Paw

William E. Repschleger

October 6, 1888 - July 1, 1973

Paw is Mother's dad and my grandfather. And yes, his grandfather name was Paw, not Pa.

Christened Wilhelm Repschaeger at the Zion Lutheran Church in Charlottenburg, Texas, on December 2, 1891, oldest child of W. C. and Emily Repschlaeger, and grandson of immigrants William C. and Mary Repschlaeger, Paw came from strong German stock. In Granny’s diaries, she called him Willie but later in life she and everyone else called him Will. He signed his name William E. Repschleger (simplifying his German name by dropping the “a”), but had no middle name, with “E” the placeholder he gave himself to fit in to modern conventions.

Paw grew up in little Lavaca County community of Breslau and attended Breslau School where he was a classmate of his future wife, Christine Johanna Heisler - pictured together among other students in an old photo we have of the Breslau school taken during those days. Around eighth grade, he left school to move with his family to Port Arthur, a small town near Texas' Gulf coast that promised opportunity and prosperity in a boom time after oil was discovered at Beaumont's Spindletop oil field.

His first adult job in Port Arthur was at the fire department but he made his career at Texaco, known in the early days as The Texas Company. His work ethic and self-education impulse enabled him to rise from a laborer to a manager’s position, the second to the top in Texaco’s largest oil refinery. He began working at Texaco in April of 1909 making 25 cents an hour. His salary very slowly inched up, transitioning from hourly to monthly in 1918, when he made $175/month as a Stillman. By 1932, he was a Superintendent and made $675/month. As the sole bread-winner for a family of six, that salary did not make him wealthy but helped the family live practically unscathed through the depression in a comfortable three bedroom house on Sixth Street.

My first memories of Paw were when he was newly retired, but I understand that during his working years, he was a Mason, an avid but temperamental golfer, a hunting/fishing sportsman, and a lover of big-engine cars. He was an imposing gentleman, probably true his German roots – clearly the head of the household and someone who demanded respect. Mother told stories of the family around the kitchen table, with children's feet wrapped around the legs of their chairs, careful not to touch their dad's feet or legs that were stretched out down the middle from the end seat he occupied. She told about sitting quietly while he told about every step that was required for a refinery to turn crude oil into gasoline. And, that on some days, you could tell by just one look when he came in the door that it was time to make yourself invisible. She said that Aunt Helen was always his favorite, but I remember that he called Mother his baby girl until the day he died.

I remember Paw helping Mother and Dad renovate our house on Twin City Highway in Port Arthur’s Griffin Park. Paw was there in his customary work uniform – a white t-shirt and khaki pants – hanging sheet-rock, floating seams, and painting. I was buzzing around as a toddler, playing with my dolls and amazing everyone when I told him “Move, Paw” when he was in my way – and he did, even when moving meant climbing down from a ladder. I remember him as a large man whose demeanor commanded respect, but I also knew he had a tender spot in his heart for his grandchildren that he was happy to let show. I was his baby granddaughter, and was always greeted with a kiss on the hand.

When I look back now, what I appreciate the most is the Paw let me hang out with him. His post-retirement days were filled with projects – doing something on his Sixth Street house, making something in the garage, tending to the many pecan trees on the property and to the many flower beds around the house, or finding projects that needed to be done for his children. He would work through the morning, sit down with Granny at their little breakfast room table for the lunch that she prepared each and every day, work a little more, and then cut off work to shower, shave and put on one of his Banlon shirts and some nicer trousers to go bowling in the afternoon. He normally would go by himself, and bowl six or more games at a time, but found a bowling companion in Jeanne and then later in me. Jeanne remembers that he took some special liquid refreshment with him, but I mostly remember him taking me to buy a bowling ball that had my initials engraved, and the instruction he gave me between each turn. By the time I was finishing elementary school, I was a pretty good bowler – all because of Paw.

Aside from bowling, I remember being at his side when he was burning web-worms from the pecan trees, working on the rose beds, or tending vegetables that he grew around the grape arbor in the back yard. He implied that the sweetheart roses that were growing on the trellis on the driveway side of the house were just for me, as were the boysenberries in the grape arbor. I remember sitting with him in the living room to watch the nightly news, with him in his Banlon shirt and a foamy “high-ball”, sitting in his special chair right by the couch that I now have. We spent a lot of time watching The Lawrence Welk show, and I could tell he had a special appreciation for the pretty girls who were always on to sing the typical Lawrence Welk songs.

And then there was church. From as far back as I remember in my Port Arthur days, I went to Sunday school and church at the First Christian Church in Port Arthur. Mom and Dad did not attend church in those days; Sunday was Dad's golf day and Mom stayed home preparing a special dinner for Sunday lunch. Mom would drop me off at Sunday school, and when I was big enough to go to church, I would go from there to meet Paw at church. He always sat in the same pew like so many people do – his was on the right side of the church about a third of the way from the front, and he always sat to the far right of the pew near the aisle. He would be impeccably dressed in a business suit and tie, and when I sat down next to him I could smell his wonderful Old Spice aftershave. After church, he would drive me home or over to my other grandparents’ house where I would spend Sunday afternoons – all the while talking about the sermon, making sure that I got the main points. He would also sometimes talk about the woman who sat in front of us being too fidgety or wearing too big of a hat. Mother called this griping, but I didn’t mind. I just loved sitting there by him and listening to him talk. I often did not understand what he was trying to tell me or tuned out somewhere all along the way, but knew that he was telling me things because he loved me and wanted me to be a good person. I loved it and loved him.

I regret that I did as young people often do when they get to their teens. I got so absorbed in my teenage and young adult life that I didn’t seek out opportunities to hang out with him or even visit very often. We were living in Pennsylvania part of this time and then I was off to college in North Carolina. I remember him coming over to visit when we lived in Houston after Dad’s transfer there when I was going into my senior year in high school. I remember a particularly poignant story that Mother told me later of him taking a bath in the guest room bathroom across the hall from mine, and having trouble getting out of the bathtub. He finally did it, but told Mother he had to try and try for the longest time and was afraid he would have to call her for help. I can’t imagine this, as he was such a proud, dignified man – so very private and proper. I didn’t think much of it at the time, but I can imagine now that Paw was stretching himself to make that visit.

He died when I was in summer school between my junior and senior years in college, after months of failing health associated with a stroke, or so I think. I know that Mother and Aunt Helen spent weeks and maybe months there helping take care of him, and that Mother was by his side when he died in his own bed at home. But sad to say, I cannot say I remember the last time that I saw him and regret that I wasn’t there for his funeral. He and Granny are buried side by side at the Greenlawn Cemetery in Port Arthur - now next to the spot where Mom and Dad's ashes are buried. I regret that he probably died without knowing how much he meant to me.

I think of Paw almost every Sunday when I'm in church - especially when Merle and I sit in about the same spot in the church where he and I sat. This is a different church, of course, but research that yielded Paw's baptismal record tied me to him in this church - Shiner Lutheran Church. Shiner Lutheran Church was formed years ago when several rural Lutheran congregations in Lavaca County joined together. You can imagine how surprised I was to discover that Paw's baptismal records are in the file cabinet in my church's office. How strange it is that he began here and I ended up here.

"Will the circle be unbroken

By and by Lord, by and by

There's a better home awaiting

In the sky Lord, in the sky."