Tuesday, December 13, 2022
With nearly a century of life to select from, there should be plenty of memories of Russ to select. Here goes:
Start with the 1975 visit where I stayed with Russ and family for a month in the summer. I remember that summer because it was when Jimmy Hoffa disappeared. I thought it funny to keep asking Russ where he had buried Jimmy, showing that tendency to be facetious, a word, like abstemious, that contains all five vowels in alphabetical order, the seems to infect so many Koster men. One day, Russ had me drive out into a cornfield (he was teaching me how to drive a stick shift.) Stop, he said. Got out of the truck, handed me a shovel and said, Dig. You’ll find out. Russ got back in the truck and zoomed off. Could be that it was just a post hole that needed digging, combined with sending some facetiousness back my way, Or maybe…
Another day. This time my assignment was to drive to a cornfield and machete some corn on the cob for dinner. Drove the truck toward the cornfield. Braked. Truck didn’t slow down, let alone stop. Wham! Truck smashes into the corn rows (thank heavens the gate was open.) Sat in the truck about fifteen feet in the cornfield wondering what the hell had happened. After a spell, Russ shows up. The brakes didn’t work, I said. Stepped on the clutch instead of the brake, didn’t you, Russ said. What could I say? Peg rolled her eyes when she saw the truckload of corn. Russ went to Peg and whispered. She laughed and laughed, then gave me a hug, still laughing.
Another time. A wedding anniversary, the 50th I think. Clearest memory, Russ in a reception line, wearing a T-shirt with the signature, “CALIFORNIA SEX INSTRUCTOR.” All the ladies gave him a hug, and clung to him. Must be the blue eyes, I decided.
Yet another anniversary. This time we are at Russell-Peggy World Headquarters while the ladies prepare the grub for Sunday brunch. Russ tells his daughter-in-law Liz who had administered Communion at church that day: “Why didn’t you give Greg a double helping at Communion? Big sinner like him needs extra.” Liz with that characteristic glint when she’s about to sink the harpoon said, “I’d have had to give him extra wine as well. Think of the scandal with Greg staggering down the aisle after his sins are supposedly forgiven.” Liz is not without her own sense of mastery.
There was the time Russ, peg, Merrill, Betty were traveling in South Africa, the 90s I think, just when Mandela was taking over. Stopped at a checkpoint. Guard asks Russ the driver, “Ya got any bombs in here?” Russ points to the back where Peggy and Betty are sitting, saying “Yeah, two in the back.” But Koster diplomacy did keep the four of them out of Robben’s Island.
There was the time Russ was an alternate delegate for Bob Dole in the 1996 GOP convention. There was the birth of two successful sons. The hard times on the farm. The death of Wesley. The collecting of iron tractor seats and Sterling bank bills. The bib overalls. The rise of grandchildren, and great-grandchildren. Always a sense of calm, well leavened by humor. But even with the long run, trying to beat Methuselah, there comes the time when Russ was flat on his back, for the last time. Yes, a sip of cider would be nice. The regrets that I had not made time to see him more often. The stream of the past, the wondering about the future. All going by...goodbye...twilight...goodbye...night..the last trip to the shining city...
Auf Wiedersehen, Russ.
RUSSELL KOSTER
1926-2022
HE KEPT THE FLAG FLYING.
