Two Tributes in Memory of Alois Verlind Ducklow
Oldest Living Ducklow Descendant Has Died
[Updated August 4, 2009]
Alois "Al" Ducklow of Spring Valley, Wisconsin died on July 18th, 2009. He had been the oldest living descendant of our common ancestral grandparents, Thomas and Elizabeth Ducklow; he was 93. A memorial for Alois was held in Spring Valley on July 22nd with a attendance by his immediate family and his sister Vanita, any many nieces, nephews, cousins and friends who came to honor his memory. Stories about Al were shared including two touching eulogies given by two of his grandchildren, Jerad Ducklow and Angela Ducklow McKarns.
Left: Alois Verlind Ducklow Circa 1935
Picture from the Vanita Ducklow Olson Photo Collection
If you are one who had never met Alois you can get a sense of his personality by way of reading either Jerad's or Angela's wonderful tribute to their grandfather. And if you knew Al well, I believe you will find that both of these eulogies ring true and authentic to the man many loved. Both Jerad and Angela have kindly agreed to have their tributes published here.
Here are Angie's words:
For many of you, some distinct impressions come to mind; father, grandfather, great grandfather, brother, uncle. Others knew him as a fisherman; frequenting the spillway and dam, Nugget Lake, Rush River, Lost Creek, Long and Pine Lake to name a few. Many years taking his little boat out, later on fishing on the shores. Not only could he catch a fish but he could fillet one like no other. Even smoked his own for a few years. And was always very generous with his catches.
An amateur meteorologist; starting and ending most conversations with the condition of the weather, documenting the daily highs and lows for years on his calendar.
A man that grew tomato plants as big as trees, thanks to Miracle Grow. They should have asked him to be in a commercial. Thanks Grandpa for making my kids like vegetables!
Many others, if they were still alive and were lucky enough to witness it, would say a hell of a baseball player. The man to hit the first homerun on the newly built SV baseball diamond. A man that could hit a ball so long and hard that he hit one through an open window of the Smelter Tower. He was known for counties around as one of the best ball players in the area, who was scouted by the Cubs but had a family and responsibilities at home.
A documented hero; a man that saved 4 lives during the big flood. Not a lot of people knew that until an article was written about it but that’s because he didn’t brag about it, that wasn’t his style.
A man that could walk into any bar and would know someone there, young or old, that would buy him a beer. He got a kick out of that.
And he wouldn’t be Al Ducklow without his regular rides with his dog George, his right hand man, his faithful and loyal companion to the end. That dog, that’s how he mostly referred to him, is smarter than most people and probably drove the car most of the time for all we know. I thank God for George and the years he probably added on to Grandpa’s already long life.
That’s the Al Ducklow that most people know. But the grandpa I knew was a sweetheart, not a word you would think to be attached to him. Although my grandpa didn’t talk much, his actions always spoke louder than words.
He was a man that taught his granddaughter how to pitch, was 75 years old and catching my wild throws. And when I bruised his knees too much and he couldn’t take all the standing, he caught me sitting in a chair. A grandpa that came to all of my games and would drive his car right on our field and my coach would give me a look and shake his head but never said anything… really, what could he, it was just Al.
A man that taught me how to drive on the back roads by the old farm and Lost Creek. We’d take our weekly drive to Ellsworth to get ice cream at the Tom Thumb; but we were responsible, we always stopped a mile out of town and switched so the cops wouldn’t catch us. Oh, I was 13.
A grandpa that saved pennies for me from the time I was little all the way through college when he would hide 1 $1 bill in the middle because you know, I was in college and needed it. And much later pennies transformed into chocolate bars and little Al hit the jackpot!
Whichever Al you remember we can all agree that Al Ducklow was smart (or a smart-allick depending on what kind of mood you caught him in), a man with a commanding presence, a fantastic sense of humor, a guy who’d tell you like it is, talented athlete, loving in the only way he knew how to be, but mostly Al Ducklow was one of a kind. And I’m proud to be his granddaughter.
Thank you.
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Here is Jerad's tribute:
I appreciate this opportunity, but I have to be honest I’ve done a lot of speaking before and I can’t remember being this nervous before. Let me start by saying that I’ve only known Grandpa for 33 years… or 1/3 of his life. When I started considering this I realized that I took several courses in school on different events in history that he lived through. So the majority of what I have to say comes from the man that I knew for this brief period of his life.
I’ll try to share a few second hand stories, but I can only hope that I can do them the justice that they deserve. He and Betty Ducklow raised 6 boys during some really difficult times. If you want a good one about Al before my time, I’m sure that you can get one from any one of the boys if you swing by with a twelve pack in hand of course.
