In memory of
John Postema...
☆☆•*¨*•.¸¸.•*¨*•☆☆•*¨*•.¸¸.•*¨*•☆☆
Obituary published in The Dalles Chronicle; February 5th, 2008 - Page A002
John Postema, 63, a longtime resident of The Dalles, died Feb. 3, 2008, at Providence Hospital in Portland of complications from cancer treatment.
He was born Feb. 12, 1944, in Holland to Elsa and Grace Postema. They came to the U.S. when he was 6 years old, living in Chicago, Everett, Wash., and Wenatchee, where he graduated high school in January 1965. That same year, he became a U.S. citizen and married Ruth Naomi Taylor on April 4.
He spent his first working years learning carpentry and later worked, together with Ruth, in his father's bakery in George Washington. They arrived in The Dalles in 1976, and he delivered routes for The Chronicle for more than 30 years.
He was a member of Life and Christ Center for 11 years and active in the Gleaners for more than 20 years. He was known for his great sense of humor, infectious smile and tendency to whistle while he worked.
He is survived by his wife, Ruth, The Dalles; son John Postema, his wife Christie and daughter Christa, The Dalles; son Paul Postema and his wife Serina, The Dalles; daughter Rebekah Postema, her husband Sef and daughter Naomi, Butte, Mt.; and sisters Geziena and Ella.
He was preceded in death by grandson Robert A. Postema.
There will be a graveside service Friday, Feb. 8 at 2 p.m. at the Oddfellows Cemetery on Cherry Heights Road and a memorial service at Life in Christ Center Saturday, Feb. 9 at 2 p.m.
დდ♥═════════ೋღ☃ღೋ═════════♥დდ
REMEMBERING JOHN
PUBLISHER'S PEN by Marilyn Roth
Published in The Dalles Chronicle; February 5th, 2008 - Page A002
Newspaper carriers rarely get positive recognition; notice, I said positive. A carrier can deliver a newspaper for years, same route, same house, but miss one delivery and the carrier hears about it from the circulation manager. The circulation manager is merely doing his job, but you would like to think a carrier means a little more than a paper on a porch or red Chronicle box.
John Postema, a carrier for the Chronicle for 32 years, died this last Sunday. He has missed quite a few deliveries since he went into the hospital in October, but the routes have been covered by friends and family. After all, the newspaper needs to be delivered.
I'll miss John. He always made me smile. John walked with a limp caused by a prosthetic device he wore and, though, his temperament could be a little rough around the edges at times, his heart was as soft as a puppy dog. He just couldn't keep from lending a helping hand to whoever, and whatever.
The first time I met John in October, 1996, I had just become co-publisher of The Dalles Chronicle. With a wide smile and a shake of the hand, he told me he delivered routes for the Chronicle, and I better darn well appreciate all his hard work. I remember thinking, wow, he certainly comes across as being a little presumptuous.
And, presumptuous is only a small portion of who John was as a person.
John was crusty, well-lived, and knew himself well. He greeted life with a smile and lots of perseverance, and didn't ask for any favors. Rain, shine, snow, and scalding temperatures couldn't stop him from showing up at the office around 10 a.m. to pick up day-old newspapers for recycling, and each afternoon around 2:00 p.m. for deliveries. It's hard to find carriers with that much character and consistency. They just don't make 'em like John anymore.
John and I talked about many things through the years. But, I seem to recall two main topics, cussing, and wages. Now you might think those two topics don't necessarily go together, but with John they fit together like a hand and glove. He didn't mean to say mis-guided words; in fact, if you asked him about cussing like a blue-streak, he would just look at you with an innocent smile, begging to ask the question, really? John would apologize profusely for those 'blue' words, and within minutes I would hear him out in the parking lot cussing over some small thing. The best John could do about cussing was to refrain from doing so in my presence. And, I appreciated John's effort.
Now I miss those 'blue-streaked' words.
