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In Memory of Einar Sorensen
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Name: Ron & Jeri Liebig commentsOur sympathies to Einar's family - particularly Chris & Dale Harsh Families. Spent many an hour listening to Einar and Andrew Hansen's memories of Denmark and life in the USA. The family circles just keep getting smaller! May the peace that he now knows soon be in your hearts! Blessings to you all....Ron & Jeri Name: Larry & Jan Brezinski commentsName: Larry & Jan Brezinski commentsJoe and Alice, I did not know Ainar, but I know that you took very good care of him. He and your Mom are together again and you know he is at peace. God Bless. Name: Amy (Hash) Bates commentsGrowing up next to Einar and Agnes was such a treat! My most vivid memories of Einar are from summer evenings when I was about 10 or 11 years old. My parents and whichever neighbors were around would head over to Einar's just before dark and sit around in lawn chairs, telling stories. I always remember that the lawn chairs would sit half in the garage and half on the driveway. I loved to ride around on my new bike or new roller skates to show off to everyone and then when I got tired (and a lawn chair became available), I would sit half in and half out and listen to stories about coming from Denmark in a boat and then returning to fight. As a little girl I thought that those stories seemed a million miles away. I couldn't even comprehend what Denmark could be. Now that I've traveled to a couple dozen foreign countries, I realize that Einar was just far ahead of me. I will miss seeing him in his overalls, standing on his porch, or taking his daily drive, but I will never forget! Name: Tony Fyfe commentsJoe & Alice, I am sorry for your loss. Tony Fyfe Name: Dave Noonan commentsMy fondest memories of time spent with my Grandpa include when I would spend weekends with him and I would still be sleeping but hear him rustling around, he would open up my bedroom door and ask me if I was up yet. I would tell him no and he then would proceed to turn the light on and shut the door.I will miss boiling eggs with him (his favorite) and making sure that the hourglass was just perfect on when to take the eggs off the stove. Then it was time to crack the eggs and look at each others to see how we done. We would laugh when one of us did not do well and one would end up with shells in his eggs. I would love to take Grandpa on rides especially to Platte Center. We would take the road by the old Cemetary and he would look at the cattle and talk about his farming days. I loved listening to old stories about hauling gas and always reminding me to take an extra heavy coat in the winter just in case. When I would go visit him, I would always bring my bottled water and he would ask "What the hell is wrong with my water" And when I told him how much a bottle of water cost he would laugh and roll his eyes. I loved to go to the VFW club with Grandpa, it was like an old 'Cheers' scene and Norm would walk in and everyone knew his name! I remember whenever Grandpa had that first drink of beer and you would get an AAAAAAGGGGHHHH! That tastes good comment. Two weekes before his death we shared our last beer together and I must say AAAAAAGGGGHHH! That tasted good! I would laugh so hard as he would walk around his house with his cane and nothing was sacred, everything got hit with the cane as he went by. When Grandpa was feeling onery and he would finish a beer as he sat in his chair at his house, instead of setting the empty can on the table he would fire that empty can out onto the kitchen floor and we would look at each other and laugh! So many memeories of a wonderful man, I wish I had 97 years to tell them all to you!! See ya on the other side Ol' Buddy! Love Always...Dave Name: Kris Harsh commentsGrandpa Einar, truly a GREAT man! He showed us all how to be determined, strong, dedicated, courageous and ornery. I'll miss our visits, the stories, our phone calls, the 3 min. eggs and of course, the cold Bud Light. Thank you Grandpa for your service to our country, your love and dedication to Grandma and the pleasure of being a part of your family. I can't help but think that you and Grandma are "havin' a few" with mom and dad in that great big VFW in the sky. We'll miss you greatly. Love Kris and "Mama" (Annie) Name: commentsEinar Sorensen was a very proud man who loved life fully; he lived it simply with humor, zest and love. I was so proud to call him Grandpa for there is so much he taught me about life. It was by watching and learning that you appreciated who he was and how his life experiences formed his character. The more I heard the more I was amazed how special this person was. His is the greatest story never told. Our media often speaks of the Greatest Generation. Grandpa, I learned was the essence of this label. His character was an example of living the gift of life to its fullest which he did to his final breath. Grandpa’s life story was certainly