- Date Of Birth: November 17, 1927
- Date Of Death: September 7, 2022
- State: Arizona
My Dad, Arthur Lowell Horning, 94, passed away on September 7, 2022. Summarizing a life well lived over that span is beyond my reach. But a few high points may add to your own memories of my Dad.
My Dad was born on November 17, 1927, in College Springs, Iowa. This was a small town of about 300 people in the extreme southwest corner of Iowa near Omaha.
College Springs was home to Amity College, where my Dad’s Great Grandfather Beals was on the Board of Trustees. When the college closed, its building housed the town’s grade school and high school that my father attended. Dad’s Grandfather Isaac Horning was on the School Board. My Dad’s school pictures show all the boys in overalls and with short hair, no doubt cropped at home. His high school graduating class slogan was “Push, pull, or get of the way.” He lived this theme, gently and with good humor.
The town is surrounded by bucolic Iowa corn fields and farms where the Horning family and relatives lived. My Dad used to talk about walking into potato patches and digging a potato out of the ground for a quick snack.
There is a town square, a lumber yard where my grandfather worked, and the picturesque Crystal Lake fed by a spring referenced in the town’s name where my Dad learned to swim and dive.
From that setting, my Dad learned carpentry and gardening skills, which continued as hobbies throughout my Dad’s life. Years later, he built a room addition to house our family. He was constantly doing building, remodeling, and gardening at our Payson summer cabin. He loved to paint using smelly, high gloss oil based paint that required turpentine to clean the brushes. It lasted longer than water based paint, he used to say. And this was part of my Dad’s values: things that were quality, well-built, and long lasting.
While still in high school, my Dad spent a summer living on his own and paying his own rent in the nearby county seat of Clarinda. His first job was at a produce stand, then selling ice at the local ice plant. My Dad used to joke that he was once an ice man (a play on words of “a nice man”). He never stopped loving ice, or being so much more than merely a nice man. And his Dad jokes never stopped either.
Upon graduation, my Dad apprenticed in his uncle’s jewelry shop repairing clocks, which became a lifetime hobby. His uncle suggested that the jewelry shop might one day be my Dad’s. But my Dad found that line of work did not suit him. I think it must have been too limiting to his extroverted social nature, and his love of the outdoors, to sit mostly alone working at a bench in a shop.
My Dad enlisted in the army in 1946. The hostilities of World War II had ended but the war was not yet declared officially over. The army thought his clock repair training pointed him to teletype repair in the Signal Corps.
Having never been more than 200 miles from home, my dad enlisted at Ft. Snelling, Minnesota, took basic training at Ft. Monmouth, New Jersey, traveled by troop train to San Francisco, and boarded a troop ship to Manila in the Philippines. Waves were higher than the bow of ship, showers were saltwater, and bunking and food were as spartan as one would expect. Once in the Philippines, my Dad usually worked nights in the radio facilities at the Command Center for the Southwest Pacific. The soldiers kept the doors open to cope with the muggy conditions, which allowed flying lizards to swoop in and land on the soldiers’ shoulders.
I never heard my Dad complain about any of this. To the contrary, he was seeing the world, and loving every minute of the adventure. He talked about how his enlistment allowed him to see the world, open his mind and broaden his perspective. He wrote:
Such was my Dad throughout his life – constantly curious, adventurous, and developing new friendships with whomever was nearby.
My Dad was honorably discharged in 1947 and recommended for further military training. But he chose civilian college education. College was rare for my Dad’s peers from Iowa. He attended Simpson College in Iowa, Phoenix College, Arizona State College as it was known then, and the University of Omaha, often parttime while working.
In 1949, my Dad started his banking career at Valley National Bank in Phoenix. His salary was $115 per month increased to $190 per month, not much even in those days. But he saved money.
He also met his lifetime sweetheart. My Dad had a bank colleague named Pauline Peters, who had a sister named Lola Ryan. Pauline thought their names, Lowell and Lola, sounded cute together, so she introduced them. Lowell and Lola started dating.
