Don Allen: Strong, independent at 105
By Mike Brownlee mbrownlee@nonpareilonline.com
Posted:
03/02/2013 11:30 PM
Don Allen worked the crowd Saturday night in the “Bunkhouse” at
Pizza Ranch, shaking hands with old friends, mugging for pictures with
family members. His wit sharp, his mind keen.
After 105 years on this planet, in this city, Allen is as independent as ever, a man with a simple credo for living a long life.
“Take it a day at a time,” Allen said on his birthday, his words accompanied by a chuckle. “I just live.”
Allen’s family and friends packed the restaurant party room, young and old stopping for a moment to catch up with the “family inspiration” – as put by granddaughter Tere Allen. Allen doesn’t like to talk about himself much, so his son Don, Jr., and others filled in the gaps.
Don Allen, Sr., was born on March 2, 1908. At the age of 8 Allen and family loaded into a horse and buggy to attend the funeral of Gen. Grenville Dodge, following the procession from his home to Walnut Hill Cemetery.
What does he remember about the funeral?
“The 21-gun salute,” sticks out, he said. “And it was cold.”
He attended school through freshman year at Abraham Lincoln, when he had to quit attending to help his family get by after his parents, brothers and sisters were put in quarantine – though he forgets what malady they had.
He lived through the Great Depression, which he described matter-of-factly as just awful.
“Nobody had a job, nobody had food. All the banks were broke,” he said. “But we got through it.”
Allen slept in the shed, waking up each morning to tend to livestock and try to make a living in the city.
What was that experience like, away from family, essentially on your own?
“I knew what I had to do,” Allen said. “It happened, we worked through it.”
The quarantine lasted 21 days, but Allen decided to keep working rather than go back to school. He was a day laborer in his early adult life, catching on anywhere he could. He spent a summer thrashing wheat and flax, another working in the garden at the Iowa School for the Deaf. His first full-time, steady job was at a seed store, which he began in 1936.
Before that he married Adelaide, in the late 20s. The pair were married 72 years, until she died in April of 2000.
Health problems confined her to a wheelchair late in life, but that didn’t stop Don Sr. from taking her around West Graham, to the home of neighbor Shirley and Bruce Jones to gaze at Shirley’s flowers or to Fairmont Park to watch the sunset.
“He’d take her everywhere,” said Bruce of his neighbor of more than 40 years.
Bruce’s eyes grew large while discussing his favorite neighbor, discussing long conversations they had about the history of Council Bluffs, the elder teaching the youngin’.
Don still shovels his walk if his neighbors don’t beat him to it. Allen mows his own lawn, cleans around the house and cooks his own meals.
Come spring he’ll work in his garden, growing a variety of vegetables to share with his friends on West Graham.
He grows cabbage to make sauerkraut, which is popular among family and friends. His tomatoes have contributed to gallons of pasta sauce.
“I’m 76, he’s in better health than me,” Bruce Jones said. “And he has a better memory. He’s unbelievable, just outstanding. The best. We just love Don.”
About his dad’s health – and sense of humor – Don Jr. noted his senior “goes to the doctor once a year to see how he, the doctor, is getting along.”
Along with Don Jr., Don has another son, six grandchildren, 12 great grandchildren and 12 great great grandchildren. Five generations attended the birthday party.
“Pretty awesome,” said his granddaughter, Pat Oneil, who celebrated her 62nd birthday at the party as well. “My grandchildren know my grandfather. Amazing.”
Tere Allen said he’s the model for the entire family.
“Living your life honestly, authentically, taking it one day at a time,” Tere said of what she’s learned from Grandpa.
At Pizza Ranch another disciple, Stephanie Jones – daughter-in-law of Bruce and Shirley – stopped by for a hug and a laugh. Jones calls him a dear friend. Around the time Adelaide died, Stephanie’s husband Kurt died, bringing the neighbors close together.
“He saved me,” Stephanie said. “Such an inspiration.”
As the party progressed, Don’s young friend Bob Sorenson, 102, arrived. The pair quickly entered their own world, catching up like old chums who haven’t seen each other as often as they’d like. After a while Don needed to get up and moving, sharing jokes with other partygoers.
Pulled aside, outside Don’s earshot, each guest – to a person – raved about the patriarch, their eyes wide, their smiles broad.
“He’s a go-getter. He’s a 30-year-old 105-year-old. A crazy man,” Stephanie said, a grin on her face. “I remember a few years back, he was in his 100s. West Graham has these deep ditches from the road to our yards, and mine had a 2X4 piece of wood spanning the ditch. I look out my window and see Don walking, tight-roping, across the board.
