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The tragedy of Gertrude Kistler

There’s no telling what Gertrude Kistler might have been.

She could have been anything — A teacher, a writer, a politician. But we don’t know. As she died a hundred years ago, we never will. By the present time, she’d have been long dead anyway, of course — Very few people live to be a hundred and twelve. But her death was a century ago this weekend, and it was a tragedy.

Gertrude Kistler was born in 1908, the daughter of Sedgewick and Bertha Kistler. She was the granddaughter of Wilson Kistler, who was a big force in Lock Haven’s community activities — He owned a tannery near Church Street, ran a dairy farm that later became Millbrook Playhouse, and was the first board president of the Ross Library. Gertrude’s father, Sedgewick was no slouch himself, getting involved in local and state politics and business.

The Kistlers owned a home on Water Street and split their time between Lock Haven and Philadelphia. Gertrude, by all accounts, was a sweet kid, very kind and sharing as she grew up. Some years ago, I was given a copy of an account written by one of her childhood friends, Florence Spates, detailing some of their adventures together. This was sent to me by the library that bears Gertrude’s name — More on that later.

“To remember Gertrude Kistler, I have to go back more than half a century,” she wrote. “We met first at Camp Tegawitha in the Poconos… I was about twelve, Gertrude a little younger. We made friends, shared the camp life, played, swam, and hiked together.”

The two of them also attended Saint Leonard’s Academy in Philadelphia, which was Gertrude’s main school. Gertrude became friends with a small group of girls, and they formed a little club together — Mary Horstmann, Agatha Schwoerer, Agnes Reilly, Kathryn Lenihan, Florence, and Gertrude.

Agnes’s father Thomas owned a building, and with the top floor unused, it became their headquarters, the girls meeting there to talk and play.

“Gertrude expected to return to Tegawitha the summer of 1920,” Florence wrote. “But first there was a trip with her parents. Before departure she made us promise to keep a place for her in our cabin.”

It didn’t happen. Gertrude never made it back to Camp Tegawitha.

The trip with her parents was in July of 1920, when Sedgewick Kistler was the delegate to the Democratic National Convention in San Francisco. Afterward, the family stopped at Yosemite National Park.

That was where Gertrude was looking at the river. Fascinated by the water, she leaned over a bit too far, and fell in.

A driver for the Kistlers, H.J. Pink of Los Angeles, dived in to save her, but drowned in the attempt. Gertrude died that day, swept away in the river. Her body wasn’t found for three days.

Former Mayor William Bentley, secretary of Kistler Leather, received the telegram notifying Lock Haven of the death, and relayed the news to the Express. The article reported, “It was a shock to the friends of the family and expressions of sorrow are heard on all sides over the distressing tragedy.”

Gertrude was buried in Elk County with her maternal grandparents. The Kistlers, understandably, were never the same. They made donations in Gertrude’s memory, the most notable being an organ to Great Island Presbyterian Church. Gertrude’s organ still exists today, and annually, fundraising concerts are held to repair and maintain it.

Florence Spotes, who wrote the account of Gertrude’s life, grew up to be Sister Mary Virginia, teaching at the school they’d attended together. The Kistlers donated money to create the Gertrude Kistler Memorial Library, where a portrait of Gertrude hangs. On the day it opened, her friends all gathered to remember her, and her favorite flowers were on all the tables.

Florence wrote, “I have often wondered whether the passing years would have continued and completed the happy life that was here when we knew her as a little girl at Tegawitha and Saint Leonard’s.”

It’s been a hundred years since the tragedy that took Gertrude’s life. She’s been gone for a century, and everyone who knew her is gone, as well. But she is remembered. I’ve written about her before, and I feel as if I know her… This sweet little girl, who never got the chance to grow up.

——

Lou Bernard is a Lock Haven resident with a keen interest in the history of this area. He is adult services coordinator at Ross Library and may be reached at loulhpa@gmail.com or 570-660-4463.

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