Alice Nan Gerlach
Condolences may be sent to the French family and the guest book signed by visiting www.raynesfuneralhome.com Raynes Funeral Home, 20072 Charleston Road, Buffalo, W.Va., is in charge of arrangements.
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Indianapolis Star
a day ago
- Indianapolis Star
Doyel: A box comes in the mail. Turns out, you didn't know your dad as well as you thought
They told me about that first birthday – the first one since he died. They said it would hit like a train. They were right. My dad would've turned 80 on Sunday, July 27. It has been nearly nine months since he died, and for nine months there has been grieving. But this is also true, what they say: It gets better with time, the hurt – the shock – that Robert Leon Doyel, my dad, the hero of my childhood, is gone and not coming back. It is the way of the world for all of us, losing a parent or someone else we love, but your pain cannot lessen mine. Nor can mine lessen yours. The things people tell you, they're true. Everyone grieves in their own way. My way has been gutless, hiding behind the gratitude – it was and still is real – that his suffering is over, and hiding some more when I chose not to fly to Florida to attend his service. His memorial was held several months after he died on Nov. 1, and by then I'd moved onto something like denial: He's gone, he's not coming back, and I'm doing OK up here in Indiana. Dad's last decade was not pleasant, starting with a car accident that left him with an uncountable number of broken bones – doctors found new, healed fractures for years – shortly after he retired. The years got worse, and his final 18 months were full of physical pain and emotional confusion. It was heartbreaking, hearing him cry on the phone in pain or mental torment, certain that everyone was out to get him, wondering why I wasn't coming to Florida to rescue him from the hospital where he was being held against his will. My dad was a lawyer, then a judge. He had a brilliant mind, legal and otherwise, and he had an argument to make on behalf of his freedom, if I would just get him before the proper authorities. Why wasn't I coming? Well, Dad, I was there last week. Do you remember? He'd start crying. No, I wasn't going to Florida to attend that service, several months after he died. It was going to hurt too much. It was safer up here in Indiana. It really does get better with time. Everyone tells you that. Nobody told tell me about the box in the mail. Nobody told me about that. From October: Rose's death stabs at my childhood, but rekindles my Dad's forgotten love language Obituary from November: He desegregated youth baseball. Veteran, teacher, judge. I called him dad. He never told me about the sniper fire at Da Nang. My dad was a U.S. Navy cook at Vietnam. That's what he told me – that's what he was. And he was proud of his service, overseeing the galley at Tien Sha Peninsula, on an old French army camp at the foot of Monkey Mountain. Dad was responsible for the feeding of 10,000 soldiers and other personnel every day. He told me that. He never told me about the time the North Vietnamese knocked out power in the galley, or about his decision to utilize charcoal grills and other temporary power sources to feed thousands of soldiers, some on floating galleys on the river, while sniper fire was coming from the jungle. He didn't tell me about receiving a Navy Achievement Medal with the Combat V, or the citation written Dec. 9, 1969, that congratulates my dad for his 'ingenuity and resourcefulness' at Da Nang and ends like this: Lieutenant (second grade) DOYEL's exemplary professionalism and devotion to duty were in keeping with the highest tradition of the United States Naval Service. E.R. Zumwalt, Jr. Vice Admiral, U.S. Navy Commander U.S. Naval Forces in Vietnam It was in the cardboard box, that medal and letter. Don't remember seeing the letter before now, but I remember the medal. As a boy I played with it – never noticed that little 'V' – and with his other Navy service stripes and medals, pins and cufflinks. Didn't know what any of it meant. Look, I was 7. This was Norman, Oklahoma, in the 1970s. Dad and I talked about OU football, about Barry Switzer and Lee Roy Selmon and Billy Sims. We didn't talk about Da Nang. From 2017: The Christmas when Gregg Doyel learned the truth about Grandma, and Dad The box showed up three days before his birthday. I knew it was coming – his wife of 35 years, Chelle, had told me to be on the lookout – but it sat on my floor for 24 hours before I had the guts to open it. What's another thing people say? Something about some doors being better left unopened. Same goes for boxes. But not this box, as it turns out. The tears came, sure, along with fresh salvos of shock and sadness. Nine months, Dad? Some days it feels like it's been just a few weeks. Other days, feels like years. You form a callous, and