George and Catherine

STETZEL

Posted By: Gary Stetzel (email)
Date: 8/14/2007 at 14:15:22

Catherine Albright was born in Hanover, Heidelberg Township, York County, Pennsylvania. Her father, Matthias Albright, was born August 23, 1816, and died August 8, 1892. Her mother, Anna Mayer, was born May 24, 1818, and passed away June 21, 1888.

George Stetzel was born in Alsace-Lorraine, when the French owned it (Germany and France took “turns” claiming it). He came to the United States in 1851. He stowed away on a freighter and, when discovered, was compelled to shovel coal in the engine room.

When he arrived in the U.S., he worked as a farm hand for several years. Some of the farmers he worked for were hard task masters. George’s son, Dan, told of one George worked for who nearly starved him, so he hunted eggs and very cleverly crushed them between his hands, then sucked the contents, thus getting strength for his job.

He was advised by a lawyer to change his name from Stotzol to Stetzel. He was a Lutheran and was converted to Evangelism in Lyons, N.Y. In 1853, he took the train as far as it went, to Iowa City [other records indicate the train only traveled to the Mississippi River at this date]. He jumped down and saw a cooper shop where they made barrels and asked them for the name of an Evangelical family.

The man told him he happened to be on the way to meet the Albrights, an Evangelical family. There, Grandpa met Catherine Albright, his future wife.

He hired out to the Matthias Albrights, where he found an agreeable boss who treated him as an equal. While with this Pennsylvania Dutch family, he wooed Catherine and married her on February 24, 1859.

Aunt Rose told me how he saved every penny he could before his marriage and sent passage money to bring his mother, two sisters and a brother over to the United States to live. I have been told they settled in New York state.

Grandpa Stetzel started a bad habit of chewing tobacco, and Dan tells of his sitting near a coal pail where he spat his juice, missing the pail more times than hitting it.

However, after Grandpa was converted, the dirty habit became repulsive to him, so he decided he was going to quit. Then began a battle that lasted several years. My father, Dan, told how Grandpa would go to the timber and strip the bark from a certain tree and chew it. At last, after several years, he was free from the yearning for tobacco.

One incident that Grandmother Stetzel told concerned Ira when he was a lad. One time, she told Ira to bring in some wood and fill the wood box beside the kitchen stove. But Ira jauntily told her he was not going to do it. Somewhat taken aback, Grandma demanded: “Why aren’t you?”

Replied Ira: “Because you’re not my boss, Pa is.”

So when he came in hoping to sneak upstairs to bed, he forgot that he was no match for his mom, who was waiting with the shaving strap hidden under her apron. As he opened the stair door, she grabbed him and began to apply the strap, using all her force, until he howled and bawled at the top of his lungs, which brought Grandpa pronto from his bed.

“What is going on here?” Grandpa asked.

Grandma told him, “He says when I asked him to bring in wood and fill the box that he didn’t have to -- says I’m not his boss, that you are.”

“Give it to him! Give it to him!” Grandpa exclaimed and turned and went back to bed.

Grandma told me she never again had to apply the strap to Ira. He did as he was ordered and with no back talk.

Dan related how George would sell a hog or two, sometimes a load he hauled to town in Johnson County, Iowa, and Dan always went along, and perhaps Uncle Henry, too. They were the two eldest sons, and Grandpa liked having his sons along as much as they enjoyed going.

When the hogs or maybe a cow was sold and Grandpa had received the money, then their pilgrimage started from one place of business to another where a debt was on the books.

Grandpa would pass the time of day with the proprietor or owner, then he would take a dollar from his pocket and tell the proprietor to put it down to his account.

“Sure, George,” the proprietor would reply. “We appreciate it and will give you credit on your bill.”

So it was, from one business place to another until all the money was gone. So Dan said he learned early the reason why the businessmen often told Grandpa, “Sure, George, your word is as good as your note.”