John was very fair about wages. When he thought they needed to be raised, he merely told me to do it. John would state all the reasons for the request, and darned if he didn't leave the office with most of what he wanted. I think he missed his real calling as a salesperson.
However, as the months turned into years, I couldn't help chuckling most times when I saw him. He was a character with a capital C. He would race his car into the parking lot of the newspaper, and I would half-way cringe with fear he would clip some car with his bumper. The truth is, John did go through several cars, and they might start out dent-free, but within 3-6 months, a steady barrage of dents would begin to accumulate. In time, usually 2-3 years, John would replace his dented car with another dent-free car.
What I will remember best about John is his huge heart for the downtrodden. You know, the people who need a helping hand, but don't know where to go for help. John seemed to collect these kind of people like bright, copper pennies. I liked this part of John the best. His heart just couldn't say no, and whether he made the right decisions about certain people doesn't really matter, because somehow he made Christ's words, "Love your neighbor as yourself" have a little more shoe-leather than I can muster up at times.
I have missed John ever since we stood together outside the office last fall when he told me he needed to go into surgery for cancer. He was pragmatic about how his smoking had contributed to his illness, but when questioned whether he would have changed anything about his life, a slow lazy smile came across his face, and he shook his head no. He turned away with a whistle on his lips, and raced out of the parking lot. Now, wasn't that just like John. I hope heaven is ready for you.
დდ♥═════════ೋღ☃ღೋ═════════♥დდ
HAPPY MEMORIES by Hugh and Opal Timmel
Published in The Dalles Chronicle; March 2nd, 2008 - Page A04
To the editor:
Thank you, Marilyn Roth, for the nice story about John Postema.
As he was delivering The Chronicle we could hear his cheery whistle as he was coming down the street.
His greeting was always "Good morning," no matter what the time of day.
I visited his church a few times and guess what? Yes, he whistled in church, too.
We miss you, John, and wish you Godspeed.
Hugh and Opal Timmel
John Postema...
☆☆•*¨*•.¸¸.•*¨*•☆☆•*¨*•.¸¸.•*¨*•☆☆
Obituary published in The Dalles Chronicle; February 5th, 2008 - Page A002
John Postema, 63, a longtime resident of The Dalles, died Feb. 3, 2008, at Providence Hospital in Portland of complications from cancer treatment.
He was born Feb. 12, 1944, in Holland to Elsa and Grace Postema. They came to the U.S. when he was 6 years old, living in Chicago, Everett, Wash., and Wenatchee, where he graduated high school in January 1965. That same year, he became a U.S. citizen and married Ruth Naomi Taylor on April 4.
He spent his first working years learning carpentry and later worked, together with Ruth, in his father's bakery in George Washington. They arrived in The Dalles in 1976, and he delivered routes for The Chronicle for more than 30 years.
He was a member of Life and Christ Center for 11 years and active in the Gleaners for more than 20 years. He was known for his great sense of humor, infectious smile and tendency to whistle while he worked.
He is survived by his wife, Ruth, The Dalles; son John Postema, his wife Christie and daughter Christa, The Dalles; son Paul Postema and his wife Serina, The Dalles; daughter Rebekah Postema, her husband Sef and daughter Naomi, Butte, Mt.; and sisters Geziena and Ella.
He was preceded in death by grandson Robert A. Postema.
There will be a graveside service Friday, Feb. 8 at 2 p.m. at the Oddfellows Cemetery on Cherry Heights Road and a memorial service at Life in Christ Center Saturday, Feb. 9 at 2 p.m.
დდ♥═════════ೋღ☃ღೋ═════════♥დდ
REMEMBERING JOHN
PUBLISHER'S PEN by Marilyn Roth
Published in The Dalles Chronicle; February 5th, 2008 - Page A002
Newspaper carriers rarely get positive recognition; notice, I said positive. A carrier can deliver a newspaper for years, same route, same house, but miss one delivery and the carrier hears about it from the circulation manager. The circulation manager is merely doing his job, but you would like to think a carrier means a little more than a paper on a porch or red Chronicle box.
