Last month, our family traveled to Des Moines, Iowa, for the celebration of life service for Nelson Douglas Midgorden, my mother’s younger brother. He died at age 88 after sustaining a hip fracture playing pickleball. The first and only time I played pickleball was 11 years ago with my Uncle Doug and Aunt Maddie when my elder son, Max, and I visited them at their winter home in a 55+ Del Webb community in Mesa, Arizona. I had yet to hear of the craze that would envelope the nation.
At the service held at their church, longtime and new friends described my uncle as a man of few words at times, an observer with a twinkle in his eye and a wry smile and wit (characteristics Maddie associated with his Norwegian heritage). Many friends remembered his active lifestyle: running, golfing, bicycling, hiking — and playing pickleball. About 10 years ago, Doug gave me his memoirs of his childhood, a 14-page document titled, “Growing up in Ioway,” dated 1997. I suspect he found the title funny, a nod to country folks perhaps who mispronounced “Iowa.” At his celebration of life, I read a few excerpts.
He grew up in small-town Iowa and remembered life not as a sequence of milestones, but in moments: the smell of gasoline and exhaust from the garage where his first-generation American, half-Norwegian father worked as a Chevrolet auto mechanic; visits by train to his grandparents’ apartment near Soldier Field in Chicago (where he also ate ice cream on a stick); and an amusing road trip to Southern Indiana:
“Our car was old and unreliable, so one of Daddy’s friends loaned us their car. It was a ’39 Chevy. I think we made the trip because someone was dying. We met a lot of nice people, most of whom I never saw again. On the way to Indiana, Mother gave me a permanent. [This would be my grandmother; he is referring to a permanent wave chemical hair treatment.] I don’t mean in a motel — I mean while driving down the highway. We stopped on the shoulder of the road to rinse it out. To someone who didn’t know Mother, this might sound odd. I didn’t think much about it.”
And then, just as matter-of-factly, enters my father, Jack Reeder:
“Mary started dating a guy named Jack Reeder from Indiana. She brought him by our apartment one day. He was tall and skinny and had a flat top like all the other guys.”
Doug closes his memoirs, in part: “I never lived anywhere that I couldn’t walk to open fields and pastures within five minutes. I sometimes dream about living in a small town or in the country, but it probably wouldn’t be the same now. I’m not a little boy growing up in Ioway anymore.”
On the long drive home from Des Moines, Todd and I made an unplanned detour to the small Iowa town where my family lived before we moved to Evansville, where my father grew up. I knew the town was small; I never realized it had only about 875 residents during our two years there or that it remains just as tiny. I also didn’t know that it was a mining town; my parents were schoolteachers. In my memory, the town loomed larger: a big, old white frame house near the square, a place that felt full of life. As we drove through Melcher-Dallas, it was clear time has not been especially kind. The town could use some investment and TLC. We did find our old house — it’s painted dark now. And still standing, just as I remembered, were the bandstand in the square and the water tower proudly bearing the town’s name.
I’m very happy to share company and family news. When Todd and I founded Tucker Publishing Group, Inc., in 1999, our son Maxwell had just turned one; Jackson arrived in 2001. In many ways, this business is all they’ve ever known, though we weren’t sure if either would choose to be involved.
Now, they have. Max, who received an MBA from Butler University in 2022, serves as digital operations manager. He is based in Indianapolis and makes monthly visits to the office. Jackson completed his MBA at the University of Louisville this spring and has joined us as an advertising account manager. He and his fiancée, Katherine, are building their future in Evansville, with a wedding planned for this fall.
TMT? Too many Tuckers? Welcome, Max and Jackson!
As always, I look forward to hearing from you!
Kristen K. Tucker
Publisher & Editor
Follow Kristen on Instagram @kristenktucker. Email letters to [email protected].
