Togo Passing

One day, when I entered the barn, Togo lay on the ground. The sight immediately filled me with dread. Rushing, I fetched Pop, who quickly came to the scene. “Togo is gone,” he said, a note of sorrow in his voice. “For the short time we had him, you kids gave him a full life here at the farm.”

“What are we going to do?” I asked, my eyes brimming with tears. “How will we move him and bury him? We need a large hole.”

He gestured for me to stay with Togo, assuring me he’d return shortly. True to his word, he was back in a few minutes. “I’ve reached out to someone to help with the burial. Your mom’s also sending your sister and brother,” he told me.

The phone operators in our area had a habit of eavesdropping on calls. It was almost an open secret that these ladies always seemed in the loop about town affairs. It’s puzzling but sometimes their eavesdropping had its benefits. Case in point: even though Pop had called only a couple of people, a procession of around twenty cars made their way up our driveway. The vehicles halted, and to my astonishment, I recognized many of the faces. They were parents of the kids who had taken pony rides on Togo. Approaching me, they offered their condolences, expressing their wish to help with Togo’s burial.

Then breaking the relative quiet, I heard the distinct sound of a bulldozer. Driving it was a gentleman from our street. This man, known for his gentleness and proficiency with machinery, parked his bulldozer near our barn and introduced himself. “Mr. Frank Klenawicus,” he said, though he mentioned many just called him Frankie.

Pop pointed toward the barn, and Frankie made his way in. Inside, he found me, still beside Togo, my grief evident. “Togo is in a good place now,” he told me gently. “He’s looking down at you, probably a little sad to have left so soon. But he’s alright, and he’ll always be with you.”

He then queried about where we intended to bury Togo. I showed him a spot by the barn, close to the chicken coop. Once he’d nodded in agreement, he wasted no time. Starting his machine, he quickly dug a suitable grave. When done, he turned to me, asking for confirmation. I nodded, and then, with incredible care, he used the machinery to move Togo to the grave.

The scene was somber, and everyone watched in respectful silence. Once done, many came forward, comforting me and acknowledging the deep bond we’d shared with Togo.

Then Frankie said a few words. He said a great prayer, giving Togo a great send-off. Then he asked if anyone wanted to say anything? That’s when the parent of the little girl stepped forward; she was also crying. “I hope I can do this since my daughter was your first client to get her pony rides. I speak for all of us. Togo, you and Debbie and your brother did a real good job helping our children learn what a farm was. I told my daughter this morning after I got the phone call, and she started to cry and asked if she could go see him. I told her no, but if it was okay with Debbie and her grandfather, we would go up to the farm and say goodbye after he is buried. She was okay with this, and I’m sure she will be asking until I bring her up. So I will end with this special message to all of you-you are a great family to open up this farm to our children. It will be something we will all remember. Amen.”

I looked around; there wasn’t a dry eye in the crowd.

Then Frankie said, “Would anyone else like to say something? If not, I will close the hole.”

I wanted to say something, but I couldn’t.

“Okay,” said Frank, and I walked back over to the tractor, and he climbed up. He looked down at me. “Are you coming?” Before he even finished saying it, I was climbing up.

He took a scoop of dirt and then said, “Okay, Deb, pull this lever and place it over Togo.” So I placed the soil over him, and then he scooped another load and turned it back to me. We did this until the hole was full. Then he took the bucket and placed it over the hole and packed it down.

I didn’t notice that my brother wasn’t there anymore, but then he walked over to the grave and placed a cross into the soil. It had wet paint still on it saying, “Rest in peace, Togo, we love you.”

Just before I started to get off, a man stepped forward. He was the man who gave us Togo. I didn’t even notice he was there. “I would like to say something before you all disperse, I was watching all of this from the back of the crowd, and I would like to thank this whole family that took Togo into their life and gave him a lot of love from what I just watched. When I heard about this, I came up here to the farmyard and sent my wife to the store. When I got here and saw the crowd, I said I’ll be right back and left and went to the store to find my wife. I told her to get triple what I had told her, and then I came back and moved some tables to the side yard. Then I came back over to watch Debbie giving Togo a great send-off. So what I want to say to you all is, please come over to the tables and please get something to eat and drink—and share your stories with us all if you can?”

We looked over into the yard, and there were tables set up and a lot of food and drinks for all. I wish I could remember his name, but all I can remember is his calm manner and what he did for us by giving us Togo and for setting up the food. We all walked over to the tables and had something to eat. A few people left, but not many, as we were all telling stories the cars that left came back. When they stopped, the car doors opened, and the children were here to say their goodbye. They all ran over to me and gave me a big group hug.

Then I said to them, “Do you want to go say goodbye to Togo? Whoever wants to come, let’s take hands, and I will walk you over. If you want to stay here, that’s okay.” But they all took one another’s hand, and I had that special little girl. I took her hand and said, “Okay, wait one minute. I have one question. Could you all one at a time say your names?” From the back of the line, a little boy called out his name, and they went right up the line until it was the little girl’s turn. I said to her, “And what may I call you?”

She smiled and said, “My name is Amy.”

“Well, okay, are we all ready to see where he is going off to heaven?”

As we started to walk back to where Togo was, I noticed Frankie had moved the tractor out of the way. I made a circle around the closed hole. “This is where he will rest in peace. He had a great life, and you children all helped fulfill his life. He loved to give children rides, and he thanks you, and I thank you all.” I then said a prayer for the children; they all stood there in a perfect circle. I told them to say bye to Togo. They all said goodbye, and a few children said, “Thank you, Togo.” Then I said, “Let’s go get something to eat.” They were great children. They took one another’s hands, and Amy and I led the way back to their parents.

I didn’t notice until we were walking back that everyone was watching us. When we got halfway back, I said, “Okay, let’s all run— go!” They all dropped hands and ran back to the tables. Then I saw Frankie standing off to the side, and it looked like he was getting ready to leave. As he started to walk toward the tractor, I went with him. He took my hand, and we didn’t say anything until we got to the tractor. I looked up at him and said, “Thank you very much for all you did and for letting me help you with Togo.” He bent over and said, “You are very welcome,” and gave me a kiss on my cheek. Then he climbed back into the tractor, and I stepped away. When I was a safe distance away, he started the tractor and went down the lane to go home.

My pop called him the next day to thank him and ask what he owed him. Well, anyone who knew him would know his answer. “Harold, you know the answer to that question, but I do thank you for asking,” Frankie said.

Pop said, “Okay, but I do want to say a special thanks for how you worked with Debbie. She will never forget what you did for her.”

“No problem. I enjoyed having her take part in what was happening. Now, you have a great day,” said Frankie.

With that, nothing else was said, and they both hung up. When Pop got off the phone, I asked him what we owed him. I told him maybe we could use the money from the pony rides. “No,” Pop said, “Frank isn’t charging us anything. He said he was glad to do it for us.”

Frankie was another amazing man. He did so much for the islanders and never wanted anything for it. He was willing to do anything he could to help people out. He owned a lot of property and made a landing strip for small planes, so the islanders called it “Klenawicus International Airport.” He donated some of his property to the town for open space; the airstrip was one of the pieces he left to the town. Then across the street, there was another piece given to the town and the fire department from the monastery retreat that the Catholic Church owned. They don’t make people like him very often. There have been a few that I can say are just like him, but they are a rare breed. Many people say the mold was broken for people like this, but I hope that isn’t the case. We need people like him in this crazy world. The world would be a better place if there were more kind and generous people like him today. There seem to be more and more people who are out for themselves. There still are a few people who help me in a store when trying to lift something heavy. Yes, this is very much needed, but it’s not the same.