John Postema, a carrier for the Chronicle for 32 years, died this last Sunday. He has missed quite a few deliveries since he went into the hospital in October, but the routes have been covered by friends and family. After all, the newspaper needs to be delivered.
I'll miss John. He always made me smile. John walked with a limp caused by a prosthetic device he wore and, though, his temperament could be a little rough around the edges at times, his heart was as soft as a puppy dog. He just couldn't keep from lending a helping hand to whoever, and whatever.
The first time I met John in October, 1996, I had just become co-publisher of The Dalles Chronicle. With a wide smile and a shake of the hand, he told me he delivered routes for the Chronicle, and I better darn well appreciate all his hard work. I remember thinking, wow, he certainly comes across as being a little presumptuous.
And, presumptuous is only a small portion of who John was as a person.
John was crusty, well-lived, and knew himself well. He greeted life with a smile and lots of perseverance, and didn't ask for any favors. Rain, shine, snow, and scalding temperatures couldn't stop him from showing up at the office around 10 a.m. to pick up day-old newspapers for recycling, and each afternoon around 2:00 p.m. for deliveries. It's hard to find carriers with that much character and consistency. They just don't make 'em like John anymore.
John and I talked about many things through the years. But, I seem to recall two main topics, cussing, and wages. Now you might think those two topics don't necessarily go together, but with John they fit together like a hand and glove. He didn't mean to say mis-guided words; in fact, if you asked him about cussing like a blue-streak, he would just look at you with an innocent smile, begging to ask the question, really? John would apologize profusely for those 'blue' words, and within minutes I would hear him out in the parking lot cussing over some small thing. The best John could do about cussing was to refrain from doing so in my presence. And, I appreciated John's effort.
Now I miss those 'blue-streaked' words.
John was very fair about wages. When he thought they needed to be raised, he merely told me to do it. John would state all the reasons for the request, and darned if he didn't leave the office with most of what he wanted. I think he missed his real calling as a salesperson.
However, as the months turned into years, I couldn't help chuckling most times when I saw him. He was a character with a capital C. He would race his car into the parking lot of the newspaper, and I would half-way cringe with fear he would clip some car with his bumper. The truth is, John did go through several cars, and they might start out dent-free, but within 3-6 months, a steady barrage of dents would begin to accumulate. In time, usually 2-3 years, John would replace his dented car with another dent-free car.
What I will remember best about John is his huge heart for the downtrodden. You know, the people who need a helping hand, but don't know where to go for help. John seemed to collect these kind of people like bright, copper pennies. I liked this part of John the best. His heart just couldn't say no, and whether he made the right decisions about certain people doesn't really matter, because somehow he made Christ's words, "Love your neighbor as yourself" have a little more shoe-leather than I can muster up at times.
I have missed John ever since we stood together outside the office last fall when he told me he needed to go into surgery for cancer. He was pragmatic about how his smoking had contributed to his illness, but when questioned whether he would have changed anything about his life, a slow lazy smile came across his face, and he shook his head no. He turned away with a whistle on his lips, and raced out of the parking lot. Now, wasn't that just like John. I hope heaven is ready for you.
დდ♥═════════ೋღ☃ღೋ═════════♥დდ
HAPPY MEMORIES by Hugh and Opal Timmel
Published in The Dalles Chronicle; March 2nd, 2008 - Page A04
To the editor:
Thank you, Marilyn Roth, for the nice story about John Postema.
As he was delivering The Chronicle we could hear his cheery whistle as he was coming down the street.
His greeting was always "Good morning," no matter what the time of day.
I visited his church a few times and guess what? Yes, he whistled in church, too.
We miss you, John, and wish you Godspeed.
Hugh and Opal Timmel
In memory of
John Postema...
