Instead, a car came in the driveway very fast, blowing the horn. Two of my sisters and I were at home, and we all rushed downstairs to see what all the commotion was about. But all the driver of the vehicle would say was, "Is this Yoder residence, and do you have a son, Joe." "Yes," Dad replied. "I'm Levi Yoder. Joe is my son. Is something wrong?" "I'm afraid so," the driver said. "There's been a bad accident just outside of Mt. Eaton, Ohio. Joe and Katie were sent to Orriville Hospital." My parents feared the worst. They both broke down and started crying convulsively. I thought that either or both of them might pass out due to shock. I had to help them both walk back into the house.
The last couple months they had been feuding with Joe, which was why he was no longer working at home. Their feud was a rather simple one. They knew my brother was getting married in November. My parents wanted Joe and his new wife to move home and take over farming. Joe had refused. Joe said, "David, I just don't think it will work, because you know how frustrated Dad gets. I think it would be better if me and my new wife went to work for a less conservative Amish for a year or two." "I agree," I said. "If the crops aren't put out on time, and if the cows aren't milked the way Dad's used to do, this will upset him." "If Mom and Dad think they're punishing me by making me work for Mom's brother, well, they're wrong. I don't care if he is a Bishop; he's very easy going. The day of the accident Joe came home, between four and five o'clock in the afternoon from working at Mom's brother John's place. Joe unhitched his horse, tied him in his stall, unharnessed him and fed him. There were no words spoken between Joe and my parents that entire evening. You could feel the tension, but there was also something different about Joe that evening. It was almost like he knew something was going to happen.
Just a couple months earlier, I had a dream while Joe was still working at home, and that there was going to be death in our family. It was so real that I talked to Joe about it. When I brought it up to Joe, he looked stunned, then said, "That is weird. I had the same dream." "What do you think this means?” I asked, "Am I dying? Are we both getting killed?" "David, I think you'll live to a ripe old age. I don't know why you had the same dream I did. But I think I'm the one who's going to die." My brother Joe and I had talked some more about it, then we decided it would be best if we just dropped it. We agreed not to talk to our family about it. I always wondered if Joe had another dream.
Later that evening when Joe was ready to leave and the rest of us were sitting at the supper table, my parents didn't even invite Joe to sit down and eat supper. Joe left while we were sitting at the table. As he walked to the front door to leave he turned around and said, "David, remember to wait up for me." Joe walked on towards the door and grabbed the doorknob. As he was ready to open the door Joe looked back at all of us sitting at the table and gave us a stare as if he wanted to say something. But he didn't. Joe went out to the barn and hitched up his horse, which took him at least fifteen minutes. On special occasions like this, this is too long. Three minutes would have been more than enough time. I got up from the supper table and grabbed my hat and jacket and started out to the barn to see what was wrong. But I was about sixty seconds too late, Joe was already leaving. Something told me something was seriously wrong. I had forgotten about the discussion Joe and I had a couple months earlier, but I told myself I'd wait up for Joe and we'd talk when he got home. I remember thinking I was glad Joe borrowed my horse and buggy. I always kept my buggy clean and my horse in good shape. I had teased Joe earlier that evening and told him to take it easy on my horse, that his girlfriend could wait until he got there, and if he got my buggy dirty he had to wash it off. Joe said, "Don't worry about that, none. I might push Smokey a little harder to get there. Once I pick my girlfriend up Smokey gets to walk most of the way to Mt. Eaton and back to my girlfriend's house."