astonishing and he lived it amazingly, not with fanfare but humbly and proud. Briefly I’ll share a few stories, but there is so much more because his life had many remarkable chapters. Nearly a century ago he was born in Nykobing, Denmark he lived there just 17 years before his restless spirit for adventure brought him to America. He spoke how difficult it was to leave family and would only return twice to his homeland and later in life wished his age hadn’t kept him from one more visit. He left a seaside village where he lived modestly often bathing in the ocean. Seeking the promise he felt America offered, that long boat ride here tempted him with doubt. His Danish-American sponsors brought him to Genoa, Nebraska. Beautiful Genoa! Well his sponsors most have been great sales- people; they taught him life on the plains where he learned to farm. Relationships were important to him, and at this early age he carried them for life. Never did his memory fail him of those who you often heard him mention. Even at 97, his recall of friends and events was so amazing. His love of the area was tied to the people, many from his homeland who had also immigrated. America’s promise offered some hardships though as he became a farmer and with limited success managed to farm a few years before fate would take his farm because of the Great Depression. Grandpa’s eyes teared up a little when recalling these years and the loss of his horse and few farm animals at the auction. His voice softened at the loss of his horse which he felt should have brought more. He wanted to be a farmer and live off the land. Many times we would drive around the countryside where he often thought of that dream. He then labored at many different jobs traveling to California and back looking for work. Recalling some of those years, you realized the desperation of the times and his ability to adapt and land on his feet. After becoming a naturalized citizen and adopting a country he dearly loved; at 34 he volunteered to defend his country during WWII where he served for 3 years. I never realized the gratitude and respect I owed him until hearing the experiences he reluctantly told. His honesty was evident and desire to enlist strong. During his enlistment interview they asked of any previous jailing or convictions. I wondered with curiosity why that mattered in the retelling of his story, what was Grandpa hiding about his past? He told the interviewer he had been jailed for two days. In Albion they don’t mess around apparently, Grandpa was relieving himself in a back alley. To Grandpa’s relief the interviewer asked, “That’s it?” He was quickly handed his uniform, socks and boots. His mission would not be any ordinary one though as his assignment took him to basic training in Seattle, and then to England. There he heard the future President, General Eisenhower commend them before they left on their eminent calling. Listening to General Eisenhower he said brought a cold silence to the excited rank and file. He summarized the General’s words as “many of you were punching a one way ticket”, which greatly affected their cheerful confidence as their thoughts hung on this dire message. His mission took him into the fiercest battle of WWII, the Normandy Invasion on D-Day. As I said earlier he reluctantly spoke of any details of the war, but over the years he wanted to share some aspects. Only after I told him by sharing some of these events would their tragedy be understood and remembered so that they might not recur, did he feel comforted by telling me more. He said I couldn’t imagine how that day was. But over the years when I got him to fill in the blanks, everything he’d been telling me was immortalized on the big screen in the first minutes of the movie Saving Private Ryan, except for one exception that when the door of his transport ship dropped and he accelerated ahead in his truck, that he was responsible for getting to the beach, it sank to the bottom of the sea. What happened I asked? The water was too deep! He seemed disgusted with failure. I’m not sure how he survived after that; as he ran for shore he doubled back to help a fallen friend, who he let go of when another bullet shot tore through his head. He was always amazed how he only had a bullet graze his ear and that he survived. He hurried ashore climbing the steep hill in pursuit of the turret shooting down on them. He gathered his breath as he prepared to make the final push up the hill and as he looked back, he said he couldn’t believe how red the water had become. It was so loud, smoke was everywhere, bodies were floating everywhere and all the ships were firing ashore trying to soften up the enemy as they advanced. He looked back up the hill. Fortunately, he said the turret stopped shooting; they reached the top, ran around back of the turret to make certain no one was alive and ran further aground. One time out of the blue he asked me what ever happened to all those bodies, still harboring memories for the respectfully fallen. I