Lila Perry Steinhoff Archives

March 9, 2016

Ray Seyer 1922 – 2016

Wife Lila sent me a text the morning of March 2: “Just found out Ray is in MICU at St. Francis. The family has been called. I’m in tears.”

Ray was Ray Seyer, her uncle, a man who was like a father to her.

The other shoe dropped Sunday night: “Uncle Ray died around 6:30. Marty [her sister] just let me know.”

Formal obituary from the funeral home.

Raymond C. Seyer, 94, of Cape Girardeau, Missouri died Monday, March 7, 2016 at Saint Francis Medical Center. He was born January 13, 1922 in Advance, Missouri to Philip Jacob and Alvina Christina Dohogne Seyer.

He and Rose Mary Hoffman were married February 26, 1946 at St. Mary Church in Cape Girardeau. She preceded him in death October 31, 2015.

Raymond served in the Navy during World War II. He was an auto mechanic and instructor at the Vocational School.

Member of the Knights of Columbus

He was a member of St. Mary Cathedral, Knights of Columbus Council 1111 in which he was a past Grand Knight and Thomas A. Langen Assembly, Fourth Degree in which he was a former Faithful Navigator. He was also a member of American Legion Post 63 and V.F.W. Post 3838.

Survivors include children, Michael (Brenda) Seyer and Dan (Mary) Seyer of Cape Girardeau, Diane (Ray) Staebel of Liberty Hill, Texas, Janette (Stephen) Bennett of Alexandria, Kentucky, Joyce (Dave) Bruenderman of Cape Girardeau, Linda (Bob) Garner of Jackson, Missouri, Ralph (Debbie) Seyer of Kirkland, Washington, and Steve Seyer of Saint Clair, Missouri; brothers, Lawrence (Ida) Seyer and Elmer (Susie) Seyer of Oran, Missouri; sister, Mary Woltering of Breese, Illinois; 27 grandchildren; 42 great-grandchildren.

He was preceded in death by his parents; wife; son, Timothy G. Seyer; brothers, Zeno, Albert, Paul, and Henry Seyer; sisters, Sr. Michaelette Seyer, Syvilla Sobba, and Sr. Mary Agnes Seyer; and grandchild, Wendy Seyer.

Lila remembers Uncle Ray

My Uncle Ray was generous, joyful (and gruff, when necessary) and always welcomed me when I went home to Cape. Last evening, Uncle Ray peacefully closed his eyes for the last time.

I never missed a chance to stop at Ray and Rose Mary’s house when I was in Cape. My first memories of my uncle and aunt were as a 10-year-old child walking home from swimming lessons at Capaha pool. My brother, sister and I would stop in for a drink and a snack before walking the rest of the way home.

In later years, I was welcomed with a hug, a cup of tea ( or a glass wine, if Ray was showing off homemade someone gave him) and any number of good things that might be on the table. Then, he would begin the story of the day. He told good stories… and he laughed when he told them.

Ray and I talked gardens. He told me what kind of fertilizer to use and never to plant tomatoes and bell peppers in the same place. I would send him pictures of my garden, and he would save me green tomatoes and garlic when I came to Cape in the fall.

Ray and Rose Mary were a unit

I always thought of Ray and Rose Mary as a unit… never one or the other. And now, with his passing, they are, again, perfectly paired. I know she was waiting for him with a smile. He closed his eyes for the last time, yesterday and opened them to gentle Rose Mary’s face. They are together for eternity. I am sad and happy at the same time. I will miss them more than anyone could know.

Preserving his stories

I stood for several minutes looking down at Ray at Ford and Sons Funeral Home. My eyes got misty and I had a hard time swallowing.

Something was wrong.

At first, I thought it might be because he was dressed in a suit. Some men aren’t made for suits, even though I had seen Ray clean up nicely.

Then, it dawned on me.

I told a family member, “That’s the longest I’ve ever been in that man’s presence without hearing a good story.”

You could tell when Ray was going to let loose with a good one by the way he’d get this half-grin with his lower lip pooched out just a little bit; then the crinkles would show up in the corners of his eyes. That’s a sign of a man who has laughed well and often. (Click on the photos to make them larger.)