along comes a time capsule that peels it off, teaching you about the man you thought you knew so well. And I did know my dad well. Knew his strengths, and his weaknesses. Faults? Oh, he had faults. I could write a book about mistakes he's made. Could write a book about mine, too. This box didn't have any of his faults. Don't be afraid of it, G-Pistol, Dad could've told me, using the nickname he gave me as a kid; this box won't hurt you. These were papers and pictures and, sure, awards he'd saved over the years. His military file is in here. So are his academic records. Top 5 percent of his class at the University of Oklahoma – and the OU law school? Didn't know that. When he took the bar exam in Georgia in 1987, he received the highest score in the state? Didn't know. Here's his diploma from the University of Oklahoma College of Law. Didn't know he was managing editor of the Oklahoma Law Review. A busy man, my dad. What did I know of him being busy? He played catch in the backyard whenever I asked, which was every day in Norman and Oxford, Mississippi, where we kicked field goals at Vaught-Hemingway Stadium and shot baskets at Tad Smith Coliseum. More of the same in New Glarus, Wisconsin, and then Macon, Georgia, for my high school years. Baseball, basketball, soccer. He had all the time in the world. When did he have the time to earn 1976 Jaycee of the Year with the Norman Jaycees? When he did he have time in 1983 to earn a Doctor of Juridical Science from the law school at Wisconsin? To be on a legal team in Georgia that argued before the U.S. Supreme Court in November 1986? That was my junior year of high school. The Supreme Court? From 2018: Youth baseball in Oxford, Miss., was segregated in 1978. Here's what Dad did. From 2020: Celebrating Father's Day in a sports world getting smaller and smaller He moved to Florida the next year, leaving me in Macon for my senior year of high school. I was supposed to live with a friend's family, but when that fell through my dad showed some of his ingenuity and resourcefulness by finding a furnished apartment and putting me there for the year. I was playing soccer and baseball and working two jobs in Macon while he was in Florida, working as a lawyer. Here in the box is a plaque from the Polk County Criminal Defense Lawyers Association, recognizing him for serving as president from 1990-91. He became a circuit court judge in 1995, and here in the box is a commendation from the chief justice of the Florida Supreme Court, Harry Lee Anstead, 'for exemplary service (and) providing leadership within Florida's Court System in the area of Domestic Violence.' Did he ever tell me he was president of the local defense lawyers? Or honored by the Florida Supreme Court? I knew he was a charming rascal. Did I know someone had given him a desk nameplate that confirmed it? Bob Doyel Charming Rascal No, I didn't. But I knew he cared deeply about victims of domestic violence. Bench assignments in Florida's Tenth Judicial Circuit rotated every few years – Felonies, Civil and Family Law – and nobody wanted to work in Family Law. But there was no getting out of it, and when Dad was assigned Family Law in 1997 he was miserable about it, unsettled to hear about the suffering of so many women and children. But he found his calling. When it was time to rotate bench assignments a few years later, Dad asked to stay where he was in Family Law. His colleagues were more than happy to leave him there. Here in the box is a plaque from his fellow judges in the Tenth Judicial Circuit: In grateful appreciation for your dedication and distinguished service as Chairperson of Polk County's Domestic Violence Task Force Another plaque: In appreciation to Bob Doyel for your dedicated service as president of the Ritz Theatre 100, 1990-99 Ritz Theatre? Really, Dad? In his retirement my dad wrote one book about domestic violence that was published, and dictated a work of fiction – dictated it; think about that – that should've been. Apparently he was a prolific writer of letters to the editor, too; they're in the box. He clipped them, along with stories I'd written for the IndyStar that were picked up by the Lakeland Ledger. He even clipped a rebuttal letter in the Ledger from a woman who disagreed with his letter arguing for 'free long-acting, reversible contraception (LARC) to reduce teen pregnancies and abortions.' Here's something else, but not a plaque. More like a pin, a trinket. Wait, is this... A key to the city of Winter Haven, Florida? This is how I'm spending what would've been the weekend of his 80th birthday, digging through military files and pins and papers he'd been saving for 50 years – learning about a U.S. hero on the Tien Sha Peninsula, and the hero of my childhood. Find IndyStar columnist Gregg Doyel on Threads, or on BlueSky and Twitter at @GreggDoyelStar, or at Subscribe to the free weekly Doyel on Demand newsletter.
