Wednesday, March 27

14 of the Trilogy residents who died of COVID-19


Hundreds of people died of COVID-19 across a scattering of small nursing homes in the Midwest amid the pandemic’s fatal surge last winter.

A USA TODAY investigation has traced the casualties back to one chain, Trilogy Health Services, owned by a real estate venture with a new business plan for the cutthroat world of elder care.

Daily COVID-19 statistics, graphs, maps and news reports can obscure the grief and hardship facing the families of those lost. USA TODAY Network reporters contacted dozens of families whose loved ones died in the care of a Trilogy home to learn more about their lives.

Here are 14 of those stories. If you’ve lost a loved one to COVID-19 at any nursing home, please submit an entry to our memorial wall here.

Imelda ‘Mel’ Balbach

Evansville, Indiana

Tom Balbach

Mel Balbach, who spent her working life as a nursing teacher and school nurse, died the morning after Christmas 2020 at North River Health Campus in Evansville. 

Her son Tom Balbach and his brother last saw their 89-year-old mother during a supervised visit that June, but her Alzheimer’s disease was so advanced they hadn’t had a real conversation in four years. 

About two weeks before she died, the family visited her through a window. A few days later, the nursing home told the family she had developed COVID-19. The end came shortly after 8 a.m. on Dec. 26, with no loved ones present.

“Her final turn was fairly quick, and she was gone before anybody got to her,” Tom Balbach said.

Tom Balbach never saw the inside of North River as the pandemic claimed lives there in the winter of 2020, and neither did any of the other family members. But what they did see – warning signs all over and employees wearing protective garb, asking COVID-19 security questions and enforcing social distancing rules – left them satisfied that everything that could be done was being done.

“I just know that once it’s in that type of facility,” he said, “it has to be borderline impossible to contain.”

– Thomas B. Langhorne, Evansville Courier & Press

Ron Burgess

McConnelsville, Ohio

A portrait of Ron Burgess.
Courtesy Ron Burgess Jr.

In McConnelsville, the county seat of Morgan County in Appalachian southeastern Ohio, almost everyone knew someone stricken by the pandemic, many of them while patients at Highland Oaks Health Center. 

Ron Burgess of Richland County, an hour north of Columbus, was a U.S. Air Force veteran. He had been the town Santa Claus for Bellville, Ohio, a former president of the “The Buckeye Santas,” and a longtime registered nurse who volunteered his skills at numerous agencies.

“He was always just that guy who wanted to help people,” said his son, Ron Burgess Jr. of Maryland.

Then, at 71, his memory started failing fast. “He couldn’t find his keys or even remember how to use them,” his son said. “He thought he was in New York, Baltimore. He forgot me.”

In May 2020, he was taken to Highland Oaks, where he was placed in the memory care wing for Alzheimer’s patients. In December, just days after getting a new roommate, his father tested positive for the coronavirus. His son later learned the roommate had tested positive before the two were housed together.

“Something failed there,” Ron Burgess said. “At the end of last year, everyone was getting tired of (COVID-19). They were letting their guard down.”

Burgess, a grandfather of six and great-grandfather of two, died Dec. 10.

– Dean Narciso, Columbus Dispatch

Ann Clay

Springfield, Ohio

Ann Clay
Provided Photo

They were almost high school sweethearts. A few dates while teenagers didn’t spark the fire, but years later Phil Clay ran into his former classmate while walking down the street.

It took them three years to get married.

Ann Clay, like her husband, was an intellectual. Phil was known for talking. For dad jokes. For a big personality. Ann wasn’t shy, but she wasn’t the first to speak either. 

She’d go to any event and she’d listen, but a lot of the time she preferred to be home. She liked to quilt, read, tend her flowers out front. The couple had a vacation home in Canada.

They had the type of love that prompted Phil to visit Ann almost every day while she lived in a nursing home with early dementia. For six years. He even ended up leaving their longtime home and downsizing so he could be closer to her.

It’s a house Ann never got to live in.

Phil and Ann had visited several local nursing homes before deciding on Forest Glen when Ann developed dementia in her early 70s. He says he spent half a million dollars on her care there.

COVID-19 was almost a blessing, Phil said. Ann wasn’t herself anymore. “There wasn’t a whole lot of her there,” he said, tearing up. “For her, I wanted it to end.”

March 9, 2020, was the last time he would step inside Forest Glen Health Campus. At first, they could still visit outside. Masked and with temperature checks. Six feet apart. “One time, I sneaked and touched her ankle,” he said.

By September, even visits on the patio were canceled.

Once a week, he and his daughters could Zoom with Ann. In the background, he saw health care workers in full hazmat suits. Cloth masks, plastic face covers, gloves, full gowns.

When she contracted COVID-19 in October 2020, he was faced with a tough choice of whether to be with her in her last moments and risk being infected with the virus himself.

