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“Adversity is like a strong wind. It tears away from us
all but the things that cannot be torn, so that we see
ourselves as we really are.”
—Arthur Golden

On August 3rd, my family observed the 25th anniversary of an event that deeply affected all of us, although few of us have ever expressed it much. My older brother, Titus, on that warm and muggy Iowa night in 1982, dived into a pond on his future father-in-law’s farm and hit the bottom head first. He never walked another step. He was 23 years old. My father has written a book about the event and its aftermath, “Through Deep Waters,” and I will not rehash here the details of the accident. But on this particular day, this year, it struck me anew that Titus has now existed on a wheel chair for more years than he walked. And that’s something to ponder and absorb.

Titus Wagler in rehab in Waterloo, IA, 1982-83.
From L, Rhoda, Titus and Friends.

In my opinion, the Amish have a one of the strongest and most efficient support structures in existence. The community rallies around and provides whatever physical and financial support is needed, and did so for us. But the system is also lacking in at least one very important aspect. It offers no real way to cope with the emotional after-effects of tragic events, especially unexpected ones. This is not a criticism, but an observation. It’s just the way it is. Things are not said. Communication is sparse or nonexistent. Feelings are quashed. One is expected to accept and bear one’s burdens in silence. One does. And the years move on. I still look back sometimes and think it cannot be that my brother cannot walk. It’s just a bad dream, a thing that we have all accepted over the course of many years. It’s not really true.

But it is true. And will always be.

At the time, I was a troubled and unsettled young man, a few weeks shy of my 21st birthday, and I will never forget that day or the days and weeks that followed. I remember the night it happened quite clearly. It was dark, and I had already gone to bed. I was not asleep. A vehicle came barreling into our long lane at a high rate of speed. My window was open and I could hear the engine roar and tires crunching on the gravel. Shadows from the vehicle’s lights bounced and pitched on my bedroom walls. It slid to a halt in our driveway. A truck door slammed. A staccato of footsteps up the walks, then a great clattering of footsteps up the stairs. I was annoyed. Didn’t whoever it was know that it was bedtime? People were trying to sleep here. Then my sister Rachel’s voice, speaking a rush of words so fast I could not grasp what she was saying. A terrible accident. Titus. Dive. Pond. Hospital. Bad. Can’t feel anything. My Dad’s voice, calm and disbelieving, then hurrying steps in the house as he and Mom prepared to leave with Dick Hutchins, the “English” man who had brought Rachel to our house. I got up and went out. I was quickly told what had happened. They left. I returned to bed but did not sleep that night.

The next morning we learned that Titus had been flown to Iowa City in a helicopter. A helicopter. It must be bad. Dad returned later that day. Mom stayed at the hospital. Dad looked drained. He tried to put on a good face, but I could tell he was shaken. The doctors’ diagnosis had been grim. Titus was paralyzed. They would do what they could. Feeling might return. But they thought not. In fact, the head doctor stated affirmatively that it would not. We listened in a haze of disbelief. The words were clear, but we could not grasp them. The first full day passed in slow motion.

The second morning dawned. We got up and did the chores, then ate a somber break-fast. No one was really hungry. Only four were present; my sister Rhoda, my brother Nathan, Dad, and me. Dad would leave that day for Iowa City. As was the custom in our home, after breakfast Dad took his German Bible and read a passage out loud. We then knelt for Morning Prayer, which was always recited from a little black prayer book. Dad didn’t use the book, because he knew them all by heart. He got through the five-minute prayer with no trouble until the end, which closes with the Lord’s Prayer. With barely a pause, he began the familiar refrain, his rich, mellow voice rising and falling in the rhythmic, comforting flow we’d heard a thousand times before.

“Our Father Who art in Heaven…..Hallowed be Thy Name…..Thy Kingdom come…..”
“Unser Vater in dem Himmel…Geheiligt verde dein Name…Zu uns komme dein Reich..”

Abruptly, his voice broke and he faltered. He struggled silently for some moments. Through the vast gulf that separated me from him at the time, and in the grip of my own shock and grief, my heart cried out for him. A tough, stoic, hard-bitten old Amish man. Broken. Hurting. In anguish before God. For his son. Fighting emotions he could not show. He wept silently and cleared his throat. Began speaking again, then stopped. Silence. Struggle. Cleared his throat again. But then he said the words, and I have always believed from the bottom of my heart that he meant them with all of his.

“…..Thy will be done on earth as it is in Heaven.….”

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In 1998, I lived in a little ramshackle trailer house along Peters Road in the Welsh Mountains. I stayed there for almost two years. In retrospect, it was one of the best periods of my life. I putzed around on about an acre of ground and had a large yard to mow. Soon after I moved there, I went to Wal Mart with my friend Allan and bought the cheapest lawn mower there for the whopping price of $99.99. It was no-frills, not self-propelled, light and quite sufficient. No bagger, no gizmos, just a motor and blade. I used that mower exclusively to mow my yard since. Every spring when I took it to my young Amish small-engine repairman, Nathan Stoltzfus (who I’ve known since he was a child) to get it serviced for the summer, he always chuckled and asked if this was still my Wal Mart mower. I always proudly said “yes, and good as ever.”

Sadly, as I was mowing last Saturday, there was a loud clunk and clatter as the mower hit a large rock. The engine revved up all by itself, but nothing seemed to be happen-ing. I finally diagnosed the problem; the blade had fallen off. Even more alarming, a small hole was knocked into the platform beside an engine mount. I couldn’t believe it. After all these years. After surveying the carnage, it became clear to me that an era had passed. I observed a moment of silence, then loaded it on my truck and trundled off to Nathan’s shop. He wasn’t there, but his boss was. He said the mower was not repairable; the shaft was bent. I looked around the shop and picked out a nice little green mower that was serviced and sitting there waiting for a new owner. Price: $125.00. It’s light and not self-propelled, no bagger, no gizmos. But it’s a bit heavier and clunkier than my old one. I took it home and finished my mowing. And so a new era begins.

Last Friday evening, I went with a friend to the late show and finally saw The Simpsons at the new theaters in Lititz. Very nice, the seats are comfortable enough to camp in. The movie was about what I expected, a string of slapstick events tied to a longer plot. The producers take equal opportunity pot shots at the entire spectrum of sacred cows, so there’s plenty for everyone to laugh at and/or to take offense, if so minded. I was very surprised that Ned Flanders, the sappy fundamentalist Christian, was generally treated quite sympathetically.

The dog days of summer have been unleashed. The sun beats in full force. Heat, heat, heat. I am thankful each day for my air-conditioned office. I can’t imagine doing much outside activity of any kind, including hiking or camping. The strain of the heat is showing in baseball too, where many journeyman pitchers are being knocked about a good bit. The Braves could use a few good upgrades to their bullpen and a new closer. They’ve lost more than one game lately in the late innings.

Speaking of baseball, Barry Bonds finally did it, and I didn’t even see it live. It was a late game against the Nationals in San Fran, and I watched his first at-bat, then went to bed. He clobbered the historic home run in his next at-bat. The baying bloodhounds of the press have been persistently denigrating him in the worst way for his supposed steriod use. Bonds is surly and defiant. He may have used steriods. It’s not been proven. I used to depise Bonds, but I’m so sick of the press preaching to me about how terrible he is that I have actually been rooting for him. (The Michael Vick lynching is even worse. I’ll opine about that another time.) Way to go, Barry. Whatever else is ever said or written, the fact remains that you have hit more home runs in the major leagues than any other player in history. And no one can ever take that from you. Except the guy who breaks your record.

It’s a bit hard to grasp and very exciting to think that in less than a month, football season will be in full swing. That’s always the first reminder to me that summer is ending; fall and the harvest season will come soon. NFL Preseason has begun. I love to watch the Pros, but am also a big fan of the college game. No particular team in college, although I cheer for Iowa when I can because I lived there years ago. At work, the Eagles fans are stirring with their usual clamor about how great the team will be this year. That’ll last until about the third or fourth week, at which time McNabb or some other indispensible player will collapse and be out for the season.
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NOTES AND NEWS

OPEN HOUSE AT GRABER SUPPLY SEPT. 8th
EVERYONE WELCOME

Congratulations to Glen and Leann on their engagement
A March wedding is planned.

Lester and Rachel (my sister) Yutzy and family visited our area over the weekend. They live in Hutchinson, KS and were in VA last Saturday for a wedding. They stayed at Steves and we had many gatherings over the weekend. Monday evening I hosted everyone for ice cream and coffee. We all sat around out by my garage and just hung out and had a great time catching up and recounting old times and discussing the world’s problems. Lesters left for home Wednesday morning.

Sunday lunch at Steves

Rachel, Lester, and Ira

Titus and Sheri

Ira Lee and Rosa

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“Far and away the best prize that life offers is the
chance to work hard at work worth doing.”
—Theodore Roosevelt

As many of you know, I am General Manager at Graber Supply LLC, a pole building supply company located just south of Gap, PA on Hwy 41. I have worked there since March, 2001. Graber sells building materials and complete building packages (retail and wholesale) and also builds post and frame structures throughout the Mid-Atlantic and New England areas. We have a very good reputation from South Jersey to the Long Island, NY area. We supply some local builders with their complete packages and supply other independent builders as far away as West Virginia. Last year we built our first barn in North Carolina and will soon ship our first package to Tennessee.

The company as it exists today was the result of the efforts, planning and sweat and blood of one man, the Previous Owner. He had a vision, and he built the business from nothing into a very successful and efficient entity. He hired good people and let them do their work with minimal interference. He paid them well. From the time the company emerged into its current form in the mid to late 1990s, it has worked and scrapped its way into a regional player to be reckoned with in the post and frame construction business. If a structure can be built with poles, Graber Supply can design and build it. www.polebarn.com

Dave Hurst conferring with builder Merv Glick

I worked for the Previous Owner during almost every stage of the company’s early years and was present when Graber moved onto its current location in 1993. At that time, I was in college and worked only in the summer months. I also worked there in during the summer months during my law school education in 1994-95. During my last summer as a law student, I worked for the law firm that would hire me when I graduated.

The last summer I worked for Graber before heading into law full-time, I told my co-workers many times that I couldn’t wait to get out of this blue-collar sweat hole and return to school, then graduate and practice law.

“After I graduate, I will work hard and buy a Lexus,” I said. “Then I’ll drive down Rt. 41 right past here and I won’t even look at you. I won’t even acknowledge you.” They seemed awed.

I was reminded of that wild boast many times in future years. Merv Esh particularly relished relating it with great embellishment to all new workers who started at Graber. The story was part of their initiation. I always told the disbelieving listeners that every word of the story was true. I never did get that Lexus. Maybe some day.

Sadly, in 2000, after working 3-1/2 years for a local law firm in Lancaster, I was not a happy or a fulfilled man. I told my wife that in six months, I would not be practicing law. What I would be doing I didn’t know. I did some research and even had an interview or two. Meanwhile, the Previous Owner heard that I was looking around, and stopped by to see me one night. Would I consider coming back to work for him, this time in the office instead of in the field? He needed good people around him and there would be no one like a lifelong friend who knew and understood him and his goals. We discussed the possibilities for some time that night and continued our discussion throughout the following weeks. An offer was made and it was attractive. So, after some soul-searching and a review of my financial situation, I decided to accept the offer and make the transition, right back into the building field I’d left years before.

