On October 25, 1945, a little trailer home in Monterey Park caught fire, and quickly burned. Trapped by the consuming flames was a invalid, Jack Roberts, who had worked in the Vernon plant, of the Filttrol Corporation for many years.
Such a tragic death calls for a review of the life of Jack Roberts, which was filled witha great deal of human interest.
His father, as a young man, had securely strapped onto the uppr part of his back a small trunk containing all of his worldly possessions. Then he slowly swam across the Missouri River, eventually starting a homestead far bas in the wooded hills. Jack had a picture of this old homestead which he was glad to show, for it had been painted by his sister. In this picture can be seen a path leading up the side of a hill to a little spring house, where as a boy he went to get a cool drink of water on hot summer days. At one side of the picture appears the corral, the cow shed, and the trees on the hillside behind them.
Jack as a young man became an accomplished old-time fiddler, and worked his way north to Iowa. Here he was placed in charge of a small town water works, which included a mill pone used for ice skating in winter. There on a winter's day, when two young skaters broke through the thin ice, Jack plunged into the cold water and rescued both. For this deed of heroism, the town people presented him with a fine gold watch, having their testimonial engraved on the back. Due to Jack's modesty, this would never have been known at Filtrol if someone had not happened to ask to see the works of his watch and noted the engraving on the inside of the case.
In World War I, Jack was an infantry man slogging across the mud of France. During a particularly bitter attack, he was severly gassed with a lung irritant. Although he was rehabilitated in this country, taking a technical course in Denver, thses old wonds cursed him to the end of his life. We visited him in a hospital a few years ago, when he was again fighting against death from the old lung infection.
A number of years ago I remember having to see him about some plant work one Sunday afternoon. I finally found him crawling out of the mud and acid slime from beneath the old No. 1 Thickener. Something had to be repaired there, and rather then ask some other person to do this, he did the unpleasant work himself.
On his last visit to Vernon a few months ago, Jack appeared old and frail, and the short walk from his car to the office was made slowly and with a great deal of suffereing. The joints of his fingers were knotted and twisted from arthritis, and he had other troubles as well.
But these were the pains of mortal life, and there was an unusual beauty shining through the sorrow of the funeral which followed his death. Sprays of red roses and white chrysanthemums from Filtrol friends and other were massed in the little funeral parlor. With transcendent sweetness, the soloist sang the old-time hymns which had been Jack's favoites. The minister, who had known him personally, spoke of the confession of faith which Jack had made and about his faith in the better land of tomorrow.
Jack Roberts has crossed the Great River, but his memory still remains with his friends at Filtrol. Whether duty demanded an instant plunging into icy waters, or a slow crawling under muddy-thickeners, Jack always had the stuff it takes to do it.
By an old Filtrol friend.
The Newspaper name nor the date is on the article.