Viola Stekel

“Viola Evangeline Esplund was the firstborn of Clarence Chester and Golda Ella Miller Esplund on a wheat farm in Western Kansas on Sunday afternoon, August 12, 1923, at home after her mother finished cooking dinner for the thrashers. Her grandmother Ella Miller came out to the farm and Dr. Van was called. She grew up on other peoples’ farms with a sister Nadine Darlene, her two brothers – Arnold Cedric and Donald Eugene – all of whom have preceded her in death. She always tried to bloom where she was planted. And she was planted in many places and under many circumstances. She was a creative person who made the most of what she had at the time. Her most cherished creations were her children – Tyler Warren, Russell Carlin, Wesley Martin, Roberta Joline, and Ramona Dianne”. Viola Evangeline Stekel of Denver Colorado died peacefully on June 3, 2019. She was born August 12, 1923, in Minneola Kansas. With her usual gift for understatement and concern for others, she wrote the above obituary at some time long before her actual death so that no one else would have to do that. She also thought through her own memorial service and chose her gravestone in Minneola Kansas cemetery. She wrote down the hymns she wanted us to sing at her service and wrote a poem to be printed on the program (see below). She was born the first child of a 1st generation Swedish immigrant father, Clarence Chester Esplund and Texas-born beauty, Goldie Ella Miller on a working farm during the middle of the fall harvest. From what I understand there was not a lot of time for lollygagging. Her parents had 3 younger children in quick succession and she was given child-caring responsibilities as soon as she could sit up and rock a cradle. She did for others all of her life; of her childhood, she remembers one thing for which she was praised – her outstanding schoolwork. So the news that her father forbade her from going on to college after she graduated high school left her blindsided and disappointed. She left home and began a year of domestic work while going to business school. During the war, she taught business school and faithfully wrote letters to dozens of servicemen in her effort to keep their spirits up. She married Robert M Hall and moved to Colorado living in Boulder, Estes Park, Hayden, and Vineland, finally settling in Denver. She worked as a secretary for the Denver Public Schools and ended her career as executive secretary to the school board president. She married Stanley Stekel one year before she retired and spent the next 35 years with him building a home, traveling and enjoying life. Stan and Viola traveled widely to France, Spain, Scandinavia, Italy, and Alaska but their favorite spots for repeat visits were Sante Fe New Mexico and Hawaii. Viola was a talented writer and kept a folder of poems which she was organizing for publication. She was known for her handmade Christmas cards and Christmas poems sent out each year. She even wrote a Christmas card to be sent out after her death. She was creative and believed that doing something creative every day was an essential part of life. She had a workshop in her basement where she worked on broken furniture, painted wooden frames, polished brass candlesticks, or worked on one of her many black and white compositions made of barcodes off of return postage paid postcards. Viola was known for her collection of brass candlesticks, brass angels, and madonnas. She enjoyed repairing and refinishing furniture, especially chairs, and lamps which she gave to anyone who needed them. In one of her poems, she talks about her brass candlesticks. She says “place them around my bier, and when the flames go out, give them to those who came that they may remember to hide not their light”. Throughout her life, Viola was a beacon of kindness and beauty. Not beauty in the western sense but in the Baha’i sense of the face of God. She had a heartwarming smile and generosity of spirit that touched all who knew her. She transcended any disappointments she had early in life and existed in a world without constraints, as though she had determined that all the best in life was free to give and to receive. She had a way of knowing and forgiving at the same time and seemed only to see the best and to overlook all the rest. She was preceded in death by both her first husband, Robert M Hall, and her second husband, Stanley Stekel, and by two of her sons: Wesley Hall and Tyler Hall. She is survived by her son Russell Hall, her daughters Roberta Lilly and Ramona Hall, grandchildren Conrad, Ashley, Lucas, Rudi and Grace, and great-grandchildren Curtis, Benjamin, Summer, Willow, and Thatcher. She will be deeply missed by all who knew her. In lieu of flowers, please make contributions in her name to Denver Public Schools Retired Employees Association (DPSREA) Foundation Julia Kamura, Treasurer 1781 South Valentine Way Lakewood, CO 80228-3944 Even after a lifetime in Colorado Viola still saw herself as a girl of the prairie and frequently wrote about her memories of Kansas and the wheat fields. In this poem written 37 years ago, she seems to predict the end of her life and the return of the girl to the prairie – DISTANCE CALLS ME… Distance calls me when I walk Wakening the nomad within The prairie beckons, the clouds unfold, But these mountains hem me in. On Decoration Day when I stood On the hill amongst the stones And watched the green wheat wave, I trembled at the wander lust in my bones. I was a prairie girl who’d never Seen the sea and never a ship or sail, Yet knew I’d been there once, And would gain, were longing to prevail. The only color in my days Were rhubarb leaves and hollyhocks, Sunflowers, sunsets, azure skies, Striped overalls, and ankle socks. The brown mud squished between my toes, I felt the milkweed’s sticky goo, I sailed on white clouds in azure skies And knew patchwork quilts were making do. The only sounds at summer’s noon Were the windmill shifting The flies buzzing, the cow’s tail swishing, And in the distance the train whistle drifting. I felt the sun on my face and wind in my hair While in the distance the tractor and plow Turned the fields hinting of paradise, Though of Khayyam I hardly know e’en now Distance called me when I thought, I knew it always would; For all I could see from my vantage point Were three silos, but nary a mountain or a wood. Still distance calls me when I walk No matter where I stay Something inside bids me go, Something lures me far away… To sunsets and great blue skies, To lonely sounds on a summer day— Prairie winds, chickens clucking, And a windmill’s gentle sway. Now, distance calls me when I dream Disturbing these feet of clay, The rocking chair creaks, the dog sighs, And the helpers take away my tray…. The prairie girl returns once more To stand among the stones To hear the whistle and the meadowlark, And feel the wanderlust in her bones. And distance calls her when she drifts; At last she freely goes To ambition’s height, to emotion’s depth, To lassitude’s quiet repose, To church bells ringing, to children singing, To windmills shifting in the wind, To trains whistling, and coyotes wailing, And sunsets, and no jeans to mend. Vi Hall 1/82