Fred Northup

I am 16-years-old waiting outside the counselor's office at Grand Island Central Catholic. And I am scared to death.

My brothers and I are starting our first day at this new school. Everything is odd and unfamiliar, and I want to be home. Where I belong. But my parents have moved themselves, ten kids and a dog from our beloved Denver neighborhood to plop us down in this small town in the middle of Nebraska.

Fred and Donna Northup, 2011.

It is hard for me to breathe.

Then a short man with iron gray hair slides out of a nearby classroom. "VOLAAARE!" he croons like Frank Sinatra and waltzes up to me. He laughs when he sees my startled expression. "Hee hee!" And it really is hee hee. Gripping my arm, he looks all the way up at me. I am six foot one. He is five feet five. "How are you, young lady?" Then he disappears into the school office.

I blink.That odd little man is like my own crazy father. And just like that, nothing feels quite so strange any more.

It develops that the Sinatra crooner is Mr. Fred Northup - "The Wizard of Ruby Street". He is an iconic fixture of the school, a long time beloved basketball coach and history teacher. My history teacher. I learn in those first few weeks at Central Catholic that Mr. Northup was raised in Rhode Island, is married to a saint of a woman, has nine kids, and can never remember to put the false tooth back in his mouth.

"Fred!" Sister Sue, the office secretary, roars through the intercom yet again during history class. "Get your tooth off the faculty lounge table!"

He laughs with glee. "Thanks for the reminda, Sistah!" he shouts up at the wall speaker in a strong Rhode Island accent.

But "The Wizard of Ruby Street", a coaching legend, is no pushover. When the best basketball player in the school mouths off in practice, Coach Northup kicks him off the team. And it doesn't matter that he loses almost every game after that. Fred Northup is a man of principal.

He is deeply respected and enormously popular all across the state. No matter where he and his family travel, somebody calls out. "Freddie!"

One day, he and his wife Donna become stranded on the interstate in eastern Colorado. Fred plods over to a farmer working in a nearby field to ask for help. Donna thinks, "Finally! Somebody he won't know!"

Fred returns to the car with his arm around the smiling farmer. "Donna, would you look at this?" He laughs delightedly. "I taught this kid at Burwell!"

As I am graduating from college, my mother is diagnosed with cancer. I return to Grand Island to help out at home, and the next time I enter the halls of Central Catholic, it is as a teacher rather than a student. Mr. Northup is still there and still belting out Sinatra medleys. I am very happy to see him.

"Good to see you, Mr. Northup!"

He looks around and feigns surprise. "Who's Mr. Northup?" he teases. "That's my dad! You call me Fred."

But I cannot call him "Fred". Not for many, many years.

One day, a tall, handsome young history teacher strolls through the doors to teach at Central. John Howard is 6 ft. 8. In spite of their age and height differences, he and Mr. Northup become fast friends. Fred invites John, who is far from home and family, to spend Christmas with all the Northups.

In the small Northup house, filled to the gills with 60 or so small, energetic Northups, John feels like Gulliver in the land of Lilliput. All the Northups scramble around and over him and make him feel at home.

Fred's family - Donna and three generations of Northup kids at the
annual Northup family reunion.

Later in the new year, John Howard and I fall in love and by summer time are planning to marry. John asks Fred to stand up for him at our wedding.

"You don't want me!" Fred protests.

John throws his arm around the little man who has become like a father.  "I need you up there with me, Old Man."

When we give birth to our first son Kenny, Fred's angelic wife Donna becomes our day care provider. She is as sweet and soothing as Fred is charming but cantankerous.

"That woman!" Fred shakes his fist at school when he and Donna have an occasional argument.

"What'd you do, Fred?" John asks laconically.

"You always take her side!" Fred huffs indignantly.

"Because it's always your fault!" John laughs.

One day, Fred makes Donna so angry she holds up a single finger. Because she is Donna Northup, she cannot bring herself to hold up her middle digit. Instead, she thrusts up her index finger.

