I grew up in Greeley, Colorado. It was a farming community with a tight Swedish sub-culture. We went to a Covenant Church in the downtown area with a red front door. Every time that door opened we were there; starting with Sunday School, Church, Sunday evening church and a booster meeting on Wednesdays. On Saturday the youth choir practiced for Sunday morning service. Most Sunday mornings you could hear cute little children singing obediently with charming voices. Mrs. Osterberg, the preacher’s wife, was the leader of the children’s choir. She took great pride in our two or three part harmony that entertained the crowd right before her husband gave the sermon of the day.
My mom, Frances Swanson, contributed more than just taking me to choir practice by helping to make the white robes and satin bows for the little children. Christmas time the bows were red. Then they changed to aqua in spring and summer. Fall we wore gold bows. I can remember mom working together with a couple of other ladies from the church. She had fabric laid out on the dinning room table as sewing machines whirred at the sewing table by the bay window. We were certainly treated well as the helpers (volunteer moms) dressed us and primped over our bows in the back room right before we marched out to take our choir seats just left of the minister.
I remember the adult choir also sang each Sunday. Early on my father and mother sang in the choir. By the time I arrived as the last of three children, they had given that up and keep vigil each Sunday toward the back of the church always sitting in the same seats. When mom finished getting the children dressed in their robes and bows she slipping into the seat beside my dad.
Sometimes we had people from the church sing solos. Everyone participated if you could. Most of these folks were my shirt-tail or long-tail relatives. My father’s cousin (Uncle Ben Swanson’s daughter), Vivian Swanson, had the clearest soprano voice that would make your hairs stand up on your arm as she sang with such beauty. Her sister, Deloris, had a deep alto voice and often sang with her husband Don when he belted out those high tenor hymns in a duet. Ray and Dave Duell, my father’s cousins (Helen Duell’s sons), switched off singing solos of the most beautiful version of Our Father. Marian Johnson, was a shirt-tail relation as she married Rodney Johnson who was my Aunt Ruth’s brother. Marian had the best soprano voice ever. She could have been a professional singer if she hadn’t lived in Po-dunk Greeley.
There were four girls that grew up together in the church. We were friends of sort as we were in the same groups and the same age. The girls were:
1) Sharon Cozzens (Brandt) – She lived in France for 12 years now in Houston,
2) Marlyss (Miki) Johnson – Stayed in Greeley and married her childhood sweetheart, Korwin Johnson,
3) Joyce Swanson (Kropewnicki) – Married a Polish – Catholic guy Stan lived in Brownsville Texas for three years, then back to Denver the the next 40,
4) Janet Osterberg, the preacher’s daughter – just as she was to marry, she was killed in a tragic car accident.
Well this tight knit family community dispersed as young people moved off to larger cities for better less strenuous jobs than farming. We see each other occasionally at funerals, celebrations of 90th birthdays or 50th anniversaries.
This week I went to one of those funerals for Pearl Cozzens, Sharon’s mother. She actively participated in the church and lived less than five miles from our farm home northeast of Greeley. I knew the family pretty well since we all went to the same church, my dad was good friends with Fred Cozzens, Pearl’s husband and my mom taught their little girls to sew in 4-H. Marlene Cozzens (Swartz), Sharon’s younger sister, commented to me at the funeral how wonderful it was to learn to sew from my Mom. Mom really liked Marlene as she was so perfect in her sewing and was tall and statuesque when modeling clothes she had made at the county fairs. I asked her if she still sewed. She said she had been a Home Economics teacher. Sharon mentioned what a great job my Mom had done teaching her also. This was some fifty years later that these girls remembered.
Pearl was remembered like my Mom in a different way. She was always there to help and guide her family and friends. Her immaculate home was always open for dinners and friendship. I heard at the eulogy at her funeral what an impact she had on so many people. She was always full of JOY. She was driven by her faith that she learned early on in life. She had “Pearl’s” way to approach situations. Instead of lingering on and on at the woes of life she would take the bull by the horns and manage it in real time. When someone brought a problem or situation to her attention, instead of spending time gossiping and worrying, she would invite the person to sit with her right then and there for a quick prayer. It worked and she was spot on in many intuitive situations with her family and friends.
Many of the people I grew up with from the church were at the funeral. A large number had become ministers and carried on the traditions of this faith. Others lived lifes far from the confines of small town America.
Here are some photos of my cousins: