Wilhelmina died May 19, 1977 Wausau, WI, in a Wausau hospital, at 76 years of age.

*Text taken from Wausau newspaper dated May 20, 1977: Mrs. Wilhelmina C. Geurink, 76, 614 Division St., Wausau, died at 5 p.m. Thursday in a Wausau hospital.

Services will be held Monday at 1 p.m. at New Hope Community Church, Town of Easton. The Rev. Raymond VanBeek will officiate and burial will be in Forestville Cemetery, Town of Easton. Friends may call at Helke East Chapel, Wausau, after 3 p.m. Sunday, and at the church from noon Monday until time of services.

The former Wilhelmina Schroeder was born June 9, 1900, in Texel, Holland daughter of the Rev. and Mrs. Paul E. Schroeder. She married Jess Geurink who died Oct. 28, 1960.

On Jan. 2, 1963 , in the Town of Easton, she married John Geurink, who died Dec. 31, 1964.

Survivors include a son, Henry, 717 Bertha St., Wausau; a daughter, Mrs. Leonard Meyer, 5903 Alderson St., Schofield; three brothers. Paul Schroeder, Colorado, and Henry and Gustav Schroeder, both of Corona, Calif.; three step-sons, Truman 6107 Randy J., Schofield, Lloyd 2502 Elmwood Blvd, Wausau and Glenn, 306 Falk St., Rothschild; two step-daughters, Mrs. Eva Vanvuren, Oak Lawn, Ill, and Mrs. Laverne Hettinga, Gilmore; five grandchildren and six great-grandchildren.

-Funeral and burial were on May 23, 1977.

Mine was one of those love-at-first-sight romances. It happened on May the thirtieth, 1916, about sunset time. We were returning home from an unusual afternoon meeting held at the small frame church where my Dad had been called as minister.

What a day this had been for my parents, my brother Gus and myself. We had arrived in Ringle, Wisconsin around ten in the morning. We had been met by two elders in a surrey with fringe on top, drawn by a team of horses.

The train ride from Pennsylvania had seemed quite long, but interesting. We spent three days and two nights riding and always in the day-coaches, it must have been quite tiring for my aging parents. All four of us were so eager to see what America looked like. We watched scene after scene unrolling before us and our awe and amazement at the country’s size and it’s “rawness” grew as the train sped westward. From Chicago up to Eland and then by transfer to Ringle, the trains seemed to slow down more and more. They stopped at every small wayside station and sometimes paused quite long to load or unload freight.

Finally the conductor called out “next stop Ringle”. What would Ringle hold for us and our future? “Oh my, what a rough-looking place”, Mother whispered to Dad. Where is the village? I don’t see any village at all!” Dad looked tired and worried but murmured reassuringly, “Never mind It will all work out for the best. Just wait and see.”

The two men who met us seemed genuinely glad to see us. They shook hands warmly and were concerned about Dad’s and Mother’s state of health alter such a long trip. It was discovered that our trunks had been delayed along the line somewhere and would not arrive until “a few days later”. This turned out to be three weeks, during which time we had to live out of our suitcases.

We were helped into the surrey. Mother and Dad and I in the back seat. Gus with the two men in the front seat. They tucked carriage robes around us, as much to shield us from the flying mud as to keep us warm.

What a long trip it seemed. Four miles of muddy roads with now and then a sink-hole which must be very carefully bypassed, if possible. “What an odd word” Dad said. “Why do you call it that?” So Mr. TenHaken explained about the treacherous quality of the rubbery spots where the surface dries up but it stays “soupy” underneath. “When the horse’s hooves strike such a place, down he sinks into the sink-hole.” Dad liked the way the American slang went right to the point.

I was watching the burned over country-side. The trilliums were in full bloom and so were the mayflowers. Around the creek bottoms the golden cowslips glowed. Mother saw only the untamed aspect of it all and the ravaged looking pastureland full of burned out rampikes and pine stumps. What a contrast with neat, well kept, every inch trimmed and cultivated Holland our homeland until just two short years ago. Pennsylvania, too, had been so civilized and settled compared with this. I could see the fear and homesickness creeping into her eyes. She never really became emotionally acclimated to rural America’s midwest. Gus enjoyed the ride behind the well fed, well groomed team.

Mr. Geurink explained that they would bring us to the Hettinga home, where we could clean up a little and have dinner. This afternoon the congregation would come to the church to meet and hear their new pastor for the first time.

