At Bell’s Mill, a place to rest honors a gentle man
Jon Walker
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Summer 1973, Webster City's Corral Drive-In would be showing American Graffiti on the big screen. Elton John's Saturday Night's All Right was playing on the radio, and all the carhops at A & W looked forward to a certain pickup truck pulling in for a burger and root beer.
Or, for those of a different genre, how about True Grit on the big screen and Conway and Loretta singing Louisiana Woman, Mississippi Man? Either way, the carhops tell us they loved seeing this guy pull in with his truck back in the day.
Jon Walker was just 19 years old in the spring of 1973, two years out of Webster City High School. He was a tall, handsome farmer with a smile that wouldn't quit, and a gentle sense of humor to match.
"The girls really liked him," says his sister-in-law Patty Walker. "He was very friendly, and he was just so nice to everybody."
In a summer that would change so much for Jon, that was one of the things that never changed in Jon's life. He loved being with people, was so easy going, and had a smile that endured through whatever life threw at him.
Jon passed away at the age of 66 in 2020. In some ways, it's a miracle that he made it to 21, let alone 66.
A small band of young friends who wish to remain anonymous recently honored his life with a bench at Bell's Mill Park. Jon was often known to pick up a drive-through hamburger, head to a park, and sit and watch nature as he ate. It is easy to imagine how he would have enjoyed this comfy bench at the river's edge, watching the birds and bunnies, and whatever else wandered into view. If someone happened to be camping nearby, they would be sure to make a new friend in Jon.
But what was it about Jon that left such a lasting impression on those that knew him -- before and after the spring of 1973?
Life for everyone in the Walker family changed that spring, because a traumatic brain injury does not just change the world for the patient; it changes the world for the whole family who walks the journey with that person.
It had been a busy day for the Walkers. Jon, his brother Jim, and Jim's wife Patty had worked hogs early that morning. Patty even recalls that she and Jim had some happy news to share, letting Jon know that he was going to be an uncle again, for the second time.
With hog chores done, the brothers headed to the field for the next several hours.
"He had just gotten a field ready for me to plant the next day," Jim recalls.
After that, it was time for a break. Jon hopped on a motorcycle, riding with a friend, and headed south from the Walker family home east of Webster City.
Jon knew that a dog liked to chase cars along a stretch of that road, and may have slowed down for it. His friend was riding ahead and was in the clear when the dog and Jon's motorcycle collided. Jon's head hit the pavement. While Iowa had a helmet law for a brief period in the 1970s, there was no helmet law at that time of the accident, nor is there one today.
Jon got up initially after the impact of the crash, but then his body began to take in what had happened, his brain began to swell, and he went down.
If it had happened today, he would have likely been taken to a Level I trauma center via Life Flight helicopter directly from the scene. But air ambulances in Iowa were nearly a decade off at the time. No one had a cell phone and most neighbors still had a party line phone. There wasn't even 911 service. But there were emergency volunteers, most of them friends and neighbors, some of whom still live in the area, according to Jim.
"One of the guys told us that Jon was acting kind of goofy in the ambulance," Jim recalls.
As much as training and technology have changed since 1973, the vital role of local volunteers is unchanged in all those decades.
For volunteers, it is almost always someone they know when they roll. That was true then, and still true today. Jon was taken to the old Hamilton County Public Hospital. It wasn't until the next day that he was transferred via ground ambulance to a Des Moines hospital. While many of the services taken for granted today did not exist in 1973, thank goodness there was and still is Younkers Rehabilitation Center. Jon would spend much of the next year at Younkers Rehab learning new ways to live.
Because of the considerable brain swelling, surgeons had to cut a hole in his head and install a plate. As Jim noted, advances in neurosurgery today would have made such a difference, but Jon did his best to rebuild the life he always wanted.
"He didn't want a handicap plate because he said he wasn't handicapped," recalls his sister, Luanne Paper.
And even after the accident he continued to be an important part of the family farm for most of his life. In later years, it would get difficult for him to climb up into a tractor. Seeing him try may have worried his family, but they knew how important it was for him to give it his all.
Giving up was not part of his nature.
Like a Tom T. Hall song, Jon liked old dogs and children. Friends recall how he usually had a hotdog in his pocket in order to make friends with any dog that came his way. Some folks would have wanted nothing to do with canines after his accident, but this wasn't a guy to hold a grudge.
He particularly enjoyed watching his nieces, nephews, and all the children of his friends grow up.
"He knew everything about his friends' kids," says Luanne. "He kept in close contact with all of them."
Pictures, newspaper clippings, graduation announcements, anything celebrating the achievements of all those kids, he held on to and treasured. He was like a favorite uncle, a kind and gentle friend.
But his family also says he had his moments when the physical challenges, an unsteady gait, an arm that didn't work so well, or pain that he never really shared, would frustrate him, as they would anyone.
Every life has a few unforgettable characters. For the friends who donated the bench, Jon is certainly one of those. He had his moments when the frustration showed, according to his family.
But even more often he showed patience in hardship, great humor in all things, and knew the value of keeping a hotdog in his pocket, just in case.