Picture the fine lady described in the following obituary:
Pioneer Mother Laid to Rest
Last Rites Sunday for Mrs. Cordelia McCapes
A pioneer Clay county mother, Mrs. Cordelia McCapes, died at her home near the eastern limits of the city, last Thursday afternoon. Her death followed an initial attack of serious heart trouble suffered almost to an hour one week before. The second severe attack caused her death.
Funeral services were held at the home Sunday afternoon, with the Rev. L. A. Roseland officiating. A large number of relatives and friends attended the services. Burial was made in Bluff View cemetery. Six grandsons of Mrs. McCapes acted as pall bearers.
Born in Montreal, Canada, September 18, 1849, Cordelia King was but 2 years old when her parents brought her to the United States. The family located in Iowa and there she grew to womanhood. When but 16 years old she was united in marriage to Nelson Gobell. Ten children were born to the couple, seven of which are now living.
In 1885 she was left a widow with her large family of children. Although the times were trying and she went through all the difficult experiences of the Iowa pioneers she never faltered. Undismayed by the apparent obstacles, she set out to keep her children together and succedded in so doing. Mrs. McCapes had many fine qualities but it was as a mother that she reached her highest plane.
Since 1888 she had lived in Clay country, on different farms and in the city of Vermillion, proper, at different times, but always in the same community.
For 11 years of the intervening time between then and her death she was a nurse. In 1902 she was married to Marvin McCapes. The marriage took place in Vermillion. Mr. McCapes preceded Mrs. McCapes in death several years ago.
Mrs. McCapes was truly a remarkable woman. Until the very end she never lost her mental keenness. With a mind as bright and clear as ever, and a body that retained its physical vigor almost to the end, she was the wonder of all who know her.. Even after she had passed her eightieth birthday she found keen zest and enjoyment in a large garden while her flowers were the envy of all. Not content with activity which would have satisfied most women 20 years' younger, besides looking after here household task, she also took pride in raising her chickens, ducks and poultry as of yore.
On her eighty-first birthday anniversary one year ago, the venerable mother was tended a surprise by her relatives and friends. Meeting by prearrangement at a neighbor's, the group stormed her door, and showered her with congratulations and best wishes. Ready to retire, she was nevertheless more than glad to enter into the spirit of the occasion and took a leading part in the games and fun which followed. It was an occasion long to be remembered and those who observed Mrs. McCapes took in it will long cherish the memory.
Never did she lose interest in her fancy work and embroidery, in the doing of which she was an expert. Her eyesight was splendid and it was no trouble for her to weave and draw the finest of patterns.
Her death caused another break in an unusual Clay county four-generation group, the members of which traced their ancestry back to great-grandparents through two lines.
*** This from "The Dakota Republican". August 27, 1931. The paper's editor, Lanthrop wrote the obituary. One can picture in the mind's eye, Cordelia sitting on her front porch, shelling peas into her apron, all the time carrying on a conversation and keeping an eye on chickens, dusting themselves in the yard . While she is gone, the "Republican" gave her a fitting tribute. How sad that the papers of today have neither the ability or time to employ good writing and place their readers on a higher plane.
*** Sometimes, a piece catches your eye. Such is the case when reading, "Forever, Erma". In the closing pages of the book, Bill Bombeck writes; "I'd like to share with you a personal recollection I read at the family services that were held before the funeral.
In 1947, three or four couples were outside the Lakeside Ballroom in Dayton, Ohio. We were too early to be admitted for the big-band dance, so we all wandered over to the adjoining amusement park.
Not far from the ballroom was the roller coaster. All of the boys began cajoling their dates to ride with them. The girls giggled and said no. It was too frightening, and it would mess up their hair and dresses.
I looked at my date and asked her if she wanted to go. She didn't hesitate. She said, Sure, I'll go." I was surprised and looked at her again. She was slight, narrow-shouldered, with tiny hands and feet. But she had the greatest smile and laugh. Her smile had a charming space between her two front teeth. I thought, this is some kind of girl!
The Lakeside roller coaster was a rickety old leftover from the Depression. The frame was mostly made of unpainted 2-by-4's. No modern inspection by OSHA would have ever approved this for man's use.
The cars were linked together with what looked like modified train couplers. They were mostly red-painted wood with metal wheels and a coglike device that clicked loudly. The seats had worn black leather padding. There were no belts, but there were worn steel bars that had to be raised and lowered by the attendant.
The attendant was an old man in oil-stained bib overalls. He said little, but raised the bar and she entered the seat first, and I followed by her side. The bar clicked in place just above our waistlines.
There were two tapered 2-by-4's on the platform, each angled away from the other. He moved the one closer to the car to an upright position. The car moved forward, slowly picking up speed. The metal wheels on the metal track made so much noise you had to yell to your partner to be heard.
The car left the level starting track and began a slow ascent. In about 20 or 30 seconds, when the track became steeper, the cog device engaged the car. You could feel it grab. Then there was a distinct rhythmic clacking sound as the cog device labored to overcome the near-perpendicular angle of the track. You felt like it wouldn't make it, but just when it reached a point that forced the passengers to stare, not at the car ahead or the track, but only at the night sky, it plunged downward, a wild, almost free, fall. Maybe whatever controlled the speed was now broken.
She made her first sound since she had said, "Sure, I'll go." She screamed and clenched my arm. I said, "Hang on tho the bar." She kept hanging on to my arm. Suddenly we were at the bottom, and we both were so relieved that we laughed, and I saw that smile again.
The ride continued, with bone-jarring twist and turns, dizzy heights and abrupt plunges. Sometimes we would enter a dark tunnel, so dark the sparks from the wheels and tracks made it look like it was on fire.
She kept hanging on to my arm. I was gripping the metal bar so tightly I thought I would bend it. This was some ride. We were thrilled and exhilarated, scared and breathless.
We had been in and out of many tunnels. Each time they ended with almost blinding light in our eyes, and then on to another straight-up climb.
We started into a tunnel that seemed to plunge deeper than all the others. It kept dropping. We both sensed this one was really different. Finally, instead of the bright lights, we were back at the platform.
We looked at each other. We didn't speak, but we sensed the ride had changed. The man in th bib overalls was standing by the tapered 2-by-4's. He started to push one from the angle to a straight-up position. The car stopped. I told him the ride was great, but it was too short; we wanted to go on. He raised the bar. She smiled again. I looked at the attendant again. He said, "This is April 22, 1996 - your ride is over. I looked over at her seat. She was gone." *** Now that's an obituary! Bye Erma...