Lyndon Jenne and Laura Jenne

January 2 would have been my parents’ 70th anniversary. Unfortunately, they didn’t make it to that milestone. My mom (Laura Frances Welch Jenne) passed away on December 23rd; my dad (Lyndon Elliott Jenne, but known to all as “Hank”) followed her on Christmas Day. They were in extremely poor health, but they both passed away peacefully at home. Mom was 92; Dad was 91.

Both were born at the very onset of the Great Depression. Dad grew up in East Longmeadow, Massachusetts. Mom grew up on a cotton farm in Ripley, Mississippi.

Much to the consternation of our grandfather, an accomplished musician, Dad became a lifelong fan of country music. Throughout his adult life, most people knew him as “Hank,” after his favorite musician, Hank Williams. Dad was a rambunctious teenager; he eventually joined his older brother Pete in racing Indian motorcycles on dirt tracks. It wasn’t a particularly safe endeavor; after a serious wreck, Pete spent approximately six months in the hospital.

Dad finished high school in Springfield in a vocational arts program and worked as a sign painter after graduation. He later joined the Army, eventually becoming a paratrooper in the 11th Airborne Division at Fort Campbell, Kentucky.

While he was stationed at Fort Campbell, Hank met Frances in 1951 in Memphis; after a short courtship, they were married on the second day of 1952. My brother Jim was born in December of that year; the rest of us (Ed, Mike, Debbie and Steve) followed.

Dad borrowed some of his disciplinary techniques from his paratrooper days. Instead of a paddling, we often endured extended periods in the “front leaning rest.” The front leaning rest is kind of like a “plank,” but much more strenuous. We all became very proficient in this exercise, even before we entered elementary school, an ability that later paid dividends for Steve, Ed and I when we followed in Dad’s boot prints and went to jump school.

Dad was not without idiosyncrasies. As an example, in 2000, our Aunt Rita informed Ed and I that we were direct descendants of the Pilgrims. Our ancestors, John Jenney and his family, arrived in Plymouth in 1623 on the “Little James,” the third ship after the Mayflower. A brewer by trade, John built and operated the first successful grist mill in Plymouth, an endeavor that was essential to the colony’s economy. Growing up in Massachusetts, where having a Pilgrim heritage was obviously a big deal, Dad had heard about this over and over. Apparently sick of it, he decided not to talk about it after he left home.

As the young wife of a soldier, Mom was resourceful and fearless. In transit to join Dad in Austria, Mom (by herself, with young kids in tow) travelled by ship across the Atlantic and then crossed much of Europe by train. I should note that this was not long after the Second World War, and many Germans and Austrians harbored a lot of pent-up ill will against Americans. In this era, it wasn’t uncommon for Americans to be assaulted, robbed or even murdered.

Although I wasn’t particularly conscious of it at the time, I am now appreciative of our mother’s ability to stretch an Army NCO’s paycheck. She was obviously a Zen master of home economics. While we

rarely had plenty, we always had enough and made do with what we had. Mom was an incredible gardener; she planted vegetable gardens wherever we lived, and we---as well as many neighbors---reaped the benefits of her bountiful harvests. A self-taught seamstress, Mom made clothes for Debbie and herself. Hand-me-downs were the norm for the rest of us. If nothing else, wardrobe decisions were easy, since I always knew what I was going to be wearing for the next two years. Dad cut our hair, which should be obvious from the pictures. We always received presents on Christmas and our birthdays. But as tight as money obviously was, Dad and Mom pinched their pennies to buy us a set of Compton’s encyclopedias. We were the envy of the trailer park when the big box arrived. Those books were likely the best gift we ever received, since we pored over them incessantly, then and for years into the future.

I really didn’t comprehend the extraordinary value of my Mom’s practical frugality until Dad’s last Army assignment. By this time, he had transitioned into electronics for guided missile, and served as an instructor and systems expert at Redstone Arsenal, Alabama. We left Alabama for Germany, where Dad was the first sergeant for an ordnance detachment in Nurnberg. We didn’t live in on-base housing, but in a small housing community called Pastoriusstrasse. It was a couple of miles from Merrell Barracks (a former SS training kaserne with exterior walls still pockmarked from the shells from Patton’s tanks) where Dad worked, and about a mile from the massive “Zeppelin Field” that was home to the infamous Nazi party rallies. This was at the height of the Cold War, so we had to be constantly ready for a Soviet invasion; we wore dog tags to school, and Mom kept an emergency suitcase packed and ready, along with a case of C-Rations to sustain us while we were being evacuated. Pastoriusstrasse was an interesting place. We lived in an apartment building across the street from a brigade commander, a bachelor colonel who drove a Rolls Royce, and across the hall from a black NCO whose wife (“Cookie”) was the organizer for the local chapter of the Black Panthers. Cookie was a very smart and pleasant lady; she and Mom became good friends.

Pastoriusstrasse was unique from most military housing areas in that it was small (hosting only about a hundred families) and it was occupied by all ranks, from field grade officers on one end of the street to junior enlisted men on the far end. Like most kids, I wasn’t conscious of rank, so I made friends with kids on both ends of the street. Obviously, the officers’ families had plenty, but for some of the families of enlisted men, especially those who didn’t manage their money effectively, not so much. I remember one of my friends relating that on the last week before payday, they usually subsisted on potatoes, turnips (dug from a hill by a nearby railroad track) and C-Rations that his father scrounged at his unit. Consequently, I am grateful that Mom always put good meals on our table, from the first day of the month through payday; while there were rarely any leftovers, we always had sufficient.

While we were in Germany, Dad diligently studied---sometimes several hours a night---for his civilian electronics certification. After he retired from the Army in 1971, Dad was briefly employed by General Electric, as a quality control inspector for NASA’s Skylab program. Afterwards, he went to work for the National Weather Service, first in Maryland and then later at Bush Field airport in Augusta. Mom and Dad settled in Martinez, a suburb of Augusta, living in the same house from 1976 until they passed away. They were preceded in death by their parents; Dad’s brothers Allen and Pete; Mom’s sisters Catherine, Aline and her brother Bondy; and our sister Debbie, who succumbed to a brain aneurysm in 2013.

A few years ago, as my parents’ health began to decline, we met as a family to discuss their wishes. Their desire was to remain in their own house as long as practically possible. My older brothers and I are indebted to our youngest brother, Steve, and his wife, Tammy, who made it possible for my folks to stay in their home until the very end. The patience and kindness that they exhibited was truly extraordinary; Mom and Dad could not have received better care anywhere, in any setting, at any cost.

Mom and Dad are survived by their sons, Jim Jenne (Pyong), Ed Jenne, Mike Jenne (Adele) and Steve Jenne (Tammy); grandchildren, Jason, Michelle Whitman (Greg Brigham), Marsha Kammer (Toby), Janet Galin (Chris), Emily Wolfson-Jenne, Tanya Hindman, Thomas Sommersgill (“Kitty”), Mary, Daniel Jordan (Erin), Percy Hall (Amanda), Joshua Hall, Zachary Jenne (Jessica); and great grandchildren, Dale Aidan Kammer, Dylan Avery Kammer, Tia Angelique Whitman, SIabel Alicia Gonzalez, Sophia Anna Gonzalez, Christopher James, Anna Kate Hindman, Andrew Grant Hindman, Dolly, Lochlan, Iris Jordan, Daniel Hall, Logan Hall, Blake Hall, Braylohn Greene and Easton Greene.

Thanks for everything you gave us, Mom and Dad. We love you and we will miss you always. I’m confident that if I make it to Heaven, there will likely be a set of hand-me-down wings waiting, but I will wear them with pride.