wasn’t sure what he was talking about, so I explained after he told me more. Not until I brought him pictures on my laptop computer, showing him the cemetery full of white crosses on top of the hill he climbed over 50 years ago did he feel at peace. He silently stood there looking at those pictures for two minutes before asking me if all of them were buried there, thinking of his friend he let go of those first few minutes of the invasion. He said he became confused as he was running from the wave of planes roaring overhead, he couldn’t believe how many planes there were but they were dropping bombs all around him. He said he wasn’t sure they were ours. So he ran to the nearest foxhole dove in and to his horror landed between two Germans. So for a few hours he said he waited between two dead Germans, as planes continued to bomb and the ground shook violently. I asked what you did while you waited. He said he made sure they were dead. He pushed his gun into them and they never moved. What else did you do then? Well, he sheepishly laughed not knowing if he wanted to tell me more. He went to his bedroom and brought out a box and we went through it as he showed me some souvenirs he brought back. He said while waiting for the bombs to subside he went through their pockets and took their money, looked at their family pictures and tried to read their identification. He seemed unsure what I might think of him doing that and wanted to justify his taking their money; saying that where ever he was going he might need some local currency to buy food. What about beer I asked. He laughed and said, sure. I put my arms around him assuring him he did well, I was proud of him and thanked him. As Grandpa reminisced through the box, I noticed medals he failed to tell me about. To my surprise, as I asked him what these were he shyly said they were his. To my amazement after doing some more investigating, I then realized the war hero he was. Those medals hadn’t seen the light of day since he placed them there after his return from the European theater and we had won the war. Grandpa was awarded the Silver Star, Bronze Star and a Good Conduct Medal which I often kidded him about earning. Grandpa was playfully ornery and was always gaining attention by being so. Those medals eventually made it out of his box as mom asked him if she could borrow them. He skeptically asked what she wanted with them, and only with her assurances that she would return them soon did he let her depart with them. It was his 93rd birthday when he proudly viewed them again in their proper case for display. Fifty years after he earned them. He was so proud of them as they hung near the front door for all to see. He could also see them as he looked out his front door from his favorite chair watching the day pass by. He earned the Silver Star by bravely and unselfishly driving a fuel truck that had caught fire near an ammunition depot out of camp saving many lives and saving valuable ammunition. He suffered only slight burns. His many heroics were numerous and he was very capable. He was selected as the Jeep driver for his commander and was responsible for driving his commander around the war front. He was deeply troubled though when his commander was shot in the head from enemy fire while traveling the front with him. He mentioned more instances when they marched north liberating many towns along the way. After entering a city the method of operation was to secure it and find a safe place to sleep. Often the secret spot for sleeping was in the basements near the home’s coal pile. Why I asked? Never could I imagine the rational for this. Well he explained, the basements were safe from bombings and he could see from the coal door if there were any incoming enemy soldiers, the coal offered protection and most important he said is the locals often hid their liquor bottles in the coal pile. However, he broke that rule of survival while fighting the coldest winter he could ever remember, when fighting the Battle of the Bulge. He said it was Christmas and he took a chance sleeping in the hay of a barn loft. As they advanced further north he recognized the countryside and knew he was getting close to Denmark and was tempted to head for home. Not giving in to his temptation he fought on, eventually winning the fight and heading home to America. He went back to his American roots after being discharged taking odd jobs bartending and driving trucks. A life long bachelor to this point, he nearly married a women from Genoa who had a little girl. He loved that little girl so much and she grew attached to him, but circumstance and fortune weren’t to be. In 1963 after a long courtship he married Agnes Noonan, my grandmother. I often kidded him about waiting so long to marry. He wanted the right women and he said he found the perfect person in grandma. I never had seen such devotion to anyone than what he showed of her. Grandma had a difficult life and I believe he thought he could finally settle down with the women