You know, I only came to know of the entire details of him saving that family’s lives a few months back because of Don Blegen. Thanks Don. He never talked about it and even after the article came out he still didn’t really want to elaborate. This really epitomized the man that he was.
Some of my first memories of my childhood begin shortly after Grandma passed away and we bought their house. My Grandpa taught me a lot. I learned how to fish, throw a curveball, grow tomato plants, split wood (which he did until about 10 years ago…mostly for fun), I learned a few choice words at night while he was having “discussions” in his dreams…but I never heard those words while he was awake, I learned what hard work was at an early age by cutting wood with him, Uncle Robert and Dad.
Early on I learned the phrase “What are they going to do to an old man and a kid?” That came in handy in many things that we did together. We frequently picked or borrowed asparagus, sweet corn, butternuts, small trees, black caps (I’ve since learned that they are just called blackberries…thanks Jess) and raspberries on the side of the road. I used to think that he just started doing these things after retirement, but the more stories that I hear from the boys I realize that wasn’t the case.
Fishing became his passion. Some of those summers I’m pretty sure that if you asked someone in Spring Valley if they had received some fish from him, you had a 50/50 chance that they’d say yes. I felt sorry for him because he lost his fishing partners one by one while he continued on. There was George Trainor, Morris Swenson, and Elwood Rye to name a few.
Morris and Grandpa were really the Odd Couple. Grandpa liked to pan fish and Morris liked to chase the bass. They’d swing the boat around on each other whenever they could to "out-position" the other. I think that I was able to fish the most with them because Grandpa just needed to someone to talk to.
Grandpa always shocked his own night crawlers. For those of you that don’t know what that means… he’d cut an electrical line and attach the wires to metal rods that had a handle and then stick them in the ground. He’d do better when it rained so you’d see him out there in the rain frequently. Not something that I’d suggest to the kids out there, but I remember being right there.
Grandpa would start each day by watching the birds, playing solitaire, eating eggs and pork sausage (breakfast of champions). After noon rolled around he’d have a couple of beers. Nightly Brewer games in the back yard with the car radio on and passenger door open was common. Red sky at night sailors’ delight. Red sky in the morning sailors take warning.
Unfortunately I was not able to watch my Grandpa play baseball and he was too humble to share a lot of those stories, but there was no doubt that he could play ball. That was back when people would come out to watch city teams play and people took pride in those games. They respected the players and their love of the game. It was a time when baseball was everything good about society and is missing today.
Then there was his innate ability to keep you humble. I remember a baseball game when I came home feeling pretty good about myself only to be reminded of how bad I looked when I struck out in my first at bat.
That brings us to his brutal honesty. Grandpa normally said what he thought…like it or not. This really became difficult in his later years when his hearing got worse. He just didn’t realize how loud he was talking and he’d say “Boy that guy sure is fat” or “Boy she’s really homely.” They’d turn their heads and give a dirty look.
My Grandpa loved to go on rides. When I was little we’d all pile into his station wagon. I remember crawling into the back…can you imagine what people would say about that now and we’d go for a ride down to Lost Creek and Rush River to the old farm. Then as we grew and moved away and we took more of our parents time, he had to have a new riding partner…hence came the dogs and the destroyed back seats.
There are so many that I can’t name them all, but each one was as loyal to him as any dog that I’ve seen. The only difference is George was much smarter than the rest and stayed up back. Angie and Gregg deserve the credit for picking out that dog. I’ve never seen a dog attach to an individual like George did to Grandpa. He’s probably sleeping at the foot of Grandpa’s bed right now wanting to go out and honk the horn for Grandpa to come home.
Just a couple of points that I’d like to make in closing… Probably the most important is that I need to do is say thank you on Grandpa’s behalf to all of his sons as well as Lisa and Cricket. I know it wasn’t easy, but they gave Grandpa one of the best gifts that they ever could have by their commitment to allow him to stay in his place until he died.
So if you get a chance teach a kid how to fish, throw a ball around with a kid, take them to a hidden swimming hole on a river, show them the way things used to be… because those memorials and a part of you will carry on with those kids until the day they leave this earth.
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My sincere appreciation to Jerad Ducklow and Angie Ducklow McKarns for graciously sharing their heart-felt tributes given initially at Alois' memorial, and now presented here for the greater Ducklow audience to read. What a wonderful way to honor Al.
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Alois Ducklow's pedigree back to Thomas and Elizabeth Ducklow is : Alois > Frank > George > Thomas and Elizabeth Ducklow.
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