Now all this didn't matter to me anymore. Could my brother possibly be alive? And what about his girlfriend? It was quite a while before my parents walked back into the house. I remember making it to the doorway, and my Mom saying, "I just can't walk through that door. I know my son is dead." Dad was crying out loud and I told him, "Please hold on. Try to get it together." I was finally able to persuade them to make it in the house and we made it toward the two hickory rockers. I helped them both sit down. My two sisters were crying too. I wanted to cry, but knew I couldn't. After about five minutes, I asked my parents who I should get for a driver. Dad said, "Try Kenneth Miller. He's a Conservative Mennonite, and they drive cars. If anyone will do it, Kenneth will." It was about a mile across our fields. I ran. I remember running up on Kenneth's porch, pounding on the door, and yelling for Kenneth. It didn't take Kenneth long to come to the door. He wanted details about the accident, but the only thing I knew was that my brother and his girlfriend were sent to Orriville Hospital. Kenneth said, "Of course I'll give your parents a ride to the Hospital. Hang on, David, and I'll take you back to your parents' place." "No thanks," I said. "My parents need me and I can run quicker across the fields. Besides Kenneth, you have to get dressed. "Okay, David. Tell your parents I'll be there as soon as possible." It was close to midnight, and I ran as fast as I could back home. When I got home my parents were no longer sitting in the rocking chairs. They had their good clothes on and were preparing to go to Orriville Hospital. They asked if Kenneth Miller had agreed to take them, and I said, "Yes he'll be here shortly." My two sisters and I asked our parents, "Could we go along," they said "No, in case we didn't make it home before breakfast. And what if Joe and his girlfriend were still alive?" We understood, though we were terribly disappointed. It was close to twelve thirty when Kenneth Miller pulled in the driveway. As soon as that car came to a stop my parents were in that vehicle and on their way to Orriville Hospital.
It was between 1:15 and 1:30 a.m. when they arrived at the emergency entrance at the Hospital. When they stepped out of the vehicle, they spotted drops of blood heading toward the entrance. This sent chills down my parents' back, but the blood trail didn't stop there. It continued all the way into to Emergency room. My parents quickly made it to the reception desk hoping to get information about Joe. But all the receptionist would say is "Take a seat. There'll be somebody with you shortly." Joe's girlfriend's parents arrived at the Hospital about the same time as my parents did. They all waited impatiently for some news about their children. Half an hour went by and finally a Doctor walked out into the waiting room and said, "You must be the parents of the Amish couple that was brought in." Both sets of parents were quick to reply, "Yes, we are. Do you have any good news? Are they alive?" my father said. The Doctor replied, "You mean no one has talked to you or told you?" Before any one could answer he said, "Someone will be out to talk to you in a moment." Then he walked off. Fifteen minutes, a second doctor arrived. The look on his face and the way he carried himself told both set of parents that there were no survivors. The Doctor asked the parents, "What do you want to do with the bodies?" After coming to an agreement, the parents replied, "We want Joe's and Katie's bodies to be sent to our house sometime the next morning around nine o'clock, once the hospital was finished doing with them what they had to." My parents arrived back home some where around 3:00 that morning. In the meantime, my two sisters and I were waiting at home trying to convince ourselves they were alive. But as soon as we saw our parents, our hopes were dashed. My parents found it next to impossible to enter their home. I went outside to help my parents inside, and their anguished cries broke the stillness of the country morning.
By five o'clock, Amish men and women were arriving rather rapidly, having heard what happened. We were milking twenty head of Holstein cows by hand. Plus we had about a dozen heifers and close to that many calves. Eight horses, four sows and close to twenty-four feeder pigs at the time. That morning those animals were the last things on our minds. One thing I always liked about the Amish custom when it came to death in the family was that they believed in giving adequate time to mourn a loved one. As soon as the Amish community was notified of a death in the family, until that loved one was buried, the family wasn't expected to lift a finger not for chores, not even to cook.