☆☆•*¨*•.¸¸.•*¨*•☆☆•*¨*•.¸¸.•*¨*•☆☆
Obituary published in The Dalles Chronicle; February 5th, 2008 - Page A002
John Postema, 63, a longtime resident of The Dalles, died Feb. 3, 2008, at Providence Hospital in Portland of complications from cancer treatment.
He was born Feb. 12, 1944, in Holland to Elsa and Grace Postema. They came to the U.S. when he was 6 years old, living in Chicago, Everett, Wash., and Wenatchee, where he graduated high school in January 1965. That same year, he became a U.S. citizen and married Ruth Naomi Taylor on April 4.
He spent his first working years learning carpentry and later worked, together with Ruth, in his father's bakery in George Washington. They arrived in The Dalles in 1976, and he delivered routes for The Chronicle for more than 30 years.
He was a member of Life and Christ Center for 11 years and active in the Gleaners for more than 20 years. He was known for his great sense of humor, infectious smile and tendency to whistle while he worked.
He is survived by his wife, Ruth, The Dalles; son John Postema, his wife Christie and daughter Christa, The Dalles; son Paul Postema and his wife Serina, The Dalles; daughter Rebekah Postema, her husband Sef and daughter Naomi, Butte, Mt.; and sisters Geziena and Ella.
He was preceded in death by grandson Robert A. Postema.
There will be a graveside service Friday, Feb. 8 at 2 p.m. at the Oddfellows Cemetery on Cherry Heights Road and a memorial service at Life in Christ Center Saturday, Feb. 9 at 2 p.m.
დდ♥═════════ೋღ☃ღೋ═════════♥დდ
REMEMBERING JOHN
PUBLISHER'S PEN by Marilyn Roth
Published in The Dalles Chronicle; February 5th, 2008 - Page A002
Newspaper carriers rarely get positive recognition; notice, I said positive. A carrier can deliver a newspaper for years, same route, same house, but miss one delivery and the carrier hears about it from the circulation manager. The circulation manager is merely doing his job, but you would like to think a carrier means a little more than a paper on a porch or red Chronicle box.
John Postema, a carrier for the Chronicle for 32 years, died this last Sunday. He has missed quite a few deliveries since he went into the hospital in October, but the routes have been covered by friends and family. After all, the newspaper needs to be delivered.
I'll miss John. He always made me smile. John walked with a limp caused by a prosthetic device he wore and, though, his temperament could be a little rough around the edges at times, his heart was as soft as a puppy dog. He just couldn't keep from lending a helping hand to whoever, and whatever.
The first time I met John in October, 1996, I had just become co-publisher of The Dalles Chronicle. With a wide smile and a shake of the hand, he told me he delivered routes for the Chronicle, and I better darn well appreciate all his hard work. I remember thinking, wow, he certainly comes across as being a little presumptuous.
And, presumptuous is only a small portion of who John was as a person.
John was crusty, well-lived, and knew himself well. He greeted life with a smile and lots of perseverance, and didn't ask for any favors. Rain, shine, snow, and scalding temperatures couldn't stop him from showing up at the office around 10 a.m. to pick up day-old newspapers for recycling, and each afternoon around 2:00 p.m. for deliveries. It's hard to find carriers with that much character and consistency. They just don't make 'em like John anymore.
John and I talked about many things through the years. But, I seem to recall two main topics, cussing, and wages. Now you might think those two topics don't necessarily go together, but with John they fit together like a hand and glove. He didn't mean to say mis-guided words; in fact, if you asked him about cussing like a blue-streak, he would just look at you with an innocent smile, begging to ask the question, really? John would apologize profusely for those 'blue' words, and within minutes I would hear him out in the parking lot cussing over some small thing. The best John could do about cussing was to refrain from doing so in my presence. And, I appreciated John's effort.
Now I miss those 'blue-streaked' words.
John was very fair about wages. When he thought they needed to be raised, he merely told me to do it. John would state all the reasons for the request, and darned if he didn't leave the office with most of what he wanted. I think he missed his real calling as a salesperson.