Recording his stories
In 2010, Lila, Mother, Rose Mary and I got together over at Ray’s house south of the old Sunny Hill restaurant so I could videotape some of his stories. He and Mother grew up in the Advance and Tilsit area, so they tag-teamed a lot of tales.

Here are some of the stories and videos that came out of that session.

February 17, 2016

Visited by Celestial Dandruff

It must have snowed pretty good while I was sleeping, because there was a lot more snow on my car and on the ground than when I went to sleep Monday night. Just before I sat down to lunch, I peeked out the window to see something between a light rain and a drizzle falling. I thought there might be a speck of white mixed in from time to time, but it was mostly splashing when it hit the ground.

Just as I was finishing lunch, I happened to glance out of the kitchen with the corner of my eye. Holy Crapola!!! The sky is full of God dandruff! (As always, click on the photos to make them larger.)

(I’m of the belief that every person should be allocated a finite number of exclamation marks to be used over their entire lifetime; when they’re gone, then it’s back to periods for everything. I spend my exclamation points sparingly, but today’s snow was worth every one of them.)

Biggest flakes I’ve ever seen

I ran to the living room door to see if the stuff was falling in both the front AND back yards. Yep, it sure was.

I told Wife Lila that the flakes were as big a quarters. Then, I amended it to say they were the size of quarter-sized marbles. They weren’t just two-dimensional like you cut out of construction paper in grade school; these were the Real Deal. Wednesday is Wife Lila’s birthday, by the way.

Overcoming inertia

It took me awhile to overcome inertia. In Florida, things are easy: you pull on a polo shirt, grab a pair of shorts and slip on some sandals. Up north, you have to consider layers. And, they have to go on in a certain order, particularly if you wear suspenders.

Just as I was pulling out of the driveway, the Low Fuel light came on. You do NOT want to be running around on potentially slick streets with that thing blinding you.

Gas is usually cheaper in Jackson and Fruitland, so I headed that way with a brief stop at North County Park.

By the time I got to Jackson, the big flakes had stopped. The show was over. I shot a little video, but it wasn’t impressive enough to spend the time editing it. Like I always say, “Some days you make pictures; some days you make memories.”

The nice thing about this snow storm was that it provided really nice eye candy for about an hour or two, then changed to rain, which kept the streets from getting slick.

There’s a rumor that we may be seeing temperatures in the mid-60s by the weekend. Maybe I shouldn’t have ordered that load of firewood to show up this week, although I don’t think we’re done with winter yet or that it’s done with us.

Thank you, Mother Nature. I really enjoyed your show. You really SHOULD do something about that celestial dandruff, though.

February 2, 2016

I Should Have Felt Something

I’ve been dragging my feet putting this post up, because I’m not exactly sure why I didn’t feel more emotion at my visit to the Central High School Gymnasium Saturday, the last public viewing before it’s torn down sometime during this month and March.

Here, by the way is a panorama shot from the top of the south bleachers looking to the north. Click on it to make it larger.

Maybe I didn’t connect because all of the spirit signs, the Tiger logos, the baseball brag board and the Alma Mater had all been removed from the walls. My knees didn’t like the bleachers that we were made to run up and down in P.E.

It was the noise that was missing

It was too quiet. There were no basketballs bouncing off the shiny floor. No coaches blowing their whistles and bellowing at lackadaisical students like me. There was no hollering nor the SPLAT! of one of those red rubber dodgeballs leaving an equally red mark on some slow-to-move freshman.

No fond memories

I can’t think of any fond memories I had about that room. I hated physical education class with a purple passion. I had neither the skills nor the desire to play sports.

I attended tens of dances and proms, but, with few exceptions, my job was to wait until this queen or that queen was crowned, then head home to process my film for The Missourian, The Tiger or The Girardot.

First high school girlfriend Shari found out I wasn’t fibbing when I told her I didn’t know how to dance, and last high school girlfriend Wife Lila will confirm that I never got any better.

I thought the showers were bigger

When I journeyed to the locker room and showers, I was astounded at how small the shower room was. It’s hard to believe that you could cram a dozen or more guys in there at one time, even considering that I was half the size I am today.

