Walter Vincent Niemantsverdriet, Jr.
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My father, Walter Niemantsverdriet, whose life we celebrate and whose loss we mourn, was a great and wonderful man. He was a fourth generation Dutch-American, and also a fourth generation German-American, and a fourth generation Irish-American, and a ninth generation French-American, and enough Heinz 57 to fill in the crevices. He came from, and he created, a closely knit family – he was his own fifth, sixth, and seventh cousin, and my sixth and seventh cousin as well as being my father. He was proud of his family, especially his grandchildren and great-grandchildren, and his adored wife.
His name was a statement of veracity -- Niemantsverdriet meaning "No man's sorrow". He was a humble and modest man – to the extent that he was reluctant to receive honors paid him by his beloved credit union and Ivy Tech. Dad was not a sophisticated man – the house the family lived in when he was born was only 250 feet from the home where he last lived. Except for the period served in the Navy, he always lived within a half mile of those homes. Yet he was a man of vision, a man who widened his gaze and his impact far beyond his own abode. He was an advocate of education – he produced five college educated children and sent them out into the world. Just last summer he told me how proud he was of my son for finishing his doctorate, the first in the family. He was a supporter of local schools – countless were the times he chauffeured a carload of teenaged girls to Jeff ballgames and activities, chaperoned my prom, and seemed to know well every teacher I had – many of whom had also overseen his own schooling. He was honored to be among the founding board of directors for Ivy Tech's Lafayette location and represented the public on that board for 25 years.
My father enjoyed telling stories of his past adventures. He participated in his share of cow tippings, placing automobiles in the Jeff hallways, and pilfering of Purdue Research Farm watermelons which were shared with the park policemen as sort of a safety measure – they couldn't turn him in if they'd consumed the loot together! One story we especially liked was about the time he and friends, on the way to a movie at the Luna Theatre, purchased a bushel basket of apples for a quarter – a real bargain not to be passed up, and took them along. Somehow the basket was inadvertently upset and, as the apples bumped their way down the sloping floor, someone in the audience called out "RATS!" and a frightened exodus ensued – Dad and his friends ran along with the crowd, for no one wanted to claim responsibility for setting off the panic. He always insisted that they didn't purposely upset the basket and that they definitely didn't call out, but with the delight dancing in his eyes, you knew that he certainly enjoyed the outcome nonetheless.
My father was a man of simple pleasures. My early memories include those of evening rides to Monitor Springs to "take the waters" bubbling out, to watch the changing waters and colors of the fountains at Purdue and the Soldiers' Home -- always stopping by Grandma and Grandpa's house on the way -- walking to the park to watch ballgames, going through the stinky animal house there, laughing at the monkeys, playing on the slides and swings. Special occasions were the Ross Gear Picnics at Indiana Beach and all the pop and ice cream we could imbibe. Dad built the house my family has lived in for fifty years, and did this largely alone. There were difficult periods when Cindy and John were in the hospital with polio. Joyous occasions as when he served us chili every day after surprising us with news that, no we didn't get a puppy, but we did get another delightful new baby sister – Betty Jo. We had fun learning together – like patting together pie crusts that tenaciously clung to the counter after being rolled out, experimenting with Grandma's sloppy Joe recipe – which has since been lost, and just a couple of months ago, making a sweet potato pie. He said it was good, but I don't know … Dad was a creative man – many hours were spent riding the Dad-made Mike and Ike teeter-totter with Sandra, playing with the dolls and cradles Dad made for us – and that I still have, using little innovative gadgets that he had fashioned. Dad was a great gardener – he often sent me back to Iowa with bulbs, plants, and cuttings, which promptly died in that frigid clime. Or it could have been due to my own black thumb – the kiss of death! But the surprise lilies live, and I think of him every time they bloom. I believe that he could plant a ruler and grow a yardstick. Dad was a spiritual man who attended church almost every Sunday of my life, often going more than once.
I inherited many things from my father and his side of the family – my tall stature, my familial tremor, my thin, straight hair, my less than straight teeth, my quirky sense of humor, my love of poetry (his favorites including "Spring is sprung, the grass is riz, I wonder where the birdies is"), my interest in family and history and the associated stories. We worked together on our "Law and Order" law degrees with a graduate course in "Matlock," and together we clipped, and saved, and shared coupons. Dad has touched the lives of many – so many have told us this past week how he was not only our father, but also a father figure for them – our neighbor kids who lost their father early, folks from the Credit Union, workers at Osco, just people, but he affected their lives also. He loved visiting the Credit Union most every day, taking his mug for coffee, and visiting with Kay, Ila, and Art, as well as the many newer, younger employees. Every time I visited with him, he'd introduce me and tell me about them and their families, too.
His grandson Michael remembers:
"I remember my grandfather coming home from work at Ross GearGreat-granddaughter Kendra's memories are
Smelling gloriously of machinery, tired, but still with a kind word.
I remember him teaching me a favorite poem:Little fly sittin' on a wallI remember his stories of childhood,
Him no got no home at all
Him no got no mom to comb him hair
Him no care
Him no got no hair
Of his family storing apples in a hole in the backyard through the winter;
I remember his stories of youthful mischief,
Of an overturned outhouse, and of secret purple Purdue watermelons;
I remember his welcoming my sweetheart, my bride, into his family;
I remember his love for my Grandmother;
I remember his thoughtfulness,
His kindness,
The playful light that shone in his smiling eyes,
The gentle sweetness held steady in his lightly shaking hand.
I remember his love
And I always will.
It's so hard to see you go, Grandpa.
You left this world with your touch upon our hearts. Thank you."
"When I was little, I would go to his house and he and Grandma would watch me when my Mom and Dad worked. When I got there he had stacked oatmeal boxes up as high as he could reach, and I loved to knock them down. I would have him stack them up all over again. My Grandpa loved to play with me. My Grandpa was special and I love him."So, you are probably wondering "And this is a great man?" Well, to me he was. For he was my father, my dad, my papa. And so, I shall remember him, he shall always live in my heart. Dad, this song is for you.