In 1951, my Dad moved from Phoenix to Nebraska, and went work at the United States National Bank of Omaha. He became the bank’s advertising manager, savings department manager, and co-developer of the bank’s management and supervisory manual and training program. About that same time, Lola moved back to Iowa, where she was also from, to work at a law firm and care for her ill mother.
My Dad courted Lola by taking the train to see her from Omaha to Grinnell, Iowa. On one of those trips, upon arriving at the station he proposed. I’m thinking she said yes.
My Mom and Dad were married in 1953 at my Dad’s grandparents’ beautiful two-story, white frame home with a wrap around porch in College Springs, Iowa.
After a honeymoon at Lake of the Ozarks in Missouri, my parents settled in Omaha, where Diane and I were born. My parents developed lifelong friendships there.
Both of my parents grew up attending the Methodist Church. In Omaha, my Dad was an usher, complete with tuxedo tails and a boutonniere, and served on the Board of Trustees. My Dad’s faith continued lifelong in the Methodist community. He loved its music, worship, and messages. In recent times when he could not be present in person, he watched nearly every service online.
Something about the Omaha winters led to an interest in the Valley of the Sun. Our family moved to Phoenix in 1960. My Dad pulled a trailer behind a 1957 Ford station wagon, whose brakes could not fully control the rig coming through the Salt River Canyon.
Our move to Phoenix included my Dad’s parents, who lived with us throughout the rest of their lives. Sometimes the house felt a little crowded. But this was my Dad’s ethic – hospitality, and his commitment was to ensure his parents were housed and needs were met.
My Dad’s generous heart did not stop there. Two doors down lived Keith Kennedy, who had been blinded by a landmine in World War II, and his elderly mother. My Dad not only befriended them, but welcomed them as part of our family. My Dad took Keith on outings to Prescott and elsewhere that Keith had no option to do on his own. He painted Keith’s house, did home repairs, and assisted with his finances. When Keith’s mother died, my Dad and other family upped the caregiving to arrange meals and ongoing support.
This was just one of many examples. There were other neighbors. There was Carl DuQuoin, who my Dad saw eating by himself at a downtown coffee shop. My Dad invited him home, and Carl became a regular family friend and guest. There was Clay Christian, on active duty in the Air Force, alone in Phoenix and on his way to Vietnam, who became a frequent overnight house guest. There was the man who repaired our cars. There were close and distant relatives who ate or stayed at our home. Social engagement and service was automatic for my Dad, without a second thought.
In Phoenix, my Dad went back to work at Valley National Bank, where he worked primarily in the personnel department. His job led him to travel throughout the state, deepening his love for its scenic beauty.
This led to many camping trips, first with a heavy canvas tent in the trunk of the Oldsmobile, and later with a pickup truck and camper. We camped throughout the White Mountains, the Grand Canyon, Woods Canyon Lake, Crown King, Lake Mary, Oak Creek Canyon, California, and Colorado.
My Dad served and led in many community organizations throughout his lifetime. He held significant leadership posts in the Methodist Church, Boy Scouts, YMCA, Chambers of Commerce, American Heart Association, Kiwanis, Rotary, Kiwanis, and Lions.
Scouting was a significant way for me to connect with my Dad. Together we backpacked, hiked, and camped. For six years, my Dad and I never missed a camping trip or outing, some 70 in all.
In Scouts I saw my Dad’s leadership skills. He was open, participatory, and generous. And he was clear and direct, with needed structure and organization. He became Scoutmaster, and then Troop Committee Chairman, leading all of the adult leadership posts.
I also learned something of my Dad’s values. I complained about some scouts’ personalities I found to be difficult. My Dad’s response, quoting Socrates: “Those who are hardest to love need the most love.”
One of my Dad’s genius strategies was to require for each scout in the troop there to be an adult contributing in some way. This broadened the strength and scope of what the Troop could do.
