The Widower

A Woman of Three Professions

On Feb. 26, 2024, a day after my wife, Cheryl, died of Alzheimer’s complications, I met with Aaron Kerr at Schneider Funeral Directors here in Janesville, Wisconsin. He asked which job I considered to be Cheryl’s most important.

I’d never considered that question. She enjoyed all three and did each well.

She was proud to have been in the first class that went through all eight grades at St. William Catholic School on Janesville’s west side. After earning a teaching degree at UW-Whitewater, she was likewise proud to have worked at St. William. However, I didn’t know she served as a reading specialist until cleaning our basement in late December and finding a letter from Sister Dorinda, principal, dated April 27, 1982.

“Cheryl Hoffman has been employed at St. William’s School as a part-time special reading teacher for the past seven years,” Sister Dorinda wrote. “She has done a very good job of working with reading groups and individuals who were behind in reading. Cheryl worked with children in grades K-6^th.

“Cheryl is very flexible, willing to adjust her schedule when other activities in the classroom warranted it or when new pupil needs were detected. She was always willing to spend extra time planning social events or putting time into extracurricular happenings. Cheryl showed a sincere interest in each child that she worked with. Her relationships with other adults are professional and ethical. She works well with other teachers, peers, and parents.

“The part-time reading position is being eliminated next year due to declining enrollment and lack of sufficient funds. I would recommend Cheryl for a teaching job in the primary or intermediate grades.”

Cheryl then landed at the Gazette, where she worked fifteen years as news clerk and librarian, the latter an extra ten hours each Saturday.

Cheryl not only served as Gazette newsroom clerk, she added extra hours as Gazette librarian in the days before story and photo archives were computerized. We jokingly called this her “teacher look.”

During a banquet, Gazette owner Skip Bliss doled out service awards. He gave Cheryl an engraved clock for ten years and said, “Cheryl runs the newsroom.”

Afterward, I suggested Skip exaggerated. Cheryl was offended, and I spent the rest of the night apologizing.

Her pay wasn’t great, and she made ends meet through her librarian role. During Christmas seasons, she worked evenings and weekends at the former Boston Store in the Janesville Mall. As the holiday approached and the store added hours, Cheryl worked late and then rose early to fulfill her Gazette duties.

Still, she may have kept working at the Gazette had we not wed in 1998. Soon after, she realized it wasn’t good to have a married couple working in the same newsroom. Happenings at work dominated our conversations.

Back in the day, anyone working at least several years in the Gazette newsroom received a Janesville wagon as a parting gift.

Cheryl landed a job as office manager at Hartung Brothers seed plant near Emerald Grove, eight miles east of our home. The family-owned company outgrew that plant, sold it, and bought one south of Madison’s Beltline Highway.

“I’m not driving that far every day,” Cheryl told her supervisor.

“Well, if you don’t want to go, we’ll duct tape you to your chair and toss you on the last truck,” she recalled him saying.

Appreciating her services, an as an incentive to commute, the company boosted her pay $2 per hour.

Hartung’s invited Cheryl to join managers on a trip to the company’s plant near San Antonio, Texas. Cheryl didn’t want to go.

“Honey, why not? Go! It’s a chance to see a part of the country you might otherwise never see!”

She enjoyed a barbecue at the plant and strolled the downtown San Antonio River Walk, billed as “The Venice of Texas.”

After Cheryl announced plans to retire at the end of 2011, Hartung’s hired two women for her to train. Once they learned their roles, Cheryl had little to do. She took a book to read.

On Oct. 12, the Human Resources director called and asked how things were going. Being honest, Cheryl said she had nothing to do because her replacements performed her duties.

The next day, he waved her into a meeting room, closed the door, and slid a document across the table. “This is your last day of work. Sign this, and we’ll pay you in full until your planned retirement date.”

Stunned and traumatized, Cheryl arrived home in tears.

I tried consoling her. “Honey, look at the bright side. They’re being generous to pay you for not coming to work. You don’t have to make that long drive, burn gas, put miles on your car, and risk winter roads.”

Cheryl wasn’t buying it. She loved her job and wasn’t ready for the abrupt end to a satisfying career that spanned three professions.

AUTHOR’S NOTE: This is the second of three stories in my manuscript, built by keeping a journal for ten years as Cheryl descended into dementia, that I’ve culled in my efforts to reduce the package to a publishable length. Instead of keeping this story, I’ve briefly touched on Cheryl’s three jobs at another spot in the manuscript.

This photo of the Gazette’s newsroom, around 1990, shows Cheryl with hands folded and wearing a dark skirt. I’m at the far left.