by TJ Seitz
Uncle Vincent
T.J. Seitz
Copyright 2011 by T.J. Seitz
Obituary for Vincent H. Kreckle
Bainbridge native Vincent H. Kreckle died suddenly on Tuesday December 7th 1999 from cardio-pulmonary complications. He was on his annual winter retreat in Miami, Florida.
Vincent was born June 22th, 1931 in Bainbridge, New York. He was the first son of Swiss immigrants Inge and Peter Kreckle.
He graduated from Bainbridge High School in 1949 and earned an Associates Degree in Drafting from Broome County Technical College. Vincent then enlisted for 4 years in the Army as a soldier in the Korean War where he earned the rank of sergeant.
During the years after his military service Vincent moved away from Bainbridge but kept his connections there strong. After a long career working for Haloid, Singer and Amway, Vincent returned to Bainbridge for retirement.
Vincent was pre-deceased by his brother Armand. He is survived by his sister Ute(Springer), brother in law, Marshall, sister-in-law Patrice, nieces JoAnne, Mary and Christine, nephews Robert and Richard along with their spouses and children
A gave-side memorial service will be held Flag Day weekend at his family plot at the Bainbridge Cemetery. In lieu of flowers, donations can be made to the Bainbridge Historical Society.
Introduction
One of the most complex persons I've ever known died last night. He might have begged to differ with me about being so complex though. Simplicity can be complicated and Vincent Kreckle was living proof.
After writing Uncle Vincent's obituary for the Tri-Town Newspaper I got an uneasy feeling. What is considered proper or standard for remembering someone didn't do him justice. I didn't want to forget who he really was. Ordinary obituaries only state the basic facts about people. They don’t give you much insight into their lives other than acknowledging family members and a vague timeline of events. Vincent deserved more than that.
People are more than just the innocuous things we remember about them. There is no such thing as a perfect person. Anyone who claims otherwise is a liar.
Neighbors and friends liked to tell Uncle Vincent about their day to day problems because he would patiently listen (though I highly doubt he actually remembered most of the details discussed). He frequently responded when asked about a conversation that the person he was talking to or their lives was very complicated and then end with the remark, "but not everyone can be perfect like me…, " meaning that he was not one to judge another.
People are an uneven compilation of many conflicting traits, attitudes and experiences, not the fiction evoked by their obituaries. Endearing, gloomy, disgusting, weird, irritating, noble and befuddling facets are all combined in different measurements to make up a single unique individual.
No one person has a compete picture of another. Numerous perceptions can exist simultaneously. Wives and children are even exempt from completely knowing the people that they believe they are closest to.
Uncle Vincent’s retirement community friends told many humorous stories about him at his Florida memorial service. His immediate family was oblivious and some were even embarrassed either by their own ignorance or what they felt was a lack of social etiquette for the circumstances. Patrice, my mother-in-law, questioned the legitimacy of the tales. She challenged the elderly tellers’ credibility by downplaying their mental state and ability to remember things correctly.
My mother-in-law and Aunt Ute were also very hurt by a rough draft of this piece that I shared with them several weeks after Vincent died. They were offended by its frankness.
Ute thought that the majority of what I said was fabricated. Mom read the first page then let Ute summarize the rest. Uncle Marshall refused to read it because he didn't want to take sides. He said (in his broken English) that, “Finzant ist gone und all da bickering in da verld uber vat happent voant change a ting. Let da pur manz speetitz vest in peez vor krists zake! ” I was very confused because nothing was written that I wouldn’t have talked to Vincent about in person or was joked about amongst his family, behind his back.
For many people it’s harder to see something in print versus just talking about it. Conversation does not have the same effect on them as reading. Discussion is often spontaneous and not as intentional as writing, especially in the heat of the moment. Writing reacts differently with memory and emotions than speech because printed words are not as fleeting as discourse. Words on a page appear more permanent in nature and their effect can be more difficult to change after they are read by an audience.
I read somewhere that dancing on someone's grave is not as horrible or disrespectful as society makes it out to be. It is much worse to not say anything, ignore or deny a dead person's former existence and passing spirit. Dancing on the grave of someone you once knew shows that you actually cared about them enough to go to their final resting place and dance for them instead of grieving.
Dancing can help a person reflect and purge. It’s a way to celebrate and acknowledge a person’s memory in death instead of dwelling on the loss. Openly writing about a person and their entire life, not just the good parts can have similar effects.
Christine's mother, aunt and uncle all live in Arizona. Time constraints, work and money made easy excuses for the absence of regular family gatherings during the past ten to fifteen years. Uncle Vincent lived the later part of his of life between Bainbridge, NY and Miami, FL. It was real easy for everyone to ignore or deny many truths about Vincent's life because they only saw him occasionally after moving West.
My relationship with Vincent was also constricted. I only knew him for a little under six years before he died, when his lack of ambition, indifference or laziness toward life caused his deterioration to become more exaggerated than during post-retirement years.
It was easy for Ute, Marshall and Patty to tolerate Vincent for a week or two every couple of years when he visited them because it was for a finite time period. Everyone put on their best behavior and Vincent was out of his comfort zone meaning worked hard at keeping up appearances so he wouldn’t upset his hosts. Visiting his homes or living with him as my wife Christine did at both of his residences was a whole different experience though.
Christine and I live in Saratoga Springs, NY. Since Vincent lived so close to us we'd go out of our way to spend time with him regularly in Bainbridge on weekends during warm Spring and Summer months. We also spent many Holidays with him down in Florida and at least two or three long weekends in the Fall and Winter there depending on our schedules. We saw firsthand how Uncle Vincent chose to live the last years of his life. Trips to Bainbridge became difficult for Christine because she did not like and refused to accept how Vincent was living compared to the pas
Uncle Vincent
My wife's uncle was very personable. It was hard not to like him yet he was often aggravating, especially when spending extended periods of time around him.
He would do things like repeat the same stories or ask the same questions over and over again. Even when you told him that you heard the story or mention that he asked the same question yesterday he would bluntly say, "Well I'm gonna tell you again," claim that he didn't remember the question (or your answer). For sanity's sake we’d frequently tune him out or cut conversations short.
Chris and I would often joke about tag teaming time with him. Those were instances where I would talk to him for an hour or so then abruptly (or discreetly) leave the room so that she could come in and talk to him for a while. The tactic made coping with visits easier.
Vincent was about average height. He had a very round head and beady brown eyes. His wire framed glasses were often held together with scotch tape and paper clips. He was almost bald; accept for a sm
all tuff of brown hair on his forehead that enhanced his resemblance to the comic strip character Charlie Brown when he let it grow out. Vince also had a big flabby belly that drooped far over his waistline.
He walked with a slight limp in his left leg that was allegedly caused by some shrapnel the doctors forgot to remove from his time serving in Korea but other times he'd complain that it was just arthritis, asserting that he never saw combat while enlisted. Ute said he developed the limp after contracting and recovering from polio when he was ten.
His head and large hands were covered with many melanomas and dented discolored scars from the ones that were previously removed. He usually had a smirky smile and calm look in his eyes.
Uncle Vincent was far from an optimal role model but not a bad person and quite admirable in a weird way. His steadfast patience was both a blessing and an annoyance. Nothing ever seemed to upset him. We never truly knew what was going on inside his head. It was very frustrating at times. The only time he ever actually admitted to worrying was when we told him
