That Hand-Carved, Teak
Wood Statuette . . .
July, 2005

Isn't is amazing the way your memory can be "jogged" into remembering something long forgotten in your past?  Well, just a few weeks ago, I was rummaging through some old boxes, looking for things to use in The Trixie Foundation office, when I opened a plastic bag only to discover a small, hand-carved teak wood statuette that had been protectively packed away for at least 15 years.  It didn't take long for a smile to spread across my face as I thought about how fortunate I was to have discovered it after all of those years of being "lost."  You see, that statuette was a gift given to my wife Holly and myself back in 1970 or 1971, by an older, formerly European couple who lived in the apartment beside us in Ashland, Kentucky; their names were Lubbert and Leisel Dost.  Oh, the memories that came rushing back. . . .

Truly, the Dosts seemed to us to be very polite, exceedingly wise and most thoughtful--especially considering that their "new" neighbors, Holly and I (who were but 16 and 18 years old, respectively) were definitely not the most "mature" and "settled" people they had probably every encountered.  But, even so, they were very nice to us--including our Poodle pup "Beau".  And, as luck would have it--it turned out that my uncle Ernie (who had recently been appointed my legal guardian)--knew Lubbert from his days when they were both employees of the international petroleum refining company, Ashland Oil.  Apparently, Lubbert was an executive of some kind who was always flying either here or there to conduct business on the company's behalf.  And, because he fluently spoke seven or eight different languages--he was gone much of the time.  As a matter of fact, it was upon one of those overseas trips to Indonesia whereby he found and purchased the hand-carved teak wood statuette which he later gave to Holly and me.

For the two years that Holly and I lived there beside them--before splitting up and going our separate ways--many were the times that we talked--or, to be more accurate--listened to the fascinating stories they had to tell.  Over the past 35 years, I've thought about Lubbert and Leisel quite a bit and wondered whatever became of them.  As a matter of fact, I even named two of The Trixie Foundation dogs after them.  However, it was only after recently discovering the teak statuette that the significance and importance of having known them dawned on me--especially, at this particular time of year.  You see, back in late Spring, 1970--there were some things that happened which soon changed my life forever.  Not only did I graduate high school but, within a week, I also moved away from my parents' home in west-central Ohio to go to Dodge City, Kansas.  There, not only would I be near my high-school "sweetheart" Holly (whose parents had moved there about two months earlier) but too, I could begin college.  Quite unexpectedly however, after only three weeks or so of being there--Holly and I decided we needed more time "together"--so, we surprised our parents, eloped and flew under the assumed names (I was John Alden, she was Jerri Lee) to El Paso, Texas, where we were married a couple of days later on Sunday, June 21.  Immediately flying back to Dodge City, I started my second summer college course; Holly went back to complete her summer high school courses; we were young and "in love."  And as long as I live, I suppose I'll never forget the evening four days later when her father came to our apartment--telling Holly that he had some terrible news to tell me:  the private plane that my father owned (an orthopedic surgeon who was en route to Florida to purchase real estate around a new amusement park that was being developed--"Disney World") and was piloting had crashed in the Smoky Mountains; he had already died, having been burned alive.  Moreover, Holly's dad said my brother and mother (who had accompanied my father) were in some small-town rural Appalachian hospital in North Carolina--both listed in serious, critical condition. . . .

So, as I sit here typing--and looking up at that hand-carved teak wood statuette out of the corner of my eye from time to time--sometimes, I'll find myself thinking back to those long-ago days--remembering not only my parents but also the Dosts--and reflecting on some of the conversations I had with them back in the early 1970s--especially Leisel.  Did I happen to mention that Leisel was Jewish?  Hmmm . . . Did I mention too that her father was also a medical doctor--"chief of staff" as a matter of fact--of the very largest hospital in Holland?  Oh, and I suppose I also forgot to mention that the time period when he held that prominent, respected position was in the early 1940s--just about the time that Adolf Hitler's Nazi party's "ethnic cleansing" policy began to spread incomprehensible, unparalleled brutality throughout Europe in earnest. . . .

Of course, Leisel showed me the sloppily carved, tattooed identification number on her arm--and then told me about how prior to that particular humiliating violation--she and her whole family had been chased down--hastily rounded up like diseased cattle and placed in dirty box cars that were eventually filled by the thousands with waiting children and frightened, bewildered parents, grandparents and the defenseless.  There, huddled together in paralyzing fear--they peered out through the wooden slats of the old freight cars--watching, listening as the massive, smoking, coal-burning locomotive chugged and slowly pulled away from the make-shift loading dock--eventually delivering them all to their "new" home--at Auschwitz concentration camp.  There, over time--she witnessed her beloved brothers and sisters, mother and father either being put to death or dying from severe neglect or malnutrition--and then watching as their precious bodies were taken and burned like trash in the multiple crematoriums; I suppose Leisel was the only one from her immediate family who survived the horrors of internment at Auschwitz. . . .

Saturday, June 25th, 2005, will mark the 35 year anniversary of my parents plane crash; my father died the very same day and my wonderful mother died 10 days after him, on July 5th, 1970.  I thank God every day that my younger brother survived the plane crash and is doing fine--living just outside of Lexington, Kentucky, along with his wife Marti and their two dogs and three cats.  Today, when my memory is "jogged" and my thoughts go back in time, dredging up personal, unforgettable visions that were once tortured memories--I can now reflect positively upon those seemingly surrealistic momentous episodes in life and finally appreciate both the importance and significance of the emotional impact thrust upon me then, and now.  Too, truly do I now understand why it is that I remember the Dosts so very clearly--and fully understand the reason why Leisel and I sometimes stayed up late at night talking, both subconsciously seeking and sharing each other's comforting company--identifying with the other's personal sadness and confusion in a way which so very few people, thankfully, can ever comprehend.

And there it sits on that shelf, as if it's almost staring back at me--that hand-carved, teak wood statuette. . . .

Randy Skaggs, Founder