At the Hettinga’s, we were once again warmly welcomed, There was a large family of boys and girls and it did not take long for us to get acquainted. The church was a little white painted frame building shaped like a long shed without a steeple or anything that would set it apart as a house of worship. This too, was a shock for my parents, fresh from Holland’s beautiful old cathedrals or even Pennsylvania’s fine, stately church buildings. For years Dad had taught that the material building does not really matter, it is the spirit that indwells it and also indwells us that makes any place a house of prayer. Now this statement was put to a severe test.

No one could doubt the warmth of the welcome these settlers gave us, nor the eagerness with which they listened to the message my father haltingly delivered. In Holland two years ago, he had retired from the ministry because of ill health. He suffered from diabetes which, in those days, could not be treated except by dieting. In America, away from pastoral stress and strain, his health had improved. Now he had allowed himself to be persuaded to serve once again in a small Dutch settlement church, because they so badly needed pastors who could still preach in Dutch. The strain of moving, traveling and meeting all these strange folks and situations was telling on him. He badly needed rest and a replenishing of his energies before he could again do justice to his calling.

Since our trunks and furniture had not yet arrived we were invited out to stay at the homes of some of the parishioners.

Gus went to the Nauta’s, who had four boys of their own, all close to his age. I was to go to Reimes’ where there was a daughter just about my age. Mother and Dad went home with Mr. and Mrs. Garret Ten Haken.

Since the Reimes and Geurink farms were located near to each other, the Geurink buggy with Mother Geurink, Clara and Jesse in it was just behind us as we started out towards the Reimes home, some two and a half miles away. We went down “N” which was then a rough gravel road, over the Eau Claire bridge and then to the right along the river road.

It was almost sunset time and the frogs were beginning their evening cantata as we came in sight of the Reimes place and the corner where the Geurinks turned west towards their home. Here came a noisy steam engine around the corner, drawing behind it a threshing machine and a wagon. It gave three short blasts from its whistle and turned in our direction. The road was narrow and deep ruts. The horses snorted and shied to the side as the monster approached.

Both buggies took to the ditches on opposite sides of the road, as far as they could safely go without tipping over. Then they halted the horses and sat to await the passing of that noisy contraption.

From my side of the road I could see the profile of the young man driving the Geurink horses. It was a face as clean cut and nobly shaped as those profiles one sees on pictures of Greek statuary. As he sat there quieting the nervous team, his feet braced against the dashboard, the lines wrapped around his wrists - he might have been driving an ancient chariot, Greek or Roman.

When the horses pranced and snorted again, his Mother called out nervously and he turned to give the kindest, most reassuring smile I had ever seen on any man’s face, except on my own father’s.

As he turned back our eyes met for a moment and to my utter amazement, it was as if I had always known him and loved him. A sense of deep joy and peace swept over me. An inner voice kept singing “There he is. We’ve found him. At long, long last, we have found him again.”

The old threshing machine passed on. I heard Jesse exchange teasing pleasantries with the drivers on to the vehicle. One in particular had just recently had a butch-haircut and the rest of his face and neck were sunburned a bright red He lifted his cap and gave the passersby a clownish bow. Everyone laughed uproariously and our buggy went on ahead of the Geurink’s rig home to the Reimes place.

Through the weeks that followed I had my first experience at being escorted from Bible class and choir practice on Sunday evenings to my home by a young man. With my brother escorting Jesse's sister, the four of us would take the long way home.

I discovered that he too, felt as I did. He told me that when our family picture had been sent here to let the congregation see their new pastor with his wife and family, it had eventually landed in their home. Here it was kept in the parlor until our arrival.

Whenever he saw his chance, he would sneak into the parlor for another look at me. There was that irresistible attraction between us which drew us together from the very beginning of our knowledge of each other existence.

My parents were frantic, especially my mother - Holland is very class-conscious. My parents unusually conscious of and sensitive to the difference between people who were "unschooled” and those who were “schooled”. By this they always meant schools of learning higher than grade school. Jesse had barely finished grade school.

So far I had proved to be an above average student and they had great plans for my future education bet in a country where it was so comparatively cheap and easy to gain such education. I argued that an educated heart was more important than an educated mind! So they talked with me, both of them together, each one separately, over and over. “You only think you are in love. You are just sixteen years old. Wait until you are a least eighteen or twenty.” Mother would ask, “How can you think you might marry a man who cannot even write a letter without misspelling half a dozen words? What would you talk about, year after year, if you were once married and had no one but him to talk to?”