“I ran out there and said, “What are you doing? Are you crazy?”
His reply?
“‘I’m seeing if I still have it.’”
One-hundred and five years into his life, Don Allen still has it.
After 105 years on this planet, in this city, Allen is as independent as ever, a man with a simple credo for living a long life.
“Take it a day at a time,” Allen said on his birthday, his words accompanied by a chuckle. “I just live.”
Allen’s family and friends packed the restaurant party room, young and old stopping for a moment to catch up with the “family inspiration” – as put by granddaughter Tere Allen. Allen doesn’t like to talk about himself much, so his son Don, Jr., and others filled in the gaps.
Don Allen, Sr., was born on March 2, 1908. At the age of 8 Allen and family loaded into a horse and buggy to attend the funeral of Gen. Grenville Dodge, following the procession from his home to Walnut Hill Cemetery.
What does he remember about the funeral?
“The 21-gun salute,” sticks out, he said. “And it was cold.”
He attended school through freshman year at Abraham Lincoln, when he had to quit attending to help his family get by after his parents, brothers and sisters were put in quarantine – though he forgets what malady they had.
He lived through the Great Depression, which he described matter-of-factly as just awful.
“Nobody had a job, nobody had food. All the banks were broke,” he said. “But we got through it.”
Allen slept in the shed, waking up each morning to tend to livestock and try to make a living in the city.
What was that experience like, away from family, essentially on your own?
“I knew what I had to do,” Allen said. “It happened, we worked through it.”
The quarantine lasted 21 days, but Allen decided to keep working rather than go back to school. He was a day laborer in his early adult life, catching on anywhere he could. He spent a summer thrashing wheat and flax, another working in the garden at the Iowa School for the Deaf. His first full-time, steady job was at a seed store, which he began in 1936.
Before that he married Adelaide, in the late 20s. The pair were married 72 years, until she died in April of 2000.
Health problems confined her to a wheelchair late in life, but that didn’t stop Don Sr. from taking her around West Graham, to the home of neighbor Shirley and Bruce Jones to gaze at Shirley’s flowers or to Fairmont Park to watch the sunset.
“He’d take her everywhere,” said Bruce of his neighbor of more than 40 years.
Bruce’s eyes grew large while discussing his favorite neighbor, discussing long conversations they had about the history of Council Bluffs, the elder teaching the youngin’.
Don still shovels his walk if his neighbors don’t beat him to it. Allen mows his own lawn, cleans around the house and cooks his own meals.
Come spring he’ll work in his garden, growing a variety of vegetables to share with his friends on West Graham.
He grows cabbage to make sauerkraut, which is popular among family and friends. His tomatoes have contributed to gallons of pasta sauce.
“I’m 76, he’s in better health than me,” Bruce Jones said. “And he has a better memory. He’s unbelievable, just outstanding. The best. We just love Don.”
About his dad’s health – and sense of humor – Don Jr. noted his senior “goes to the doctor once a year to see how he, the doctor, is getting along.”
Along with Don Jr., Don has another son, six grandchildren, 12 great grandchildren and 12 great great grandchildren. Five generations attended the birthday party.
“Pretty awesome,” said his granddaughter, Pat Oneil, who celebrated her 62nd birthday at the party as well. “My grandchildren know my grandfather. Amazing.”
Tere Allen said he’s the model for the entire family.
“Living your life honestly, authentically, taking it one day at a time,” Tere said of what she’s learned from Grandpa.
At Pizza Ranch another disciple, Stephanie Jones – daughter-in-law of Bruce and Shirley – stopped by for a hug and a laugh. Jones calls him a dear friend. Around the time Adelaide died, Stephanie’s husband Kurt died, bringing the neighbors close together.
“He saved me,” Stephanie said. “Such an inspiration.”
As the party progressed, Don’s young friend Bob Sorenson, 102, arrived. The pair quickly entered their own world, catching up like old chums who haven’t seen each other as often as they’d like. After a while Don needed to get up and moving, sharing jokes with other partygoers.
Pulled aside, outside Don’s earshot, each guest – to a person – raved about the patriarch, their eyes wide, their smiles broad.
“He’s a go-getter. He’s a 30-year-old 105-year-old. A crazy man,” Stephanie said, a grin on her face. “I remember a few years back, he was in his 100s. West Graham has these deep ditches from the road to our yards, and mine had a 2X4 piece of wood spanning the ditch. I look out my window and see Don walking, tight-roping, across the board.
“I ran out there and said, “What are you doing? Are you crazy?”
His reply?
“‘I’m seeing if I still have it.’”
One-hundred and five years into his life, Don Allen still has it.
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