However, as the months turned into years, I couldn't help chuckling most times when I saw him. He was a character with a capital C. He would race his car into the parking lot of the newspaper, and I would half-way cringe with fear he would clip some car with his bumper. The truth is, John did go through several cars, and they might start out dent-free, but within 3-6 months, a steady barrage of dents would begin to accumulate. In time, usually 2-3 years, John would replace his dented car with another dent-free car.
What I will remember best about John is his huge heart for the downtrodden. You know, the people who need a helping hand, but don't know where to go for help. John seemed to collect these kind of people like bright, copper pennies. I liked this part of John the best. His heart just couldn't say no, and whether he made the right decisions about certain people doesn't really matter, because somehow he made Christ's words, "Love your neighbor as yourself" have a little more shoe-leather than I can muster up at times.
I have missed John ever since we stood together outside the office last fall when he told me he needed to go into surgery for cancer. He was pragmatic about how his smoking had contributed to his illness, but when questioned whether he would have changed anything about his life, a slow lazy smile came across his face, and he shook his head no. He turned away with a whistle on his lips, and raced out of the parking lot. Now, wasn't that just like John. I hope heaven is ready for you.
დდ♥═════════ೋღ☃ღೋ═════════♥დდ
HAPPY MEMORIES by Hugh and Opal Timmel
Published in The Dalles Chronicle; March 2nd, 2008 - Page A04
To the editor:
Thank you, Marilyn Roth, for the nice story about John Postema.
As he was delivering The Chronicle we could hear his cheery whistle as he was coming down the street.
His greeting was always "Good morning," no matter what the time of day.
I visited his church a few times and guess what? Yes, he whistled in church, too.
We miss you, John, and wish you Godspeed.
Hugh and Opal Timmel
John Postema...
☆☆•*¨*•.¸¸.•*¨*•☆☆•*¨*•.¸¸.•*¨*•☆☆
Obituary published in The Dalles Chronicle; February 5th, 2008 - Page A002
John Postema, 63, a longtime resident of The Dalles, died Feb. 3, 2008, at Providence Hospital in Portland of complications from cancer treatment.
He was born Feb. 12, 1944, in Holland to Elsa and Grace Postema. They came to the U.S. when he was 6 years old, living in Chicago, Everett, Wash., and Wenatchee, where he graduated high school in January 1965. That same year, he became a U.S. citizen and married Ruth Naomi Taylor on April 4.
He spent his first working years learning carpentry and later worked, together with Ruth, in his father's bakery in George Washington. They arrived in The Dalles in 1976, and he delivered routes for The Chronicle for more than 30 years.
He was a member of Life and Christ Center for 11 years and active in the Gleaners for more than 20 years. He was known for his great sense of humor, infectious smile and tendency to whistle while he worked.
He is survived by his wife, Ruth, The Dalles; son John Postema, his wife Christie and daughter Christa, The Dalles; son Paul Postema and his wife Serina, The Dalles; daughter Rebekah Postema, her husband Sef and daughter Naomi, Butte, Mt.; and sisters Geziena and Ella.
He was preceded in death by grandson Robert A. Postema.
There will be a graveside service Friday, Feb. 8 at 2 p.m. at the Oddfellows Cemetery on Cherry Heights Road and a memorial service at Life in Christ Center Saturday, Feb. 9 at 2 p.m.
დდ♥═════════ೋღ☃ღೋ═════════♥დდ
REMEMBERING JOHN
PUBLISHER'S PEN by Marilyn Roth
Published in The Dalles Chronicle; February 5th, 2008 - Page A002
Newspaper carriers rarely get positive recognition; notice, I said positive. A carrier can deliver a newspaper for years, same route, same house, but miss one delivery and the carrier hears about it from the circulation manager. The circulation manager is merely doing his job, but you would like to think a carrier means a little more than a paper on a porch or red Chronicle box.
