Several years ago, my husband and I were out on our golf cart, enjoying a beautiful day, and we drove past the Pheanis Wickey home. His front yard at Rentown, an Amish neighborhood on Birch Road just east of Bremen, was full of flowers that this old order Amish man had planted and cultivated.
Pheanis and his wife, Liz, were out in his sun porch, along with my dear Amish friend Becky Slabaugh and her husband, John. We live just two miles from Rentown and eat at the Dutch Maid Eatery there frequently.
As we drove by, Pheanis hollered out to us and told us to join them.
We had a nice visit, as we always did with them, and Pheanis asked me to take photos of his flowers. The Amish do not want themselves to be photographed but they keep scrapbooks of things memorable. The flower photos would be put in there, along with tickets from events, like haystack suppers at the community building, or even funeral notices from friends’ and family funerals.
Pheanis was always the cut-up, trying to keep people laughing. He would sometimes tell jokes with naughty innuendos, or make light of friends’ embarrassing moments. Growing up with a name of “Pheanis,” he was the butt of many off-color rhymes, so he learned to laugh with others and to get other people to laugh.
When he went to the bank, the cashiers would sometimes ask him for a tune. He loved belting out a song that often included yodeling.
In his younger days, Pheanis worked as a part-time auctioneer. He would do the chanting of prices, but the chants would frequently blend into yodels. “Five dollars, ten, ten dollars, twenty, twenty-olio olio, ode-dee-dough-oh odelo.” Auction buyers would applaud and cheer him on.
Last Tuesday, on June 13, we were at the Dutch Maid Eatery, just down the road from Pheanis, and finishing breakfast. We were about the fourth table in and when Pheanis made his entrance; he stopped and briefly greeted everyone at each table he passed. He tapped me on the shoulder and said “good morning, young lady,” and went on. I nodded and smiled at him.
Nothing else. Nothing memorable. Just a little bit of nothing.
As it often does, regret comes a week later with “I should have said something more,” or had a longer conversation with him.
This past Sunday, Pheanis and Liz attended a family picnic. Zip-lines have been a popular addition at some Amish events, just as it was here. Pheanis told Liz he was going on the Zip-Line. She told him he shouldn’t. After all, he was 72 years old and could hurt himself. Seizing the opportunity to do something fun and probably draw a few laughs, he said he was going and Liz turned her back so she wouldn’t be watching him. She instantly heard a “thud,” and knew Pheanis had fallen.
A grandson of Pheanis was helping people get on the Zip-line. When each person is seated and harnessed, they grab a pair of overhead handlebars and go whizzing down the line. Pheanis was seated and his grandson said he was getting his safety harness. Of course, everyone but Liz was watching.
Without saying anything, Pheanis got off of the seat, walked over to the handle-bars, grabbed them and stepped off the platform. His grandson had turned just in time to see Pheanis fall. He couldn’t hold his own weight without the seat and harness. He broke his back and had internal injuries from the fall. Immediately after, he was conscious and told people, “That was dumb. I probably shouldn’t have done that.”
It was an accident. It was not suicide. Pheanis was simply trying to have fun and entertain others, just as he did every day of his 72 years of life.
A helicopter took him to the hospital but he died mid-flight and the emergency staff could not bring him back. He was pronounced dead at the hospital. Liz was not allowed to travel on the helicopter so she wasn’t with him when he died.
He will be buried in an Old Order Amish cemetery near Nappanee.