I stand by a description I wrote in 2013: “We guys were herded into gang showers where earsplitting hoots and hollers echoed off the tile walls like a bad prison movie. At least once during this session (which I tried to complete as quickly as possible), there would be something that sounded like a space shuttle lifting off, followed by a sulfurous cloud of methane gas that rolled off the tiles in a green cloud, prompting another Neanderthal to try to best the earlier contribution.”

If the dodgeballs went “SPLAT!” the snapping of wet towels sounded like a wild bunch of cowboys trying to get the herd moving by cracking their bullwhips.

Bleacher and floor signup sheet

There was a signup sheet near the entrance where people could leave their names if they were interested in getting pieces of the bleachers or floor when the building is being torn down. I talked with Coach Terry Kitchen Monday to get details, but he said the administration hadn’t made a decision yet on what will happen with the salvage. He asked me to check back later this week to see what was going to happen. When I hear, I’ll post an update.

I have to admit I wouldn’t mind having a chunk of bleacher.

A moment with Terry Crass

On my way out, I stopped to chat with a man wearing an orange shirt. It turned out to be Terry Crass, probably one of the nicest guys who ever walked the halls of Central High School. As team manager of just about every sport except Chess, he kept players patched up, and he’s doing much the same work today at the Veterans Home.

After a few minutes of chit-chat, Terry said, “On the afternoon JFK got killed, I was in Mr. Ford’s algebra class. The weather was bad. It was a lousy-looking day. Mr. Wilferth came on the PA and said the president had been shot. We didn’t know anything.

“The bell rings and I hit out to the study hall. Nobody was saying anything. Everybody was crying. There was a big black and white TV in there. That’s when Walter Cronkite looked up at the clock over his shoulder and said, “From Dallas, Texas, the FLASH, apparently official, President Kennedy died at 1 p.m. Central Standard Time, 2 o’clock Eastern Standard Time, some 38 minutes ago.” [I inserted the actual quote, but Terry pretty much nailed it from memory.]

I had a flashback

I flashed back to another TV on that day. One that was sitting in the gym with shocked students staring at it. “All you could hear was breathing,” I told The Missourian when I rushed my photo to the paper to make my first EXTRA edition.

Suddenly, I must have swallowed a marble because I couldn’t say anything, and there was a lot of dust in the air that caused my eyes to water.

I guess I DID leave a little piece of myself in that old gym.

Last Day photo gallery

Here are some random photos of folks saying goodbye to the old building. Click on any picture to make it larger, then use your arrow keys to move around.

January 10, 2016August 24, 2021

Dad’s Secret Stamp Stash

I got a package in the mail this morning from Brother Mark. It contained two plastic bags of U.S. postage stamps and a letter that read, in part:

“Dad had put away several boxes of stamps years ago in the basement. He put them in old checking account check boxes and sealed them with tape. That was good and it was bad. Good, because it kept anyone from using them, but even though he separated most of the with a piece of waxed paper, the humidity i the basement got into some of them and caused the glue to become sticky.

Bought them in sheets

“Dad used to buy stamps when he went to the post office to pick up mail for Steinhoff & Kirkwood Construction. He would buy them a sheet at a time and he wanted ones that had a block number on them, probably because he thought it might be worth more like that.

“I took them to some folks in St. Louis who appraised them to be worth about $65 [he didn’t say how much more than face value, if any, they were worth]. I didn’t think it was worth selling them for such a small amount to be split three ways [Mark, David and me]. I’ve done my best to equally separate the stamps so that everyone gets a fair sample of what was there.”

Lila and I collected stamps

When I was a kid, I collected stamps, but never had anything that was worth a whole lot, then Wife Lila collected commemoratives for awhile. She checked with Sons Matt and Adam, but neither of them were interested in them, so she was going to offer them up for sale. None of mine were rare, and most had been cancelled, so I don’t think they’ll move us into a better brand of cat food.

I told her the ones Mark sent had no real sentimental value for me, so why doesn’t she just use them on mail. She pointed out that we send very few snail mail letters these days, and, even if we did, most of the stamps are of such small denominations that you’d have to cover the whole front of the envelope with them.

Got any stamp collectors out there? Or snail mailers? (You can click on the photos to make them larger.)