Des isch a guater Mann
gwäs
(He was a good man)
“He was a good man.” That was one of my Uncle Alfred Dockter’s favorite
Schwabian German phrases when describing a person he admired.
Alfred Dockter, born
in 1928, was the 7th of 10 children born to Henry and Katharina
(Meidinger) Dockter. He grew up on his
Grandmother Katharina Heine Dockter’s
homestead on Beaver Creek, rural Zeeland, ND.
Katharina emigrated to America from the German colony of Klöstitz in
Bessarabia in the early 1880’s. She was one of 16 women to file a homestead
claim in McIntosh County, Dakota Territory, in 1886
As a young man, Alfred with his brothers, Harry and Melvin,
would work hard all day, eat a late supper and make their way to the nearest
dance hall, dance the night away only to repeat it all the next day.
Growing up along Beaver Creek where their Grandmother
Katharina Heine Dockter also staked a tree claim, Sundays meant one picnic or
softball game after another. The children all learned to swim in Beaver Creek
and Alfred used up one of his many lives as a youngster when he slipped into
the creek and the family dog pulled him out.
His mother always worried about the creek claiming one of her children.
It wasn’t the creek, but a farm accident that claimed
Alfred’s younger brother, 11-year-old Walter, in July of 1944. World War II claimed
the older brother, 23-year-old Otto, in February of 1945, who died while
fighting with Allied Forces in Germany. Thus, at an early age, Alfred
understood death and sorrow.
The Dockter family worshiped at St. Andrews, the tall, white
Carpenter Gothic church called the “Beacon on the Prairie.” Organized in 1893
by Alfred’s emigrant grandparents, St. Andrews was a country church situated just
a few miles from the Dockter farm. All
the children were baptized and confirmed there. When St Andrews no longer held
regular services and the members enrolled elsewhere, Alfred and his wife, Elaine
continued their affiliation with St Andrews through regular practices and
performances with the St. Andrew’s Centennial Choir, singing the German songs
their grandparents brought with them from South Russia.
With a gentle nature and humble demeanor Alfred made his way
through life quietly. His wife, his family, the farm and his animals were his
world. He had a way with animals,
particularly horses. According to his
son, Cameron - Babe, Colin, Captain, Trigger, Mink and Mona - were ALL his favorites. Alfred never had a
bigger smile than when he purchased his last Belgian Team, Lisa and Lucky. He loved to ride. He loved to take the
grandchildren for rides in a buggy or in the big wagon or take a team and wagon
to parades in the neighboring communities. He loved joining his children,
grandchildren, great grandchildren, nephews and great nephews on trail rides.
Sometimes we thought he was invincible. It was nothing for
him to talk his way out of a corral corner when challenged by a bull. Fractures
and breaks from various falls off of machinery or animals didn’t keep him from
embracing each new day with excitement.
Alfred and Elaine
spent their 40 year dairy and grain farming career on the farm along Beaver
Creek. A move to town in the 1990’s took place long after their six children
were grown and launched in their careers. Still, the farm remained the center
of life for the family, which by now included many grandchildren and
great-grandchildren.
At age 85, Alfred Dockter passed away after a short illness
in August, 2013.
His death brought us back to our roots at St. Andrews for a
packed house Friday night when children, grandchildren, friends and neighbors
shared their memories of how our Uncle Alfred so quietly and without fanfare
impacted the family and community. There
was another packed house on Saturday for the funeral where his grandson, Jay, gave
his loving tribute adapted from the well known Paul Harvey essay “God Needed a Farmer.” *
“And on the 8th
day, God looked down on Beaver Creek and said, “I need a caretaker.” So God
made Alfred Dockter.
God said, “I need
someone willing to get up before dawn, milk cows, work all day in the fields,
milk cows again, eat supper and then go to town for one of his boys’ basketball
games.” So God made Alfred Dockter.
“I need somebody
with hands big enough to rustle a calf and yet gentle enough to hold a newborn
grandchild. Somebody to plant corn, tame cantankerous Holsteins, use his belt
to fix a gate and treat everyone he met like a friend he’s known for years.”
God said, “I need
somebody willing to bottle feed a new born calf, bury a canine companion, gently,
in the corner of a field, dry his eyes and go back to work.”
“I need somebody
who can bring in the horses with just the sound of his voice, sing in the
Church choir, teach children prayers in German. And during planting and at
harvest work 40 hours by Tuesday noon, then, with an aching back put in another
72 hours.” So God made Alfred Dockter.
“God had to have
somebody willing to ride that Oliver at double speed to get the hay in ahead of
the rain clouds and stop mid-field and race to help a neighbor whose cattle had
gotten out.” So God made Alfred Dockter.
God said, “I need
somebody strong enough to pick rocks and drive fence posts, yet tender enough to
put his granddaughter down to sleep, and wiggle her toes in the morning.”
“It
had to be somebody who’d plow deep and straight and not cut corners. Somebody
to seed, weed, feed, breed and rake and disc and plow and plant and strain the
milk and climb the silo and finish a hard week’s work with a drive to St.
Andrews for church.”
“Somebody who’d
bale a family together with the soft strong bonds of love, would laugh, and
smile and then sit back and watch his family gather year in and year out on the
land he made a home.” So God made Alfred Dockter.”
We all have special relatives who
impact us in one way or another. This special uncle of mine would have blushed
at all the fuss made at his passing.
But, I think he would have been pleased at the attention paid to his
burial in the beautiful cemetery at St. Andrews where his parents,
grandparents, siblings and many extended family members lie.
Pulling the wagon, Uncle Alfred’s
most recent team, April and Sally, met him at the entrance to the courtyard at
St. Andrews. His grandsons and nephews transferred the casket from the hearse
to the wagon and on that beautiful blue-sky day on the North Dakota prairie Uncle
Alfred’s last ride was just as he would have wanted it. As the church bells rang, his great-grandchildren
trailed the wagon with the rest of us following. His choir friends sang the graveside
hymn, “ So Nimm Denn Meine Hande” (Lord,
Take my Hand and Lead Me) as we said our farewells.
photo courtesy of Twila Kaseman Nies
Des isch
a guater Mann gwäs, He was a good man.
*To learn more about Paul Harvey’s essay go to http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/So_God_Made_a_Farmer
Carol Just
Prairie Lights, September 2013
