This story is hard to tell on many levels. It happened in 1943, over four years before I was born, so my information is all second hand. My mother and I spoke about this many, many times. She told me as much as a mother could to a child, and then as I grew older more facts were introduced into our conversations. It is a difficult story; difficult to tell, difficult to hear. As you read, if you can, you will try to imagine how difficult it was to experience, but you won't succeed, for you can not ever imagine.
My parents, Merril and Lucile Johnson lived on a farm somewhere between Stella and Verdon Nebraska. I know approximately where it was, but I could never get my mom to show me exactly. I'm sure she felt I didn't need to know exactly. My brother Marvin was thirteen and my brother Billy (William Dwight) was six. He was born on May 21, same birthday as my mother. Billy was a delightful child, fun and happy with bright red hair like his daddy's. He was tall for his age, but that was normal in a family of very tall people. He loved to help mom around the house, and was always excited to do little chores or run little errands for mom. He was bright and talkative, though I can't help but believe that he would have become quiet and thoughtful in his adulthood as his brother and father were, but carrying along a wonderful sense of humor.
June in Nebraska can be one of the most beautiful times of the year. School has just ended and summer is just getting into full swing. The peonies and iris and tulips are all faded away, the bees are humming and out in the country the meadowlark warbles the most beautiful tune. It was a week before my dad's birthday, and I'm sure Billy had been drawing pictures and writing birthday wishes to present on that day. My dad adored his little men, and red-headed Billy was very special. He had just had his sixth birthday, and another celebration was anticipated.
Billy had spent most of the morning in the house with Marvin who was doing chores and watching over his brother. Mom had been out to the barn and to the chicken house, doing her daily jobs, while Daddy was in the field just beyond the barn, turning the soil with a newly sharpened disc behind a team of work horses. It was a beautiful day and a beautiful setting; a hard-working family on a normal summer day. Rockwell would have painted such a picture.
My mother has said that it was almost noon, and she had gone into the house to wash up and prepare to set dinner on the table. When it had been prepared she had sent Billy out to the field to tell his dad that it was time to eat. He ran out, and he had been gone a while before mom asked Marvin to check on Billy.
From here on I will tell the story according to the different sources. I will begin by quoting a newspaper article from the Falls City Journal which was printed the following day. It is the most factual and laid out in a manner more easily understood.
Falls City Journal, June 23, 1943
"Tragedy Occurs In Verdon Area As Child Killed
Tragedy struck unexpectedly at the Merril Johnson home, three miles north of Verdon, when the father accidentally drove a horse-drawn disk over his six-year-old son, William Dwight Johnson, yesterday afternoon, injuring the boy fatally.
The youngster died shortly after he was brought to Our Lady of Perpetual Help hospital. A sharp, circular blade of the disk ran the full length of the body, cutting through the skull and into the brain.
The child had been riding with his father on the disk in the field. William Dwight got down to go to the house, went a short distance and then decided to come back with his father. Unseen by his father, the boy tried to climb on the moving machine. He slipped and fell under the cutter wheels.
The father was so completely broken up by the accident that he still could hardly give a coherent account of it last night. The boy was taken to Verdon for emergency treatment and then was brought to the hospital here."
My mother's addition to the story begins when she realized the accident and ran into the field. She and Daddy picked Billy up together and rushed to their car where Mom sat in the back seat with Billy laying on the seat and his severed head cradled in her lap and hands. My mother has told me that she was literally holding his head together.
My dad drove like a crazy man and as fast as he could on the dirty, dusty roads toward Verdon to seek help. Somewhere along the way I believe I was told that they may have stopped to use someone's telephone, but were unable to find one.
Marvin told me that he looked out the kitchen window to try to catch sight of Billy to see if they were on their way in to eat. The event took place right before his eyes. He saw Billy get down from the disc, run toward the house, then turn around to run back to dad. Marvin saw Billy start to climb up to Dad and fall backward under the disc. At that point he yelled to Mom and she ran out of the house. Marvin rode in the front seat with Daddy on the way to the hospital.
A story was written to me years later from Dorothy Helmick, a cousin of Daddy's, long after his death, and she also sent me a copy of the item that was published in the Journal. In her letter to me she stated that only hours after Billy was pronounced dead she saw that my Mom, Dad and Marvin were staying at a house across the street from her in Falls City. There lived my Aunt Leora and Uncle Jack and family. Aunt Leora was my Mom's sister. Dorothy wrote that she watched helplessly from the front of her home as my Daddy walked for hours around and around the block wailing; unconsolable. This went on into the evening hours; no one could stop him, no one could talk to him. She thought sure that he was going insane, because he just could not stop. His cries were heard all over the neighborhood, and he was oblivious to his surroundings. With both fists jammed into his overall pockets he walked and walked and wailed.
My Mom was able to somehow handle her grief with a true and deep faith in her dependable God. One day came when she was able to laugh and sing again. In 1945 she gave birth to a little girl who lived only three days due to an illness that Mom had when she was born. There were more tears. But God gives us a strength we can't imagine that helps us and carries us on.
Daddy chose to blame God for Billy's death, and never attended church regularly again. He was angry at God, a personal anger, almost as if God had done this to Merril Johnson for a reason. He always made sure Mom went to church, and when I came along in 1947 he was insistant that I was to attend church, but he never went with us. Dad attended funerals, weddings, and sunrise services if they were held outside. Never did he attend a church worship service.
Growing up my Mom and I spent many long hours in the middle of the night consoling my Dad from a terrible nightmare. We never asked, but we knew what his nightmares were about. From across the house I would hear my Dad scream hysterically and I would jump from my bed and find him in my mother's arms sobbing. She and I would surround him with our arms and rock him until he would be calm enough to sleep again....sometimes an hour, sometimes we didn't get back to sleep. This went on for the rest of his life.
In 1967 my Daddy lay dying with cancer in a hospital bed when another of his cousins visited him. He had only days to live. They asked him if he would like to confess his sins and ask Jesus to forgive him. He said yes, and so they prayed for him, and he nodded as they prayed. I hope to see my Daddy again someday where there will be no more tears, no more nightmares that haunt you, and see my beloved family, my Mama, my brother Marvin, my sweet brother Billy, and the sister that I always wanted but never knew, Janice May.
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