived 50 years.
He loved sweet peas and dahlias and especially roses, all the colors. He grew dozens of bushes, filling his home and restaurants with bouquets. He did not hunt, but he fished. He loved hiking and taking pictures – landscapes and closeups alike. He’d focus on a mountain flower that most people would walk by. He would blast classical music to wake the kids. Once he woke them at 2 a.m., a surprise, and loaded them up for their first trip to Disney Land.
Elroy and Betty let their kids explore. They built forts in the Tucson desert and in the hills behind their Bonita home. Once, on a family trip to a Minnesota lake, he told two sons, 12 and 10, "there’s a boat with a motor, go play.” His children would grow up to fly planes and jets and surf and travel the country and world.
He refused to make restaurant reservations. Asked why, he said, “Well, what if I change my mind?”
The family had German shepherds and Siamese cats and a tortoise with a chipped shell that Elroy had rescued from a roadway, taking it home to his backyard where he grew tomatoes, corn and peas.
He loved old farm equipment. He loved the Old West. He loved beer, everyday conversation that didn’t aim to solve the world’s problems, and a good laugh. He was a great listener. At night, Elroy and Betty would read. Newspapers, magazines and books filled the home, from the Wall Street Journal to National Geographic to James Michener and Jane Smiley.
He did not love the beach. (Sand fleas.) He never learned to swim.
At the restaurants, Elroy put in seven long days a week. So did Betty. All five kids did something: dishwasher, busboy, cashier, waitress, cook. Each summer they took off for two weeks, often crossing a desert in a van (no air conditioning, with windows that only popped part-way open) to visit parks throughout the west, tent camping. They would roll in, set up, sleep, get up, break camp, go. Elroy lit the campfires first thing in the morning and put them out at night. They covered so much ground, taking in the Sierras, the Rockies, and Cascades; California’s Redwoods and Utah’s stone arches; Oregon’s coast and Washington’s San Juan Islands. Traveling, Elroy always bought the local paper. He wanted to learn about each place.
He loved the sound of the church organ, the classical guitar, the saxophone, the trumpet.
He did not love rock and roll. Hated it, to the day he died. He never got Elvis.
He was in Kiwanis and Friendship Force, and after Betty died, the Widows and Widowers of San Diego, holding just about every position. In the 1970s he employed refugees from Laos in his restaurants. He defended the values immigrants brought to our country, never turning inward. Later in life, when they could afford more distant travel, Elroy and Betty visited Romania, South Africa, Peru, Japan, China, Australia, and, of course, Germany.
In 2000, Elroy and Betty celebrated their 50th anniversary with a party that lasted the weekend. Betty died in 2004, of cancer.
A farmer at core, Elroy appreciated life’s unpredictability. He loved nature. He loved working for himself. He did not fear change. When he was in his early 90s, Elroy was given a new iPhone and an Apple Watch. He used them both.
Elroy died in his sleep in the early hours of March 28, at the age of 93.
He is survived by his five children: Karl, John, Paul, Laura and Ramona Hattendorf; 10 grandchildren: Jennifer, Kristen, Karl, Madeline, Nathan, Melissa, Waters, Scott, Erik, and Skye; three step-grandchildren; and seven great-grandchildren. He leaves behind nieces and nephews who loved his laugh; and many dear friends, including his longtime travel companion, Virginia.
Because of the coronavirus, a memorial will have to wait. Elroy was buried April 6, next to Betty, near their home in Bonita. His children placed roses on his grave.
SHARE OBITUARY
v.1.8.18