John Postema, a carrier for the Chronicle for 32 years, died this last Sunday. He has missed quite a few deliveries since he went into the hospital in October, but the routes have been covered by friends and family. After all, the newspaper needs to be delivered.
I'll miss John. He always made me smile. John walked with a limp caused by a prosthetic device he wore and, though, his temperament could be a little rough around the edges at times, his heart was as soft as a puppy dog. He just couldn't keep from lending a helping hand to whoever, and whatever.
The first time I met John in October, 1996, I had just become co-publisher of The Dalles Chronicle. With a wide smile and a shake of the hand, he told me he delivered routes for the Chronicle, and I better darn well appreciate all his hard work. I remember thinking, wow, he certainly comes across as being a little presumptuous.
And, presumptuous is only a small portion of who John was as a person.
John was crusty, well-lived, and knew himself well. He greeted life with a smile and lots of perseverance, and didn't ask for any favors. Rain, shine, snow, and scalding temperatures couldn't stop him from showing up at the office around 10 a.m. to pick up day-old newspapers for recycling, and each afternoon around 2:00 p.m. for deliveries. It's hard to find carriers with that much character and consistency. They just don't make 'em like John anymore.
John and I talked about many things through the years. But, I seem to recall two main topics, cussing, and wages. Now you might think those two topics don't necessarily go together, but with John they fit together like a hand and glove. He didn't mean to say mis-guided words; in fact, if you asked him about cussing like a blue-streak, he would just look at you with an innocent smile, begging to ask the question, really? John would apologize profusely for those 'blue' words, and within minutes I would hear him out in the parking lot cussing over some small thing. The best John could do about cussing was to refrain from doing so in my presence. And, I appreciated John's effort.
Now I miss those 'blue-streaked' words.
John was very fair about wages. When he thought they needed to be raised, he merely told me to do it. John would state all the reasons for the request, and darned if he didn't leave the office with most of what he wanted. I think he missed his real calling as a salesperson.
However, as the months turned into years, I couldn't help chuckling most times when I saw him. He was a character with a capital C. He would race his car into the parking lot of the newspaper, and I would half-way cringe with fear he would clip some car with his bumper. The truth is, John did go through several cars, and they might start out dent-free, but within 3-6 months, a steady barrage of dents would begin to accumulate. In time, usually 2-3 years, John would replace his dented car with another dent-free car.
What I will remember best about John is his huge heart for the downtrodden. You know, the people who need a helping hand, but don't know where to go for help. John seemed to collect these kind of people like bright, copper pennies. I liked this part of John the best. His heart just couldn't say no, and whether he made the right decisions about certain people doesn't really matter, because somehow he made Christ's words, "Love your neighbor as yourself" have a little more shoe-leather than I can muster up at times.
I have missed John ever since we stood together outside the office last fall when he told me he needed to go into surgery for cancer. He was pragmatic about how his smoking had contributed to his illness, but when questioned whether he would have changed anything about his life, a slow lazy smile came across his face, and he shook his head no. He turned away with a whistle on his lips, and raced out of the parking lot. Now, wasn't that just like John. I hope heaven is ready for you.
დდ♥═════════ೋღ☃ღೋ═════════♥დდ
HAPPY MEMORIES by Hugh and Opal Timmel
Published in The Dalles Chronicle; March 2nd, 2008 - Page A04
To the editor:
Thank you, Marilyn Roth, for the nice story about John Postema.
As he was delivering The Chronicle we could hear his cheery whistle as he was coming down the street.
His greeting was always "Good morning," no matter what the time of day.
I visited his church a few times and guess what? Yes, he whistled in church, too.
We miss you, John, and wish you Godspeed.
Hugh and Opal Timmel
Inscription
Postema
~~~~~
John E.
Feb. 12, 1944
Feb. 3, 2008
Married
April 10
1965
Ruth N.
June 17, 1944
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