In 1972, my Dad moved to the Arizona Bank and became a bank trust officer in Sun City, and managed the department. This opened a new carrier in assisting bank trust customers as a fiduciary.
That same year, 1972, my Mom and Dad bought a little weekend cottage in Payson. Though just 625 square feet and a single bath, that Payson House became a hub of activity away from the Valley heat. Guests numbering up to 20 to 30 were not uncommon. My Dad transformed what was little more than a hovel into a respectable little home, built a second bunk house to add to one that was there, and invested countless hours developing and expanding its garden and landscaping.
My Dad was a lifelong learner, informally, and formally. In 1978, my Dad resumed his college education. He joined one of the first classes of the University of Phoenix, where he completed a Bachelor’s Degree in Business Administration, and then a Master of Arts in Management in 1982.
While spending many weekends in Payson, true to form, my Dad connected with the Payson community, and served on the hospital’s board of directors. That opened a challenging but exciting opportunity for my Dad to leave the bank and become the hospital administrator. He brought much needed foresight, planning, and structure. My Mom and Dad lived fulltime in Payson until retiring in Scottsdale.
After decades in leadership in business and community organizations, my Dad wrote:
I firmly believe the real key to success in any organization is dependent more on people who are correctly chosen, placed, and motivated, than any other single factor.
Advancing age brought needs for care and support for my Mom and Dad. One of their blessings was for my Mom’s nephew, David Ryan, to move nearby. David’s parents were no longer living. David essentially adopted my Parents as his, and they adopted him as an adult son.
From another state, I tried to stay in regular contact. But then I learned my efforts were eclipsed by Cousin David calling my parents every night at 7:30. This was in addition to weekly breakfasts, frequent errands and assistance, and just good regular conduct. Only partly in jest, I started calling David “The Good Son,” a title he richly deserved and more.
Others rallied to my parents’ care. My Aunt Pat Ryan, a retired doctor, regularly provided assistance, meals, medical support, and more. My Aunt Phylis Lowe and Cousin Debra Vanderveer came frequently and provided precious assistance and companionship. Friends David Boring and Kevin Kennerson were especially attentive with regular lunches and contact with my Dad.
My Sister Diane Elmore, also a doctor, provided care and assistance night and day throughout my Mom’s long illness, and my Dad’s last years and days. Her ceaseless care of our parents I can never match or repay.
These and others made the difference of not only extending my Parents’ lives, but deeply enriching and enhancing them. I am forever grateful.
In my Dad’s last several years, he often said, in response to almost any circumstance or action, “You can do no wrong. Everything you do is right.” Of course, that is not quite correct. Diane and I have joked about why we did not hear that sentiment when we were growing up. But for my Dad in his last years on this earth, this was an expression of increasing understanding of what things really matter versus temporal, ephemeral issues of life. This was truly an expression of grace, grace that he received and then gave in increasing measure through to the end.
Lowell loved and cared for his family and many others, with a generous heart and warm hospitality. We miss my Dad deeply, and always will. We treasure with enormous gratitude the 94 years of his life well lived that was a profound gift to all of us and countless others. We are grateful for his example, his faith, unwavering strength of character, values, service, companionship, smile, and love.
At the passing of my Dad’s mortal body, surely he has rightly said with the Apostle Paul, “For I am already being poured out as a drink offering, and the time of my departure has come. I have fought the good fight, I have finished the course, I have kept the faith; in the future there is reserved for me the crown of righteousness, which the Lord, the righteous Judge, will award to me on that day; and not only to me, but also to all who have loved His appearing.”
For my Dad, that day is now.
~ Duane Horning
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Lowell and Lola were married for 67 years when Lola passed in 2020. He is survived by his Daughter Diane Elmore, Son Duane Horning and Duane’s wife Cathy, two sisters in law Pat Ryan and Phylis Lowe, six grandchildren, and 14 great grandchildren, and many nieces and nephews.
