MY HERO

I grew up in the mid-twentieth century when it was reported that families usually consisted of two parents and two-and-a-half children. I've never understood what happened to that other half child, so I've just always considered the number should be three and leave it at that.

Three is a good number for children unless they are all of the same gender. Then I believe it is very difficult for a mother to cope. Consider three girls. They are pouty, giggly, demanding, prissy, selfish, self-centered, shrieking, need constant hair-brushing and dressing. Now consider three boys who are loud, obnoxious, dirty, messy, nose running, bug-crazy, joke-playing, evasive, child-like until they die, making strange noises with odd smells, and are uncommunicative throughout it all. Just the thought of it is exhausting!

But when a mother has some of both sexes there is diversity and balance; getting a little bit of everything, and not an over-abundance of anything. That is until they are teenagers. Then, the only thing a mother can do for self-preservation is leave home.

This is all to say that I grew up in a home that was not average. I was not an only child, but I grew up as one. My brother was 18 when I was born in November, and in spring he left for college and then on to the Army. Over the years I wrote to him every week and kept in touch as you would with an uncle or older cousin. He came home for holidays, but our acquaintance was always long-distance. This didn't thwart the growth of my admiration or regard for him. My brother meant everything to me.

Stella High School 1948

I'm sure that never living under the same roof together was most helpful in keeping our relationship amicable. My brother and I saw each other two or three times a year. His life after the army was four hundred miles south of Falls City, in Wichita, Kansas. He would make trips to visit us, or Mom and I would travel by bus to spend a few days with him in his one room apartment.

Marvin Dean Johnson was born March 13, 1930, at a farmhouse outside of Stella, Nebraska, and spent most of his childhood as a farmer's son. Marvin worked hard on the farm, and was an excellent student in school. He was admired by his fellow students and his teachers alike. There was never a reason for his parents to worry about his behavior or progress in school, for he devoted himself to his work and his family. Marvin would carry these characteristics throughout his life.

The things that I know about my brother as a child come from many conversations with my mother. I was curious to learn about this man, and she was most willing to share her mother's thoughts about her only living son. There had been many years of life in my family that I had not experienced, so I had a lot of catching up to do. My mother and father had placed my brother and his behavior on a very high plane, and I was most anxious to hear all the reasons why, and I was also most honored to keep him there. There was never a bad report, and I was pleased to realize that I most assuredly had the most wonderful brother in the whole world. My assessment never changed over the years. Indeed, he was truly the best.

This is a fact that I love to tell people, and I often wonder if anyone believes me when I say it. My brother and I in our sixty years together on this earth never had an argument. We never even spoke a cross word to one another, not that I didn't deserve to be crossly spoken to. The only time I remember Marvin speaking to me in an unpleased way was once at a small cafe close to where he lived at the time. I was six or seven, and, as usual, I wasn't eating what was on my plate. Marvin's voice got very quiet and very deep when he looked at me sternly and said, "Clean up your plate." You'll realize the effect that had on me when you note that I have never forgotten that moment. I'm pretty sure he learned that from my dad, and the effect was the same. But I was not afraid of my brother. There was no reason to think other than the fact that I was disappointing him, and I would rather eat spinach that do that.

Waxahatchie Texas, @ Grandma Campbell's

In later years I once wrote something to my brother and his wife that was misunderstood by them, and I received a very stern letter from Janet wondering why I would speak so to them. I have no idea what I said, but I know it was never meant to offend. I was stricken to think that I had hurt my brother, and did what needed to be done to correct the matter. Marvin never mentioned it to me, but Janet sure let me know they weren't pleased.

Marvin also never spoke to me about the many years I lived in a manner that not only hurt my family, but I know must have embarrassed them. I couldn't have been an easy person to love, but he never criticized me, nor did he even mention that he was displeased, though I know that he was deeply hurt. I am so very thankful that I was not only able, through the grace of Jesus Christ, to straighten out my life, but I also had opportunities to apologize to Marvin both privately and publicly. The last time I spent some time with him I told him again how sorry I was for those years. I also was able to tell him how deeply I loved and admired him. Marvin was my hero, and I told him so. My brother and my mother were the two people in my life that I knew would always be there for me, would never disappoint me, would always love me, no matter what, and they were exactly the kind of people that I would strive my whole life to be like. The adoration, respect, and love I have for my brother far exceeds anything I have felt for any other person in my lifetime. And, make no mistake, I have no delusional thoughts that I will ever be like him. But I will try.

A number of men spoke to me at Marvin's funeral about the love and respect they had for him. But one man's testimony sticks in my mind. This man had worked at the fire department where my brother was captain for many years. His words were very similar to these, "I wanted to meet the sister of the man that I loved and thought so much of. Your brother was the kindest man I have ever known. When he gave us an order at the station, we didn't obey him because we had to. We obeyed him because of the respect and love we had for him. We would have done anything for him." There were more admiring words from those firemen, and from all who had had the privilege to know Marvin. What a privilege I had to call him my brother. Oh, that I could have made him as proud of me as I am of him.

Marvin's granddaughter, Katie. early 2000s

Marvin and I took a day trip to Canton, Ohio, one day, and in our visit I asked him if he was ready to die. I asked him if he had accepted Jesus Christ as his Savior, and he said confidently that he had. I know that I will be seeing him again, and we will be spending eternity together in our new home.

Marvin's funeral was the most spectacular one I have ever attended. He would have been so proud, but I think it would have embarrassed him as well. The testimonies of his life were remarkable. Though I can't remember what he said, I remember the minister remarking of Marvin's goodness and kindness, and his devotion to the church. Marvin's body and casket were driven to the cemetery in an old firetruck that was restored to mint condition by some of the firemen that he served with. There was an honor guard to deliver him to the grave site and to send him off in great honor with a twenty-one gun salute. And at the end, a bagpiper walked the surrounding grounds of the grave site and played Amazing Grace. A very deserved send-off for a man of equally deserved honor.

If you did not know this man, you might have trouble believing this story; that such a man should have ever been. But, I can assure you that such a man did exist. Especially through the eyes of a devoted and loving sister. Marvin Johnson is truly the best man I have ever known.