So, tearfully and hesitantly, I tried to explain to him in the fall, when I entered Wausau High School again that we were both still too young to go steady. He said he understood and reluctantly agreed that for at least a year or two we would date others, whenever we felt inclined to do so. This we did until I graduated from high school and was about to enter Hope College, Holland, Michigan to prepare myself to become a teacher on the mission field.

To cut a long story short, the threat of separation because of the military draft, which was calling men into training and shipping them overseas within three months or less, drew us together again.

My father received and accepted a call to a Michigan church near Hope College. We felt we might never again see each other once we were parted and had put so many miles and obstacles between us.

On November 11, 1918, Jesse was to leave for basic training in a Texas camp and I was to see him off from the Wausau station in the morning. In the afternoon my parents, my brother Gus, and I would board the train in Ringle to make the journey over Chicago to Bentheim, Michigan. I was to enter Hope as a freshman.

The nearer we came to Wausau, the deeper and more vibrant grew the silence between us, as his arm drew me closer to him. He had his oldest brother somewhere on the front line of battle - the casualty lists in the newspapers were growing longer every day. All we could think was “our last ride together, perhaps forever”.

When we reached Wausau we heard all sorts of wild sounds. Factory whistles were blowing, church bells were ringing, sounds of shotgun and firecracker blasts were going off.

People were running through the streets laughing and shouting. Women were crying and embracing each other. On Main Street someone had placed kegs of beer on stands and they were handing out free beer to anyone interested. The band came down the street playing the old wartime standbys: “Keep the Home Fires Burning” and “Over There”. “Pack Up Your Troubles” and “When Johnny Comes Marching Home Again!“. Flags waved from every building and light-post. The one glad shout that filled the air: “The war is over, the Armistice has been signed, the boys are coming home!”

The sudden turn in events and it’s impact on all our lives left us numb at first. We made our way to the courthouse and there, nailed on the door was the notice to draftees who were to leave for Texas that morning, “The Armistice is signed. The war is over. You may return to your home!’

What a sense of relief and yet of anticlimax. We found it hard to think coherently. There he stood with his suitcase in his hands and one great question in his eyes “What do we do now? If I stay here are you still going on to Michigan with your folks?” I said: “How can I stay here? I need to go on to school. We both need to earn and save something before we can make any plans of our own” Dazed and bewildered we walked towards the Central House stables where the horse was being fed.

The free beer was beginning to have it’s effect. The crowds were becoming noisier and more boisterous by the minute. We passed through it as if in a trance.

Suddenly I heard my name called: “Why Wilhelmina, what are you doing here?” it was one of my classmates from high school days, She told us she was now attending County Normal and hoped to receive her rural teacher’s certificate by the end of the year. No college for her. “Why study four more long years when in ne year you can go out and earn a teacher’s salary?” she said.

On we walked but the seed of an idea had been sown in our minds. Why couldn’t I apply there for admittance and stay in Wausau until I could teach rural school. Then get a school in the Forestville area.

The more I thought of breaking this new to my parents the more I knew that it would just about break my mother’s heart. I could not do it.

When I tried to explain this to Jesse he grew very quiet and withdrawn. We both were emotionally on the verge of exhaustion, having been buffeted by events over which we had no control, but which had power to make or break us and our future together.

He turned to me with the saddest, most defeated look in those deep set tear filled eyes and said “I don’t blame you at all. You belong in college and with people like your own folks. It’s just that I don’t see how I can stay on here, alone. I wish they had sent me to Texas!”---so ---- I stayed on of course, and our love lasted until death parted us over forty hard but happy years later. My mother never really got over her disappointment in ~ but that is another story.

Even today, when I remember how our love undergirded our lives, kept us attuned to and in harmony with all thing good and beautiful in spite of the most adverse circumstances, I am still glad I decided as I did that day. Next to my husband I loved my mother and father. The old heartache of regret for the painful disappointment I caused them still throbs in me, making it all a bitter-sweet remembrance.

*Submitted by Leonard Meyer

-“Willy 0utlived Jesse, and their association with John, then a widower, led to mutual companionship and a marriage of 6 delightful years. After John died Willy lived alone until her death, reading, writing, corresponding, praying and inspiring others, her spirit triumphing over a worn out body.”
*Taken from Annie Geurink’s writing The Geurinks in Marathon County.
(Note: John and Wilhelmina were married in the Town of Easton, WI, January 2, 1963.)