It was a bit of a psychological bump, to go from the professional lifestyle and dressing in suit and tie every day to wearing informal jeans and shirt. I also had a lot to learn about the system of quoting, sales, and just dealing with the daily problems that arise in such a setting. But after the first month, I was well on my way. I felt secure and most of all, like I was actually producing something positive for the customer, instead of just dealing with the myriad everyday problems that cause people to call their attorneys. During and after the first year, I commented to Ellen many times that I love my job.

My legal training has been a real asset in a variety of areas in my job, including creating the contracts for the sale of our buildings and also in collections. I never tell customers that I am an attorney; very few ever find out unless they don’t pay, and sometimes not even then. We have a very efficient and computerized collection system introduced and sold to us by Thorne (I highly recommend this system to any company that has problems with collecting payments due). I do maintain my law license and also write wills in my spare time evenings and Saturdays, mostly for the Amish in Lancaster County.

At Graber, I enjoy the work and I like the people I work with. I actually love my job, something that very few people can say. Two people have worked in our office since 1995: Dave Hurst, salesman and all-around building guru, and Rosita Beiler, Office Manager. Merv Esh, of course, was there from the time he graduated from high school until his death last April. The core group in the office is small, but competent, and highly productive. We have about five people working in the yard and as drivers for our trucks. The yard foreman, Eli Esh, has been employed by Graber since he was fifteen years old. Today he is a young married Amishman. All the buildings we sell installed are built by subcontractor crews.

AJ Williams and Eli Esh on the brake.
AJ is a semi-professional rodeo rider and roper.

Morning runs. Trucks waiting for their drivers.

Main driver Kevin Beiler ready to head out.

As with any group that works together closely day after day for years, there is always some friction and/or disagreement, but not much. Overall, I have never been associated with a better group of people. When problems arise, we work through them.

When the “troubles” broke in February and thereafter, I seriously considered moving on to a competitor or perhaps another line of work. But the fact was that I enjoyed my job and felt a close connection to the people I worked with each day. I could see no real reason to walk away from it, at least not unless and until I absolutely had to. Plus, a part of me is stubborn to a fault, and I was going to be darned if I allowed these circumstances to push me from my home or my job, even if my world collapsed in shambles around me. So I slogged on day after day, my work providing my social structure and the needs I had to associate with others. My co-workers could not have been more supportive. They asked no questions (or very few) and provided protection for me from inquisitive locals.

On Friday, June 29, 2007, after a lengthy process involving advisers, Trustees, and attorneys, the Previous Owner relinquished all control of the business. Patrick Miller, a young Ohioan who married Mary June Lantz from Lancaster County, is now our new boss. Patrick had been a self-employed cabinet dealer and installer for some years, so he was familiar with construction. So far, we have been training and teaching him the ropes of the day to day operations. He is learning rapidly. Despite the “troubles” and the resulting upheaval, the transition is moving as smoothly as one could expect. Several employees have moved on and started their own businesses, but that would have happened anyway. Even though the construction industry has slowed and our 2007 sales are a bit off from our record 2006 sales, we look for good things in the future.

For now and for the foreseeable future, I plan to stay with the company that has treated me so well during the last six years. As long as I can get up in the morning and look forward to the day of work, I will do so.

None of us know what tomorrow will bring. Major changes may come and very likely will. It is good that we cannot see into the future, because the strength to face it would fail us. I am glad I didn’t know the future six months ago. I am glad I don’t know it for the next six months. And I am glad just to be alive, to know that good things will come. Although the future remains unknown, I rest upon the quiet confidence that one day a new dawn will break and the sun will pierce through the brooding clouds and chase the shadows from the troubled road I travel. I also trust that the light of that new day will include some small vestiges of joy that have been so absent now for so long. And with that confidence and trust I move on.

JUNE 29th, 2007. A NEW BEGINNING:

Patrick Miller returning for the first time as the new owner

BEING WELCOMED BY:

Rosita Beiler

Elvin Zook

“Big Dave” Hurst

Andy Blank

Ira Wagler

A gift from the General Manager

Celebration with ice cream cake

Patrick, Mary June, Portia, Benjamin and William

Party in the lunch room

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