Many times before leaving for home, the grocery store would be the last visited, where only the most essential items would be purchased and usually put on the books.

One of George’s weaknesses, according to Dan, was his generosity to take in every tramp and peddler that chanced along their farmstead. One such occasion Dan related was when a real bum was Grandpa’s guest at the noon meal, and fat, very fat, side meat was all the meat to be served, and the fellow ate one piece after the other until Grandpa cautioned him he better go easy on that fat meat, it could make him sick.

“Oh, mister,” said the bum, “I don’t get such beef steak as this every day.”

Another time, a freeloader chanced by and again Grandpa invited the bum to set up to their humble board. This was one of the times one of the girls who was learning to cook had baked a rhubarb pie. The crust was so tough that two pieces clung together, and the fellow took both pieces.

Then the fun began, for the guy suddenly had a lot of trouble forcing those two hunks of not-so-good pie to go down, to the delight of Dan, who said he hoped the guy would choke to death on it.

Dan dreaded when these boarders stayed overnight, because he was the only one who bed to himself and, consequently, was forced to share it with them. One of these times, Dan was infested with a plague of pests this fellow had left behind and, being a very bashful guy, endured this torture until no longer could he keep quiet.

So he confided to his mother, who sent him to Dr. Brooks, a very new doctor in Audubon, and Brooks’ assistant on duty that day prescribed a very strong ointment, or salve.

Dan thought, if a little is good, why not much more? So he was poisoned by it and his eyes were affected so that for many years he suffered terribly.

Dr. Brooks treated him the entire duration of the affliction for free because of the assistant’s failure to warn Dan as to the ointment’s potential hazards from overuse. (Dr. Brooks assisted an older doctor, who was addicted to the over-indulgence of liquor, which became his downfall as a good doctor who could be trusted with one’s life.)

A history of citizens of Audubon County quoted George Stetzel as being “one of the meanest men in Audubon County.” I don’t believe they gave any accounts to prove it, but the ugly statement was there. According to the accounts about my dear Grandpa from my Dad, it is my belief that the reason anyone would stoop to a statement like that was because Grandpa was right out with his belief that he was saved from sin and never ashamed or timid to ask anyone with whom he carried on a conversation how it was with their soul and if they were saved, and they usually became argumentative, so that a very spirited and full account of Grandpa’s meeting with his Lord would take place.

And Grandpa would never hesitate to rebuke anyone who used profanity and quote to them the commandment, “Thou shalt not take the name of the Lord thy God in vain.”

Grandpa loved to sing the songs of Zion, and he had a rich, melodious voice. It was his custom each day after the noon meal was served to retire to his room and read a passage of God’s Holy Word, then kneel and pray to God, and no matter who the guest or guests were, invited them to accompany him there and participate.

Grandpa Stetzel loved children. I recall with the greatest delight, whenever Dad and Mother visited Grandpa and Grandma Stetzel, of Grandpa’s gathering me, a very small girl, into his arms and tossing me high into the air, then catching me without a miss, hugging me closely and kissing me. Sure, his whiskers tickled, but I loved it, because Grandpa loved me.

And I remember to this day the day Grandpa was to be buried. He had been afflicted with the shingles for some time and, one day, took a load of grain to market with a wagon. On the way home, it began to rain and, due to the soaking, the shingles went around him and led to his death at 72 years.

The day of the funeral, all were gathered at the farm home in Douglas Township. Dad carried me into the living room to take the last look at Grandpa, and arranged all around the room, standing, were all of the 16 children and their mates. I remember so vividly looking hastily around the room, my eyes fastened on Uncle Wesley(Lloyd Stetzel's Father), who stood with tears streaming down his face. Yes, all were shedding tears. They all loved Grandpa.

There is in my possession today, handed down from my dad, a photo of a large pillow of flowers given in Grandpa’s honor by F.W. Buthweg, a merchant in Audubon. So ends the story of a man whose word was as good as his note.