Fred explodes in laughter. "What's that mean? Are you telling me I'm number one?"

She glares at him. "You know what it means!"

But no couple is more devoted to each other than Fred and Donna. One sad day, they cry as they move their adult son Charles, severely mentally challenged, to an institution where he can be properly cared for. Donna is diagnosed with breast cancer, and Fred undergoes double bypass. They lose a grandchild. But they come through those times together.

Fred and Donna are like grandparents to our boys Kenny and Tommy. When first John's father passes away and then my father, Fred reassures us.  "I'm their grandpa now," he nods at our small boys.

Our son Kenny and Fred and Donna's grandson Chris are in the same class. They become doubles partners on their high school tennis team, and the Northups regularly pile into our car as we follow the boys to tennis meets all across Nebraska. Fred is so excited before the state meet, he can't buckle his seat belt.

John sighs heavily, leans over to buckle Fred in, then looks at him in mock disgust. "Why do you have to be so damn old?"

Fred laughs. "Hee hee!"

On our trip to the Lincoln meet, Fred and Donna point out to us where they lived in Lincoln as newlyweds. They show us the hall where they first dance and fall in love.

"Oh, I thought he was so handsome in his uniform!" Donna giggles. Fred is in the service when they marry. He is 20, and Donna is just 18.  I love hearing about their lives as young people. Even as grandparents and great-grandparents, they are still youthful and vigorous and fun.

Fred Northup and John Howard
from the 1984 Central Catholic
yearbook.

We celebrate Fred's 80th birthday at a special reception in the Blessed Sacrament Church Hall. Fred becomes more and more forgetful. Donna pretends it is nothing. One day, though, Fred goes to the back yard to try to attach two wrong ends of a garden hose together. Donna becomes frightened.

In my English class one afternoon, I see Fred and Donna's granddaughter MiKayla crying. My heart skips a beat.

Fred is diagnosed with Alzheimers.

Donna is determined to care for him at home, but as Fred becomes worse, Donna is exhausted. Her children lovingly help her to understand that Fred will receive the professional care he needs living at the Veteran's Home. It is a long time before Donna allows them to make the arrangements. She has been advised not to tell Fred that he will never be coming home.

"Tell him he's just visiting," the staff instructs.

As the time nears, Donna is filled with dread. It is the last night they spend together in their own home. Fred, oblivious to Donna's silence, switches channels on the remote.

"Fred," Donna is determined not to weep. "Come lie on the couch with me."

He looks at her, surprised. "Why don't you go to bed? I'll be there in a while."

She swallows. "Because I want you to lie with me on the couch."

He grumbles, tosses the remote aside, and finally comes to be with her. They are two small white-haired people in their 80's folded in each other's arms. Fred never knows it's his last night with his wife of more than 65 years. Her face away from him, Donna lets the silent tears fall.

Fred has resided at the Vet's Home for almost five years now. He is confined to a wheel chair and doesn't speak much or recognize his children. But every day he waits patiently for Donna. She feeds him and brushes his teeth. Then together they sit in front of the window overlooking the lovely grounds of the Vet's Home. Fred is content to hold Donna's hand, and she is happy to be near him. An 18-year-old aid observes them.

"Someday," she tells Donna, "I hope I have what you two have."

Donna smiles. "Treat your husband like a king," she tells the young aid, "and he'll treat you like a queen."

This Christmas Eve, Fred Northup will turn 90-years-old. His children will throw a party for him. He won't know them or understand what an important occasion they're celebrating. But his good family knows. And that's enough.

Fred may not remember us. But we remember him. He is father and grandfather to four generations of Northups. To three decades of kids and teachers at Grand Island Central Catholic, he is still Coach, Teacher and Friend.

He is our Wizard of Ruby Street. And we remember.


Postscript: Fred Northup died July 1, 2019, at the Grand Island Vet's Hospital surrounded by his loving family. For the last ten days of his life, Donna refused to leave his bedside.