of his dreams and provide comfort to her. He then would settle for life as a truck driver which he was proud to do and he did until his retirement. I never kidded him about the pink Wheeler’s Transportation truck he drove for 25 years; it may have hurt his pride. Challenging his manhood about driving pink trucks wouldn’t have mattered though; he proudly spoke about never receiving a traffic ticket or wrecking his truck all those years. With life on the road though; he told me of rescues from crashes and failed rescues, some tragic. In their later years Grandma had gotten cancer and they came to Omaha for her medical care. He stayed with us at mom and dad’s home and when he wasn’t at her bedside for those many hours, he’d have his routine nightcap at the local tavern. It was certainly a special time spending days with him until she recovered. A few years before grandma passed away he had gotten cancer himself and I thought that he might not survive since surgery wasn’t recommended, because of his age. After seeking a second opinion, hormone treatment was recommended to treat his cancer and shrink the prostrate. Grateful for his recovery he became upset since the side effects of his treatment were not desirable, causing other things to shrink and grow. So new medication was tried and Grandma brought it home. Grandpa got such a chuckle out of the event to follow. Grandma opened the medication and read the instructions, to his dismay she flung the medication across the room toward the waste basket. What happened I asked? It took him a few days to find out why she reacted that way. He continued to laugh as he told the story. Apparently; he said, there were instructions to limit certain activity and I could only imagine the day Grandma, became Grandma M.D. and Grandma’s cures were better than the doctors. Apparently no more medication was necessary. Their love for each other grew only stronger and Grandpa had only one wish that God; his maker was referred to as the Big Guy upstairs, would take her before himself. It bothered him much that he wouldn’t be able to take care of her, if he passed away before her. However his wishes came true and she entered heaven before him. So there were a few adjustments for Grandpa who no longer had his soul mate. He did so well with the transition, but I thought loneliness would kill him. The entire family was trying to adjust and visit more often. The more I visited, the more I liked visiting and the more I hated leaving. Leaving was always toughest because you never knew when his maker would call. The long hugs and goodbyes, the famous wave as he watched me leave were so gratifying. He always had to see us to the door and wave us away. It was tough on him too, but he loved the company of visitors, including the mailman, the cleaning lady, the garbage man, the lawnmower man, the snow remover, the paperboy, the meal deliverer, the neighbors, the parish priest, and his stand-in daughter and son, Marilyn and Joe. He had the police, the fireman and the ambulance driver of people to call on his short list, if one of the others didn’t show. Grandpa had a precision about his life, it was very regimented. You could set a clock by him. The day started at 7:30 with a quick wash, breakfast at 8:00 with the usual two hardboiled eggs, salt and black explosives, honey on toast and two cups of coffee. I often wondered these were the secret ingredients to a long life? He split his “meals on wheels lunch”, so it covered both lunch and dinner. Then he had his religious daily outing, through rain, snow, tornado to indulge in his favorite beverage. Two beers at the local Veterans of Foreign War Club to find out who he outlived (there were many friends), a dime in the daily progressive drawing, find out the T.V. baseball lineups, (Go Cubbies), home by five. To the bathroom to give back the beers he had rented, reheat his lunch leftovers for dinner, clean up after dinner, rest after clean up, the Wheel of Fortune at 6:30, baseball at 7:00, and to bed at 9:00. What a day, he’d remark; I don’t know how I squeezed it all in. The long winters without his beloved game of baseball, meant he would look for a western movie as a substitute. Often you would watch him recite a movie he’d already seen. He loved the westerns with sassy saloon girls, the fights that would break out, and the rescue of the beautiful girl. Of the entire journey’s to visit Grandpa, it was always special to sneak up to the V.F.W Club and sit next to him until he recognized my presence. You would clear your throat and say how dry it was from the travel from Omaha. He would laugh with glee, knowing we had a few days to visit. This was the only time he violated his thriftiness though as he proudly bought you that first beer. He also new he might have that third or fourth beer since he had help home. He’d look at the clock, so as not to get to far off schedule. If anybody knew Grandpa other than ornery, I never met them. His essence was to be ornery. If it meant the tipping of an empty