Los Angeles Times
2 days ago
- Los Angeles Times
4 homemade dog recipes fit for a canine king or queen
My dog's name is Milady — as you'd refer to an English noblewoman — and she lives up to it. She declines to go out in the rain, all 22 pounds of her holding strong as I lightly tug her leash in encouragement. Whenever someone comes over, she perches on their lap as if it's a throne. And despite my best efforts to break this habit, whenever I make a meal or order in, she hovers around my feet waiting for a treat of her own. After I've made my plate and if I deign to sit down and eat, she'll stubbornly stand in the kitchen and stare at me until I acquiesce. But Milady is the closest thing I have to a child, and as recipe developer Carolynn Carreño wrote about her dog Rufus, 'I felt it was my responsibility that Rufus lived as long as caninely possible, and to make sure that Rufus' every day on Earth was as good as I could make it.' For Carreño, that meant adopting the progressive-at-the-time task of making Rufus' food from scratch, especially after learning from a friend that many store-bought formulas contain corn and wheat — potential allergens for dogs. Instead, she purchased made-just-for-your-pet meat blends at Huntington Meats and mixed in steamed or baked sweet potatoes, fresh broccoli, ground beef and bone meal for a concoction she called Rufus' hash. While Milady typically eats vet-approved kibble and I don't make her food daily, during the summer her treats turn from dehydrated slices of sweet potato to bone broth that I freeze into cubes with blueberries, cucumbers or raspberries. And who knows? Maybe I'll start following Carreño's example and eventually devise a homemade meal plan for Milady. In the meantime, I'll be gauging her tastes with the following recipes. Eating out this week? Sign up for Tasting Notes to get our restaurant experts' insights and off-the-cuff takes on where they're dining right now. Carreño recommends using her recipe for Rufus as a 'jumping-off point' and adjusting based on what your pup likes. She recommends making the mixture in big batches, freezing it and stirring in boiling bone broth or water before the recipe. Cook time: 25 minutes. Makes about 3 quarts. Novelist and food writer Michelle Huneven rescued a dog — Tatty Jane — that had previously suffered from a bad diet. Determined to rectify that, she began researching homemade dog food and eventually landed on a blend of the following recipe with a topping of vet-approved kibble to ensure Tatty Jane got all of her recommended trace vitamins and the recipe. Cook time: 1 hour. Makes about 5 quarts. Former Food editor Amy Scattergood scored this recipe for dog biscuits from chef Lincoln Carson of now-shuttered Bon Temps restaurant. Carson once sold these treats alongside his famous French pastries. The recipe is perfect for vegetarians who prefer not to handle the recipe. Cook time: 2 hours 30 minutes. Makes about 2 dozen cookies. This gluten-free dog biscuit recipe was crafted by former Lincoln Cafe and Flower Candy Co. chef Cecilia Leung, with peanut butter as the main ingredient, along with grains and flours you might already have in your pantry. Get the recipe. Cook time: 1 hour. Makes about 3 dozen biscuits.
2 days ago
At 102, D-Day veteran looks forward to a long-delayed bar mitzvah
DELRAY BEACH, Fla. -- Harold Terens fought in World War II. He's lived almost 102 years, celebrating his birthday a couple weeks early with family and friends in Florida. But he has something more to look forward to. His bar mitzvah. Terens said at his birthday celebration Saturday that his brother got the traditional Jewish ceremony marking the beginning of adulthood when they were kids living in New York, but he did not. 'My mother came from Poland. My father came from Russia. And my mother was a religious Jew. And my father was anti-religious. So they had two sons. And one son, they compromised. One son got bar mitzvahed, the other son didn't," he said. Early next year, Terens said he will finally enjoy that ceremony. At the Pentagon outside Washington, no less. Terens said that came about when he was talking with CNN's Wolf Blitzer on a TV panel and a rabbi overheard the conversation. "I mentioned that I would like to be bar mitzvahed at 103 and he's the rabbi of the Pentagon so that's my next bucket list. I am going to be bar mitzvahed in the Pentagon,' Terens said. Terens turns 102 on Aug. 6. So Saturday's party was a little early. On D-Day — June 6, 1944 — Terens helped repair planes returning from France so they could rejoin the battle. He said half his company's pilots died that day. Terens went to France 12 days later, helping transport freshly captured Germans and just-freed American POWs back to England. Terens was honored in June 2024 by the French as part of the 80th anniversary celebration of their country's liberation from the Nazis. But that isn't all that happened on those Normandy beaches. He married Jeanne Swerlin, now 97. 'I thought my wedding in Normandy last year was the highlight of my life. Number one of all the moments of my life. You know, that's the saying, that life is not measured by how many breaths we take, but by the moments that take our breath away," Terens said. He survived World War ll, was involved in a secret mission in Iran, another time barely escaping a German rocket after leaving a London pub just before it was destroyed. "My life has been one huge fairy tale, especially with this new wife that I have. Who I love deeply and who I am going to spend the rest of my life till death do us part, as the mayor had us say in Normandy,' Terens said. After the German surrender in 1945, Terens helped transport freed Allied prisoners to England before he shipped back to the U.S. a month later. He married his wife Thelma in 1948 and they had two daughters and a son. He became a U.S. vice president for a British conglomerate. They moved from New York to Florida in 2006 after Thelma retired as a French teacher; she died in 2018 after 70 years of marriage. He has eight grandchildren and 10 great-grandchildren. Terens gets asked a lot about his secret to longevity. "I think if you can learn how to minimize stress, you'll go a long way. You'll add at least 10 years to your life. So that is number one. And 90% is luck,' he said.