This funeral was exceptionally rough on my brother Pete and my sister Emma. As brother Pete and Emma had married in the same family. Pete had married Katie's sister, and Emma had married Katie's brother. Joe was going to marry into the same family. Pete arrived at our home early the next morning and so did Emma and her husband, and sister Rachel and her husband. By 9:00 a.m. brother Joe and Katie's bodies arrived at our residence, and were placed in the living room and the doors closed. By 4:00 p.m. that day, both bodies had been embalmed. They were briefly shown before Katie's body was sent home to her house. By that evening, Amish from all over Wayne County were arriving at our house. The accident was rocking the Amish community. Our house had two living rooms, and both were jammed full of people. None of us was hungry for breakfast, nor were we hungry for lunch or supper. But we had to eat. In the evening after all the chores were done and everybody ate supper, the Amish custom was to sit around the table and sing German hymns relating to the death. Pete and his wife and Emma and her husband went home after the first viewing of Joe and Katie's bodies. The following day relatives showed up from Tennessee, Medina County, Ohio, Iowa, Missouri, and Indiana. Three charter buses arrived from our less conservative Amish relatives. We had a lot of relatives on my Dad's side, especially. Dad had eleven brothers and sisters and thirteen half brothers and sisters. My Mom came from a family of eight. Katie's family was given three days to mourn her death. We were given four days to mourn Joe's. The reason for this was so everyone could attend Katie's funeral and still attend Joe's. Joe and Katie were buried in the same cemetery east of Mt. Eaton, Ohio. Both funerals were large. Five Hundred twelve people attended Katie's funeral 552 people attended Joe's. The funeral services for my brother were held at four different Amish farm homes.
According to the information we received Joe and his girlfriend Katie had left the Doctors' office in Mt. Eaton at 10:30 or 10:45 after picking up their blood test results. They were heading east on state Road 250, still within the city limits, and were front of a local tavern when they were struck from behind by an eighteen wheeler that was traveling at a high rate of speed. Mt. Eaton is rather small town, but it had two traffic lights. Witnesses stated that the eighteen-wheeler approached the first light when it was green and the second light when it was red and failed to stop. The eighteen-wheeler hit the buggy with such force that the only thing left was one wheel. The horse was pitched fifteen to twenty feet and landed against a concrete post, hitting with so much force that it broke his back completely in half. Joe landed against the horse, while Katie was dragged by the bumper of the eighteen-wheeler for fifty to seventy five feet. Then the driver lost control, went down over an embankment, jack knifed. Reports state that the driver was under the influence, and wasn't even aware of what he had hit. Locals were already on the scene as the driver walked back from where he left the roadway, muttering, "Oh my God, I killed somebody." Brother Joe's clothes were completely soaked in blood as he was laying in his own blood and the horse's.
To this day, I wonder why didn't I remember that dream. Why was I sixty seconds too late to make it out to the barn to ask my brother what was wrong? Could I have prevented the accident from happening? I'll never know. My parents were devastated by Joe's death. During the four days of mourning, every time we went into the bedroom to pay our respects to Joe, Mom and Dad broke down and cried. For some reason I couldn't cry. I held it all in, unable to shed one tear. This was somewhat unusual in our culture. There were some in the Amish Community who were saying that I wasn't taking Joe's death too hard, compared to the rest of my family. But nothing could have been further from the truth. A couple of years earlier I had taken some serious beatings, as my Dad flew off the handle for no apparent reason. Brother Pete, Joe and myself were often been on the receiving end of my Dad's frustration. Little things set him off, such as if it rained too much, when it was time to make hay. One evening before Joe's death, I had just finished milking my cow and was getting up to empty my bucket. I walked passed the cow my sister Mary was milking, grabbed the cow's tail and gave it a whirl. The tail hit my sister Mary in the eyes by accident. This made Dad so furious that he jumped up from the cow he was milking, told me to set my bucket of milk down, and started beating me with closed fists to the point where he knocked me on my buttocks. Later that evening Dad threatened to beat me with a set of berry cow kickers. Joe assured me that Dad wouldn't beat me with a chain and a steel object on the end of it, but I wasn't so sure. While we lived in Medina County, Ohio, Pete had also taken a severe beating. It was so bad that Pete won't talk about it, even today, except to acknowledge that it was extreme. I remember that beating. Pete wasn't right after that for at least a week. I expect Joe, also, took some serious beating. My parents weren't pleased with Joe at the time of his death. I think that is what devastated my parents the most. Joe's death is what would eventually drive a wedge in our family. What little bit of attention we received prior to Joe's death no longer existed. Both of my parents refused to let go. After his funeral all they talked about was what an obedient son he was, that they never had any problems with him. If we made the tiniest mistake, we were quickly reminded: "What if Joe was here? What do you think he'd say?" I always felt that after Joe's death, the three of us youngest kids were pushed to the side. Every time I tried to talk to my parents about Joe or his death the answer was always the same: "Not now, son." It didn't matter if it was a day, a week or a year after the funeral. The answer always was the same.