beer bottle to startle the bartender; looking the other way as he yelled “hey you” to a passerby, or as he would pretend not to know a conversation in order to hear it again and carry on conversation, he was playfully ornery. Just like the T.V. shows Cheers, Grandpa like Norm had his chair at the V.F.W. Club where everybody seemed to know his name. I met so many of his friends there and watched them pass along, nobody it seemed would outlive him. Near the end, he didn’t make it to the V.F.W. Club everyday and he would limit his visits when there wasn’t a tornado or other days of inclement weather. His drivers license was about to expire and that bothered him a lot, that was the last chance to be independent. So he took it upon himself to call the Department of Motor Vehicles and make arrangements and assurances he could get another license. He asked me if I would go with him to secure the outcome, but I had doubts at his age he would get one. He explained that they assured him he would get one with restrictions if he could pass the eye exam. Three days before my promised visit to get him his identity he was taken to the hospital with pain and weakness in his legs. After his move from the hospital to the nursing home he wanted my assurances we would get his license once he got out. That wasn’t to be. His 97th birthday past without the usual fanfare. Like the Energizer Bunny he kept on ticking, making knew friends at the nursing home, more to his liking were the fine ladies of his new home. Grandpa always had an eye for the girls. When he first arrived and he struggled with his loss of independence, I tried to alert the staff of his playful orneriness, until they got to know him. A few weeks later I could see the transition was working out. He had two girls lowering him to bed each night. He would stare into their faces with uneasiness as they lowered him to bed. I knew by looking into his eyes, faces apart he’d kiss them if he could. So as they were laying him down, I asked him what he was thinking. A wry smile crossed his face and he curtly told me none of my business. Up until the end he was quite the survivalist, managing to persuade the care staff to bring him a beer. His true motive though was to see the angels of his eyes. I’m sure he thought he was in heaven with a beer, surrounded by the fine ladies of the nursing home. The last three months were hard to watch him wither away. But he was well cared for and at peace. As the phone call came telling of his struggle I changed my plans from seeing him this weekend, fortunately I was blessed to see him to his end. Remarkably he’d made his deal with the Big Guy upstairs. He received his last rites and we waited those final minutes. Father had to go and within a minute of his leaving he took his final breath So as we prepare for his burial and his reunion with his beloved wife, family and friends, I am sad but happy. In knowing such a great man I am blessed. Thank you, take care. I love you, Grandpa. You will be missed but never forgotten. Name: Rick Noonan commentsThe previous message was sent with pride by his grandson, Rick Noonan Name: commentsName: commentsName: commentsName: Henning Ladefoged Sorensen commentsI only saw my uncle Einar once, when I was a little boy and he visited his family in Denmark and stayed for some days in my parents home. But I remember him very clearly, -also that I liked him very much and was inconsolable the day he left and was allowed not to go to school. Later I was told a lot more about my uncle -through my father, Einar´s younger brother Magnus (now 96). I am very proud having had an uncle Einar, who during World War II risked his life for humanity and democracy in Europe. In thankfull remembrance of my uncle and with love to his family "over there", Henning Ladefoged Sorensen Name: ulla Kerchlango commentsRetreat ! Daytime passed sunligt faded away from the sky, the sea and the land now rest at ease with pease in mind god is near. A last good bye, from Jörg and Ulla. We had the big pleasure to visit you and meet your lovely family.The time at your place was a big experience, you was a really lovely uncle with wonderful humor and you was so nice to show us around and tell a lot about your life there.You did also learn Jörg about , " well, it´s beertime Jörg" and you went to silverbar. My mam told a lot about you and your childhut, and a special memory was the day you left Storup in favour of USA. It was snowing and snowing, so the road was snowed up. Your dad hitch a horse to the sleigh, and he crossed the fields in a hurry, so you could make it in time to catch the ferry. My mam told me many times about this sad day, they were all crying.My mam loved Einar very, very much, she was "bette søster" / little sister, who you took lovely care of. Thank to all your family for being so kind to us, may we see some of them in Denmark on day. with love Ulla Name: Bill commentsMSN I NIIPET <a href="http://msn.com">MSN</a> |
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