By SUZANNAH COUCH, staff writer
“I wanted you to know you changed his life,” a former president of Kroger said as he pulled me aside at my Papa’s celebration of life earlier this month.
He walked up to me, already knowing my name, and introduced himself, extending his hand.
“You were the firstborn grandchild, and as the firstborn grandchild, you changed his life. All he could talk about was you,” he continued.
“I wanted you to know that.”
The breath left my body and the tears began to fall — not for the first time that day. This sweet stranger kissed my cheek, and for a moment I thought my Papa was standing there with me.
On Feb. 27, 2021, my worst fear came true. My Papa, Russell Dean Kelso, left this world at the age of 76. Long story short, we lost him, and we lost the center of our universe and guiding light. He was always ready to put his hand on yours to help you talk out your biggest problems.
We decided almost immediately to not have a funeral, but rather wait until the summer to hold a large celebration of life at his home — or as I call it, a piece of heaven on Earth — the home my Papa and Nana worked hard to keep beautiful for decades.
He was loved, and it showed in the tears that fell that rainy Saturday.
Ever since I have worked at the Brown County Democrat, I have counted down the years until my Papa turned 80 and I could sit down with him to learn about his life for our annual Founders Day section, where we share the life stories of interesting local seniors.
He didn’t make it to that age, but his is a Brown County story that needs to be told. The memories almost drown me as they begin to flow from my mind to my fingers.
He held the record for riding his bike the fastest from Cottonwood Church to Helmsburg on Lick Creek Road.
He grew up in the same spot where my mom’s house stands now. Brown County was always his home.
He was a 1964 graduate of Brown County High School. He started his 35-year career at the Kroger Company as a journeyman meat cutter in 1965 and retired in 2000 as the executive meat merchandiser for the central marketing area of the Kroger Company.
He made everyone feel respected, from those who loved working in dirt to the executives in three-piece suits. He had a way of making you feel heard and when he spoke you listened.
When he was not working in Indianapolis at his Kroger office, he was home in his jeans and pocket T-shirts, keeping up the family farm that has been in our name since 1832. He built his home with my Nana. He was offered job after job that would move him up the ranks of Kroger, but if it meant he had to leave his home in Brown County, he declined.
He worked hard to maintain his family’s original homeplace. Some people spend their money on fancy cars, but Russell Kelso spent his on securing his family’s farmland in his name — and a trip or two to the casino, with Bob Seger playing the entire time.
His great-grandchildren — my nephews, Alexander and Maxwell — are the seventh generation to live on the property. He touched every inch of the land.
The country was where he was most comfortable, though I am sure that was difficult to believe when he would speak in front of a room full of executives. That is, until you noticed the sleek-looking cowboy boots he always wore.
One of his best friends helped to make his celebration of life something everyone will remember. As he spoke at the podium, he reached for a notecard that he had written on 21 years ago when he asked Papa why he made the hour-and-17-minute drive each way to work in Indianapolis.
His answer: “I travel these roads every day because I love where I’m going and who I’m going to see when I get there.” My Nana was always waiting for him.
I remember waiting up late when my sister and I would stay the night at their house and seeing his headlights in the night coming down their long, picturesque driveway. We would race to the door to give him the biggest hug. He would often lift us up, and standing well over 6-foot tall, I felt on top of the world in his arms. It was the safest place I could be.
He taught me the importance of hard work, loyalty, and always standing up for what is right.
Colors filled his life as his love filled the lives around him. He traveled about on his signature red 1958 Ford tractor or orange Kubota. He looked the best in yellow and was almost always wearing blue jeans.
He would take us on Kubota rides as he shared the history and the stories behind the acres that made up his family’s homestead.
He often communicated through songs. My “Papa” playlist on Spotify has been my go-to these five months. Willie Nelson, Emmylou Harris, Conway Twitty, George Jones, Bob Seger and Merle Haggard have all wrapped their musical arms around me.
He saw me off to every prom, was standing on the sidelines when I was crowned homecoming queen, was at my high school and college graduations, and advised me on every career move afterward, like how much I should contribute to a 401k.
I thought I had more time — to have him dance with me at my wedding, to hold my babies, and to watch as I moved into my first home on my own.
He was always my protector. As a child I was horrified of thunderstorms and only felt safe sitting in his living room with him. He knew what I needed before I did.
When I was a kid my family would take an annual trip to Kings Island. My mom bought my sister and I a new pair of shoes. I was bounding toward the theme park entrance, knowing those magical water fountains would be welcoming my family in on the other side. But I was limping because those new shoes were already starting to give me a blister. Yet, I persisted, because nothing was going to stop me from having fun that day.
Papa made our family stop at the rock wall near the entrance and asked me, “Do your feet hurt?” I shrugged, like it was no big deal. The next thing I knew, he took out his pocket knife and cut the backs of my shoes out. Relief!
“Those are new!” my mom pleaded.
“We’ll buy her another pair,” he responded.
One of his favorite memories of me I have heard many times from him, especially in the recent months before his passing. It was almost like the universe knew I needed to carry it with me when he was no longer here.
I was maybe a year old and he was out cutting the logs that made up a fence that still lines their driveway today. I was determined to be near him and see what he was doing. He looked back, and there I was with my tiny legs taking one log at a time, inching closer to him.
He said he would never forget that image. And I will never forget him.
I went back to work three days after his passing. When I told Nana what I was doing, she called me “Little Russell.”
It was the best compliment I have ever received.
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If I had to share anything about my Papa, it would be his 10 rules for life:
- Be loyal to those that love you.
- Never ask a question that you don’t know the answer to. (I will exempt reporters from this one.)
- Check in frequently with people to see how their “fun meter” is doing.
- Don’t tell people the answers; ask questions until they come up with the right answers themselves.
- At some point, you have to decide whether you want to be a big fish in a small pond or a little fish in a big pond.
- If you remain silent, people will give you the answer to their problem.
- Let it go and you will have a good day.
- I want to know what you know, not what you can read.
- Keep smiling.
- It is what it is.
Brown County native Suzannah Couch is a reporter-photographer for the Brown County Democrat. She can be reached at 812-988-2221.
