Emil A. Hartman, 1875-1952

"Oh, no. But he will be all right?"

"No, he has been dead for several hours."

"Don’t count on me to come for the funeral; we are snowed in, and I doubt if I can come home." However, I was able to go home for the funeral.

My dad, what a man! It was hard to believe life could go on without him. The following days were dark; the sun never came out, but as we drove to Calvary Cemetery in Wichita, the sun burst forth as if Dad were telling all of his remaining family, "It will be all right."

My dad grew up in Sedgwick County with his sisters and one brother. They lived far from church and didn’t often attend. But somehow Dad learned how to pray and taught us the importance of prayer. I remember when he prepared to retire each evening, he knelt at his chair in the living room and became completely absorbed in his devotions. When I was a few months old, I became very ill and the doctor was called in. His message was not good. The following morning Dad took me in his arms and presented me to each of my siblings at the breakfast table. "Tell Germaine (my baptismal name) good bye. She will be dead by the time you return from school." Dad prayed, Mother prayed, my siblings prayed, and I got well.

As I went off to school, Dad was very interested in my studies, and listened to me recite my Catechism and spelling words every evening. As a first grader, I began asking Dad when I could make my first Communion. I listened as Sister Dalmatia taught the second graders. I knew all the prayers; I knew what Holy Communion was all about and I wanted to receive Jesus into my heart. "When you are seven," Dad told me. The next December I turned seven and Dad arranged with the pastor that I make my first Holy Communion on Christmas Day. What a joy! Dad had quizzed me and deemed that I was ready.

When I was about 11, my older brother Gene became very ill and was treated in a Wichita hospital. Every day Mother and Dad would drive the 20 miles to be with him. Every evening the rest of the family eagerly awaited our parents’ return to find out how Gene was doing. One day, Dad said, "The doctor said Gene will not recover. He is going to die. But we are not going to let him die. Tonight we will begin the novena to St. Jude, the patron of hopeless cases, and Gene will get well."

Gene recovered just like Dad said he would.

Dad was devoted to the parish and often answered the call for help. When the parish needed to build a church, Dad was there to help. He was, however, disappointed that the building to house both the school and the church was built with the church in the basement. He thought God deserved better, but the family worshipped many years in St. John’s in Clonmel. When the pastor suggested that the church needed a large statue (Was it St. Joseph or St. John the Evangelist? ... I have forgotten.), Dad and a neighbor purchased the statue. When the pastor thanked the donor(s) on the following Sunday, he mentioned only the neighbor’s name. Dad’s family was indignant and wanted Dad to make the correction, but he wouldn’t. "God knows who gave the statue."

In the 20s and 30s, it was a sacrifice to send the children to a Catholic high school, but Dad was more than willing to make that sacrifice. My older brothers and sisters lived in a small apartment in Wichita and attended the Cathedral High School. Three daughters had entered religious life. Emil Jr., who showed some inclination for priesthood, was sent to St. Joseph’s Military Academy in Hays. However, he did not continue in that desire and after graduation was soon in the military. Three of my brothers served in World War II. It was a sad family indeed that received the news that Emil Jr. had been killed in action in Italy in September, 1944. The family was pleased, however, in 1947 when a chapel from a military base was moved to Clonmel to replace the basement church. The chapel was dedicated to the memory of Emil Jr.

Dad loved the Mass and after my parents moved to Wichita, they were daily communicants and faithful parishioners at St. Joseph Parish. My parents had much to pray about; there were still 12 living adults. The death of Emil Jr. was a tragedy in the family. Dad and Mother had already buried three infants, two daughters and a son. But Emil Jr.’s death was the first adult death in the family and it took its toll on Dad’s health. After the Memorial Service, Dad was admitted to the hospital for a few days, his first and only admission.

During his years of retirement, Dad spent much of the day praying the rosary, smoking his pipe, and listening to the radio, especially if the World Series was in session. Dad was a man of prayer, a man of high ideals, a devoted father, a generous parishioner, and example to his family.