Elvadore

His parents were tiny folk. His mother was about 4’10,” and I never knew her to have anything but white, fluffy hair that framed her heart-shaped face. She made cookies that made all of us happier on the days we were lucky enough to be there on a baking day. His dad Elva was not much bigger than his wife, always thin and wiry; perhaps he topped out at 5’6.” He was a master wood worker: he could make all kinds of useful and decorative items. I have wooden bedside table lamps that he made for me.

The son, David E. Hollinger, affectionately known in the family by his unusual middle name Elvadore, was just an average-sized man, 5’7” and trim as a young man, but I remember him as rather “pudgy.” Pictures say he wasn’t that till later years. In his uniform he looked straight and tall and had the fine attributes of a soldier.

Elvadore became a veteran before he became husband to my sister Ramona. He was drafted to serve in the Korean conflict and was assigned to serve as a medical aide at a support hospital located in Japan. He had wanted to be in the auto mechanics’ pool, but his assignment was the hospital. Before he enlisted, he was known to faint at the sight of blood, so the assignment was a bit of a stretch, to be sure. For two years, he served his country well by tending to wounded soldiers and following “doctors’ orders.”

Already a couple, Elvadore and my sister remained in touch by writing letters, fanning the flame of their love for each other. He sent home gifts for all of us. Both my sister Judy and I were the recipients of pairs of Japanese wooden shoes, called Geta. Ours were not really for walking, since they were painted in black lacquer, decorated with painted flowers, and fitted with velvet thongs for the toes. Since the platform of the shoe was about two inches and had a metal plate on the toe, I had great fun strutting around in them, pretending I was grown up—I was six at the time. For Ramona, he had brought home a ceremonial kimono in deep royal blue with the large, square sleeves, lined inside with white silk, and embroidered everywhere in heavy gold silk thread. It was beautiful, and Ramona modeled it for all of us. I doubt she ever wore it except for the modeling sessions. When he returned, He was still trim and fit, a young man who stood straight, walked tall, and spoke softly.

They married In October the year following his return from the service, and they settled in to married life, first in an apartment, and then in a very small, compact house that he and his father built on property that they had purchased from my dad and uncle, a third of the Harshman land legacy. That first house, almost a square in shape and covered with green shingles was fascinating to me because it was new and fresh, and two young people in love had planned it and built it themselves. And I could go visit my big sister at any time since she was just about 100 feet away.

Those visits became even more important when their first daughter Melody was born, and I was just about old enough to count as a babysitter. And Melody was just about as much younger than I, as my sister was older: I nestled in between two of my favorite people. But as Ramona and Elvadore’s family grew with two boys, Scott and Stephen, joining the family, three things happened: I grew less interested in babysitting, the family outgrew the house, and Elvadore needed to supplement his factory income so that they could build a bigger house, also designed by the two of them, just by making the footprint of the original house much larger.

From his time in the service, Elvadore knew sick people and doctors. And he was good at dealing with patients. And he was a male who could do some things that a female aide could not do. His skills landed him a second-shift job in the local hospital, working as an orderly. Even though he had to go almost straight from one job to the other, he never complained about the long hours or the workload, probably because he loved working with the people there and they loved working with him. “David,” as they affectionately and accurately called him, was a favorite because of his cheerful demeanor and his willingness to do whatever he was called upon to do.

The years passed: another daughter Laura, their fourth and last child was born during the time they were working on the new version of the house. After it was finished, it was definitely lived in to its full capacity. Elvadore continued to work two jobs. My sister joined the work force as a part-time cafeteria worker at school when all the children were old enough to be enrolled in school. And Elvadore and Ramona, regardless of the financial struggles, knew that vacations were important to the life of the family. Elvadore, who had learned camping from his little parents, was a natural—he understood tents, sleeping bags, cooking stoves. At first, the family ventured to state parks in Indiana and Michigan, but their goal was Florida beach state parks. For years, the family could camp on the way to Florida’s camping areas and back again, a gift for all of them, even though it was a bit more work for all of them—pitching the tent, cooking the food, and cleaning up campsites.

More years passed. I grew up, moved away, married, had three boys, divorced, and found myself pulled back to my Indiana roots at least twice a year, at Christmas or Thanksgiving and sometime during the summer. This brother-in-law, 17 years older than I, became “Uncle Elvadore” to my sons. What an uncle he was—he showed them his word-working. He taught at least one of them to take apart a lawn mower, clean it, and put it together good as new. Between him and Ramona, they pitched tents in the back yard, let the boys have bonfires and wiener roasts and tell scary stories as long as they could stand their fears or sleep took over. He was a favorite uncle because of his ability to include and love all the boys—his sons, older now, my sons, his grandson who was about the same age as my boys, and the younger boys of my sister Judy.

Perhaps the serendipitous circumstance that kept Elvadore from serving in active combat also developed that love for others, in hospital or not, that made him the good uncle, father, and grandfather he was. He was a lover, not a hater; a reconciler, not a fighter; one who was inclusive, not one to exclude anyone; a man for all seasons, not one who chose the good ones over the bad. Finally, he was a hero for all the family, this average-sized man of the small parents. Being a veteran at one point in his life only added to that hero status.