Story written about Clarice and Harvey Whitnah by Michael O'Donnell. Printed in the Power County Press.

Journalists aren't supposed to have hearts, but mine was touched by an event which took place may 26. It involved a couple I did not know in the town of Baker, Oregon. They were Harvey and Clarice Whitnah.

In the obituary section of this edition, Harvey and Clarice's lives have been abbreviated in the usual fashion. A double obituary states they died in their home May 26, 1989. It dosen't explain how or why it happened. We can only guess as to why it happened. Here is how it happened, according to an American Falls family member

Harvey, 85, and Clarice, 74, weren't in the best of health anymore. They had enjoyed the rich array of experences which define life. Their paths crossed and became one in September of 1934. Harvey was a young farmer 30 years of age. Clarice was a pretty girl of 20 when they exchanged vows. Together they made a living from the soil of the Pacific Northwest. Their love for each other also gave life to two sons.

Five years ago, Harvey and Clarice celebrated their golden wedding anniversary-no small accomplishment in a world where changing spouses is almost as common an experience as changing channels on the television. If Harvey and Clarice were like everyone else, their marriage had its moments. They probably had arguments about money, pet peeves and other small nusances which mark daily existence. But, they didn't let those nusances disrupt their life together. Failing health was probably the only thing that could have seperated Harvey and Clarice. It was just a matter of time untill "death do us part" became a reality.

Then came May 26.
According to their American Falls relative, Harvey went to the garage to start the car. He fired it up and then realized the garage door was still down. He got out of the car and went to lift the garage door. He never got the door up. A stroke stopped him. After 55 years of living together, you know Clarice sensed something was wrong long before she went to the garage to see what was keeping Harvey. When she got there, she saw Harvey lying on the floor. She immediately turned off the ignition on the car and went to help him. She didn't stop to open the garage door first.

It must have taken the police awhile to figure out what had happened in the Whitnah garage that day. They found Harvey and Clarice lying next to each other but the car was off and any carbonmonoxide fumes would have dissipated. But they pieced the events together.

Now you know how it happened that Harvey and Clarice ended up sharing the same obituary on the same day, just as they had shared space on this planet for 55 years.

The event struck me as tragic in one respect and wonderful in another. The relative who brought in the obituary felt the same way. "At least they didn't have to be alone," she said. She's right. Clarice never had to spend those endless hours walking through the memories in their home. She didn't have to sort through Harvey's closet. She didn't have to stare at his fishing pole and painfully recall the hands which once held it and her.

Harvey was never forced to gaze into Clarice's jewelry box and remember the day he gave her that necklace or those ear rings. He didn't have to run his hands along the fabric of her empty dress and recall the music when they danced together for the last time.

Instead, Harvey and Clarice left this world together. And you can bet that's the way they would have wanted it.