Filmed while the band was at SxSW 2013, and released to the web soon there after, “Diane Young” is a play on words.
When the government agents surround you again…
If Diane Young won’t change your mind,
Baby, baby, baby, baby right on time
Irish and proud, baby, naturally
But you got the luck of a Kennedy
So grab the wheel and keep holding it tight
Til you’re tottering off into that good night
With the luck of a Kennedy, my father died young, and it didn’t change his mind. I don’t mind either.
HERBERT LOWELL SCHAADT, 78, of Fort Wayne, passed away on Thursday, June 13, 2013, at Visiting Nurse Hospice Home.
Born April 26, 1935, in Willshire, Ohio, Herb was a son of the late Dorothy Fritz ＆ Edward Schaadt.
- Allen Eugene Rodman
- Burton Lowell Rodman
- Angela Marié Niblick Baxley Glass
- Sandra Nicole Knapp
- Heather Reneé Niblick Baxley Puckett
- Matthew Gabriél Niblick Baxley
- Erin Estellé Baxley Hagar
and 13 great-grandchildren
- Luc Andrew Rodman
- Nathaniel Marc Rodman
- Madelynn Grace Rodman
- Hannah Marie Knapp
- Tyler Jayce Roberts
- Michal l’Lena Rodman
- Brittany Leann Hagar
- Katie Danielle Hagar
- Evan Elijah Rodman
- Hailey Estellé Hagar
- Mackenzie Leigh Puckett
- Hannah Nicole Hagar
- Jackson David Puckett
- (Addison Rae Knapp)
- (Charlotte Avery Baxley)
He was also preceded in death by his son, Randy; and brothers, Richard and Raymond.
Service is 2 p.m. Monday, June 17, 2013, with viewing two hours prior to the service, at Dooley Funeral Home, 202 W. River St., Antwerp, Ohio. He will be laid to rest at Maumee Cemetery. Memorials to Hospice Home.
Condolences and fond memories may be shared at www.dooleyfuneralhome.com.
Published in Fort Wayne Newspapers on June 15, 2013
I am proud of my mother.
She challenged the authority when they told her that my uncle had six months to live.
In her heart, she knew better. In six weeks he was dead.
My mother didn’t fight the authority, there was no point. Either way, he’d be dead. Yet, my mother took her belief seriously. She rearranged her priorities, so that she could be with him not wanting to miss spending time with him while he still breathed.
My mother shared her belief with those of the family who would listen, and some believed what she, in faith, said. Because my mom is something of a natural nut, some chose to believe the word of the medical authority over what she so strongly believed.
My mother called us together, asking the family to gather, to spend time with him. The doctors had decreed his six months in July, my mom come and see him Memorial Day. I questioned my mother, asked her, is it Labor Day you mean? More than her words, I knew what she meant, what her belief would mean.
Those of who believed, who took the health nut my momma seriously, took heed. The family all gathered, and the other side of the family hosted, the ones who take my mom seriously. Amid music and singing, children playing and sunflowers, my aunt and uncle (of that side of the family) offered Uncle Randy relief in the form of a weed. Though it’s not an appropriate natural remedy in my mother’s belief, it was thanks to God’s creation that he was able to join in the merriment, raising a guitar to his knee. Before that day, I never he knew that he could really play.
Later I confessed to my mother that she must know that the pleasure thanks to the leaves of a weed. I urged her to urge his caregiver to implore his doctor to prescribe him the prescription, mans form of God’s gift by the hand of their own authority. My aunt, the caregiver, and my mother agreed, though the need was plain to see, relief shouldn’t be obtained in the form of what they’d call “weed“, they apparently don’t approve whether relief is by a pill form prescription or by what he’d breath, or eat. I’d never make it home fast enough to see about sending him cookies.
That was the last day I’d really see him, that day watching the last of his life—more so than any other day I’d ever seen—as he laughed and he played and he drank and even sang. That night, still relieved, apparently was the last and only he’d really sleep. Later I here he spent hours dead to the world, but even a caregiver, I imagine if I am bold, will note the difference between succumbing to death and breathing easy in sleep.
All this is to say, that I’m proud of my mother and that though they’d say that he’d have six months in this life to remain. My mother, though others would think her insane, ignored the authority and in her campaign we thus would win the last few days we’d never get back again. Those who’d doubt totally missed out, but my mother made sure we had all the time with him that we could spend.
I think of my mother happy that she’d challenge authority. What they said she simply couldn’t believe. They say that ‘faith is the assured expectation of things not yet beheld’, and it takes faith to believe.
Had my mother held to her faith, and urged us to believe, I wouldn’t have seen my uncle and get to say goodbye, in not so many words, before he’d leave.
My dear parents, my sisters and my brother, I’m glad we all listened to our mother, listened to her, trusted, had faith and believed—even though we weren’t raised to question authority.
I believe that we’ll all obtain life, given the lives we live, when we die. The difference is simply the reward you’ll obtain, by what words we heed while in this life we remain. I think of Nikki, who momma’s words didn’t heed, she heard but didn’t listen, and by doubt missed out because it was the doctor’s she chose to believe. She said she’d see him later, and though in this life she was wrong, I imagine that one day the band will get back together, and we all will be there to sing along.
I hope that you’ll respect me, as I take my leave from believing what I was taught is the authority. I asked them questions they couldn’t answer, so I’ll believe what I read. The Word became flesh so that we could believe, and God left us a written record for us to read. He planted faith among us, a tiny little seed. Buried like our uncle and father, all it takes now to raise from up under is to read and believe! I will not try to uproot you from the soil you know, recalling God’s creation: seed, sun and water—we reap what we sow; a man planted, a man watered, but it was God that kept making it grow.
Then God said,
“I’ve given you every sort of seed-bearing plant on Earth And every kind of fruit-bearing tree, given them to you for food. To all animals and all birds, everything that moves and breathes, I give whatever grows out of the ground for food.”
And there it was.
God looked over everything he had made; it was so good, so very good!
It was evening, it was morning—Day Six. — Genesis 1
Life is infinitely stranger than anything the mind could invent.
— Sir Aurthur Conan Doyle
I couldn’t invent the story of my life if I tried, it’s hard enough figuring out how to write it. Life has been non-stop and I just can’t seem to figure out how I’d ever explain it all — I imagine with the tools now I can basically rig up a wedding photo montage with music introducing the couple style experience if I could just compile all the images (curate them) and add the details like the music, atmospheric settings, etc, and if technology could only get as good as the ideal—it being fully recorded for full sensorial experience upon playback, upon editing.
“Unlikely adventures require unlikely tools.” — Mr. Magorium
Randy Lowell Schaadt, 55, of Fort Wayne, passed away Friday, September 21, 2012 at his sister’s residence in Antwerp, Ohio.
Randy, known by his three sisters as “Bubby“, asks that you watch his collection of family photos (on Flickr, above) with the accompanying track “GOODBYE” (below, on SoundCloud) as a slideshow… Angela suggests playing the video (further below, on YouTube) on low volume over the soundtrack as you watch the slideshow, too.
Randy was born in Van Wert, Ohio on August 31, 1957, the son of Laura “Katy” (Hilton) and Herbert Schaadt of Fort Wayne.
He will be sadly missed by his parents and sisters, Wanda Rodman of Antwerp, Arlene (Melvin) Baxley of Statesville, NC & Audrey Knapp of Hobe Sound, Florida.
“Chandler directed that he be buried next to Cissy, but he wound up in the cemetery’s Potter’s field, because of the lawsuit over his estate.”