Two weeks after the funeral, an insurance agent showed up. He wanted to make a settlement, but Dad said, "No amount of money will bring my son back." The insurance agent insisted, and left one thousand and one hundred dollars for the cost of the horse, buggy and the funeral. Dad didn't want the money, but he accepted it eventually. Dad couldn't go on farming anymore. Our future had been turned upside down. Dad sold his farm equipment, sister Mattie (who was married) moved home, and I started working for an Amish farmer. I made eighty dollars a month, plus room and board. Our family started falling further and further apart. I began running around with a different crowd of boys.
Sometimes on weekends we went out and found a boy who was dating a girl, and we had a little fun with his horse and buggy. We'd take the buggy to a barbwire fence, take the wheel off and stick the axle through the fence, then put the wheel back on. We also took the buggy harness apart a few times. Sometimes we even took off the four clamps that connected the buggy box to the chassis. That way the driver had to kneel on the seat, and roll up the back curtain on the buggy, in order to drive home before daylight. A couple of us Amish boys chipped in on a little radio. There were three of us, so we took turns having the radio. One week, I had it, the next week someone else did, and so on. On weekends we met and listened to the radio together.
We put our money together, and between the three of us, we were able to buy a twelve pack of beer. We were drinking our beer and beginning to feel really good. Then we met another buggy on the road. The passengers screamed at us, saying we "no good." I knew the boy driving the other buggy it was Bishop Jacob Miller's son, Eli. Since, I had a fast horse, I pulled the reins tight and told her to "get." We pulled up beside the other buggy, and then started drag racing. It didn't last very long, because my horse was a lot faster than his. We told Eli to pull over but he wouldn't listen, so we ran him off into the ditch. I handed my reins to my passenger, jumped off the buggy with my fiberglass buggy whip in my hand, and knocked his big felt hat off his head. Then I told Eli, "If you tell on us, I'll use this whip, on you. So you'd better keep your mouth shut." I don't think Eli knew who we were because we had our hats pulled way down. We had our radio turned on full blast, and were each holding a can of beer. We could have been grounded for up to six months for this. If we had girlfriends, we wouldn't have been able to see them.
I was now eighteen years old. Mom and Dad wanted me to start settling down and join the church, but I wasn't ready for this at all. In fact, I wasn't even sure I wanted to be a member of this church. In Wayne County we had seven different Amish churches, all with different beliefs. Some of these Amish had battery lights and mirrors on their buggies. They also had little windows on their buggy curtains. Some even had heaters. A lot of the churches were more modern than our church. For example, the women could buy their bras and panties, while we had to make all our clothes ourselves. They wore a lot shorter dresses than the women in our church did. Also, they had kerosene hot water heaters, and bathrooms in their houses. Some of them had couches and love seats in their home. The men had more modern equipment, such as chain saws and tractors. Most of them had to take the balloon tires off, and put steel wheels on. They would buy a modern bailer, take the rubber tires off, and put a regular set of steel wheels on it because they weren't allowed to use air inflated tires on their farm equipment, which made it a lot easier for the horses to pull. A steel wheel will cut quicker into the ground and make it a lot harder to pull the equipment. In order to use this bailer, they had a two-wheel cart, usually with a power unit mounted on it.
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