• At 22 years of age Jesse became the father of Henry John Geurink in Ringle, WI, July 5, 1920.
• At 24 years of age Jesse became the father of Pauline Geurink in Ringle, WI, August 26, 1921.
• Jesse died October 28, 1960 in Santa Rosa, NM, at 63 years of age.

*Text taken from Wausau newspaper dated October 31, 196O: Jess V. Geurink, 63, Town of Easton, died suddenly in Santa Rosa, N.M. Friday afternoon at 4 o’clock. He and his wife, the former Wilhelmina Schroeder, had been enroute to Arizona, where they had planned to stay during the winter months.

Funeral services will be held by the Rev. Harry Vanderbilt in the Forestville Reformed Church, Thursday afternoon at 2 o’clock. Burial will be in the Forestville Cemetery. The body will be in the Helke Funeral Home Wednesday afternoon.

He was born in Sheboygan Aug. 3, 1897, son of the late Mr. and Mrs. Henry Geurink. He married Wilhelmina Schroeder in the Town of Easton March 25, 1920. He was a retired farmer.

Surviving besides the widow are a son, Henry Geurink, 717 Bertha St.; a daughter, Mrs. Leonard Meyer, Town of Weston; four brothers, John Elmer and Floyd, all of Ringle, and Hilbert Geurink, Aniwa; three sisters, Mrs. Lester Ten Haken, Ringle, Mrs. Henry Nauta, Antigo, and Mrs. Wiebe Nauta, Woodruff five grandchildren, and three great-grandchildren (Note: I believe the newspaper has his middle initial wrong. It should be U. for Ulysses.)

-Jesse died of emphysema.

-Jesse left home the year after John got married.

- “The Pastor’s daughter Wilhelmina Schroeder, born in Holland and a good friend of Clara was attending high school in Wausau when her father accepted a call to another state. “Willy” as she was affectionately called, stayed, for she and Jesse had fallen in love. Finishing her education with a year at Marathon County Normal School as a teacher she taught a bit less than a year at the Dewey School, when she and Jesse were married and also settled down on a farm on the Ringle Comer of Highway N. A gentle and talented girl, unfamiliar with farm work the first years were hard. Their first child Henry, named for his grandfather, was born prematurely, but survived his shaky start. His sister Pauline was born a little more than a year later and Willy’s mother died very suddenly and in yearly intervals two more premature babies died. A miscarriage followed by major surgery was devastating for Willy both physically and mentally. The kids called ‘Bud and Pudy’ thrived, and uninhibited, they skinny dipped in the creek by the road and invited themselves to the neighbors and were a source of joy to their parents.

Farms bought at inflated prices in the 20’s followed by drought plus the Great Depression, caused many to give up their farms. This was true of Jesse and Willy. Henry, who held the 2nd mortgage took back the farm and Jesse’s family moved to Washington to pick fruit and later to Colorado where Jesse worked in the mines, kept goats and for two years joined the Civilian Conservation Corp or C.C.C. Throughout the nation this was organized and operated in camps, similar to Army units, for volunteers from low income families. It did much reforestation throughout the tree divided country which had contributed to over cultivation of land the drought and resulting dust bowl, plus loss of wildlife. C.C.C. helped fight forest fires and its crews built log shelters in youth camps and parks, many footpaths, stonework and historical markers, much of which still can be seen today.

Jesse became lonesome for the home community and after seven years they relocated on a rented farm in the Town of Easton, later buying a small farm across Highway N from their former home. During these years Willy redeveloped her talents of music - writing and teaching adult classes. She found therapy in this for the physical and emotional problems that plagued her. Many of her writings were published and included in issues of ‘Rib Mountain Echoes’ and ‘Regional Writers Anthology’.”
*Taken from Annie Geurinks writing The Geurinks in Marathon County.

Historical events during the life of Jesse Ulysses Geurink:

• London’s 1st drunk driver was arrested on September IO, 1897;
• F. Scott Fitzgerald publishes his 1st book, “This Side of Paradise, ” at age 23 on March 26, 1920;
• birth of David Brinkley on July 1O, 1920;
• 1st Miss America contest held on September 7, 1921;
• US severs diplomatic relations with Cuba on January 3, 1961.

Jesse Ulysses Geurink and Wilhelmina C. Schroeder had the following children:

• + 20 i. Henry John4 Geurink was born July 5, 192O and died October 13, 1990.
• + 21 ii. Pauline Geurink was bom August 26, 1921 and died July 10, 1996.