“I wanted to, obviously, but if I did that, I couldn’t see my family. And the reality is it didn’t make a big difference to her anyway,” he said. “At some point with dementia, you get to the point, ‘Is anyone home or not?’ You just don’t know.”

He chose to stay away. Ten days after testing positive for the coronavirus, Ann died at 78.

– Briana Rice, Cincinnati Enquirer

Naomi ‘Faye’ Dickman

Evansville, Indiana

Naomi “Faye” Dickman
Courtesy the Evansville Courier & Press.

No one called Naomi Dickman “Faye” except her family – a fitting distinction for a woman who was mannered and always aware of appearances, according to her daughter, Pam Muensterman. 

Dickman was 95 when she died at River Pointe Health Campus in Evansville on Feb. 17, 2021. Dickman had worked as a receptionist at Evansville’s McCurdy Residential Center.

Her death was entirely attributable to COVID-19, according to her death certificate. But her daughter, Pam Muensterman, assigns no blame. Muensterman repeatedly praised employees at River Pointe, expressing complete trust in their treatment of her mother.

A resident of River Pointe for almost six years, Dickman – who had dementia – lived in a room with her 93-year-old sister. The sister reported to the family from the inside.

“There were boxes outside and we could drop stuff off,” Muensterman said. “We talked to people there and would ask how she was doing, and they would tell us what she would say. … I know we couldn’t go in and see her, but when you have a good relationship with your nursing home and the people that work there, that’s what’s the most important part.”

Muensterman laughed when asked to describe her mother. Presentation was everything for Dickman, who was fastidious about her appearance and fussy about her surroundings. If her clothes weren’t pressed, her bed not made and her room not in perfect order, the people around her heard about it.

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“It was all about Faye,” Muensterman said. “That’s what we used to say. She was very prissy and very pretty, and she had to have her hair done just right. And if they didn’t fix it right, we were back in there the next day fixing it for her.”

Two days before her mother’s death, Muensterman was allowed to visit her again. She grew pensive when asked about her last moments face-to-face with her mother.

“I said, ‘I love you, Mom,’ and she said, ‘Me too,’” she said. “Now, did she know who I was? I don’t know, but we did the right thing.”

– Thomas B. Langhorne, Evansville Courier & Press

Byron Eggemeyer

Terre Haute, Indiana

Byron Eggemeyer
Courtesy Brenda Weeks

Byron Eggemeyer had a fall that resulted in a brain injury that sent him to Cobblestone Crossings in Terre Haute in July 2020. 

As a new resident, he had to quarantine from other residents and family for a month, and loved ones could visit only from outside the window. Nonetheless, Byron tested positive for the coronavirus on Christmas Day and was moved to the COVID-19 wing. 

His daughter, a high school family and consumer science teacher, was the family caretaker for her father. Brenda Weeks visited at Christmas when staff dressed Byron up in festive attire. They held up pictures through the window of his new great-grandchild. 

“He kept his eyes closed as we talked through the window,” she said. “It was bad.”

Eggemeyer grew up poor in Chester, Illinois, one of nine children and the only one to go to college. He became an aerospace engineer and eventually taught aviation maintenance and traveled the world teaching jet engine repair. 

In the waning months of his life, Byron would often get confused, but he was planning to vote absentee in the 2020 election. He sometimes thought his daughter was his deceased wife. 

He was scheduled to be vaccinated against COVID-19 just days before he tested positive for the virus. Brenda Weeks declined to move him to a hospital where he would have been intubated. 

He died on Dec. 27. 

That day, Brenda had left for an hour while the staff changed Byron’s sheets, then got the phone call that he had died. She returned, angry, and waited for the funeral home. 

She blames staff for bringing COVID-19 into the facility.

“I was mad then and I’m still mad now,” Weeks said. “I was shaming them when I put COVID and the facility name in the paper.” 

– Nick Penzenstadler, USA TODAY

Reba Hammons

Battle Creek, Michigan

A portrait of Reba Hammons.
Courtesy Sharon Williams

Sharon Williams moved her mom, Reba Hammons, into The Oaks at Northpointe Woods in Battle Creek in 2015. Hammons had been living with dementia for about a year, and her doctor said the socialization and round-the-clock care available at a facility would help.

Williams did her research and decided that The Oaks was the best fit for her mom. 

“The place was always spotless, clean,” she said. “They were so good with the residents.” 

Williams visited her mom at The Oaks a few times a week. They’d play Scrabble or dominoes and watch “Little House on the Prairie” or “The Price is Right.” On Sundays, Williams brought her mom back to her home in Battle Creek and did her hair. Sometimes they’d go on drives and explore local parks. 

Hammons, 96, had been known for her kindness and her cooking. She loved to bake pies and cakes, especially lemon meringue, Williams said.

“She was a wonderful lady,” said Jack Anderson, pastor of The Church of God of Prophecy in Battle Creek, the church Hammons faithfully attended before her dementia diagnosis. “She was always involved, asking about our children and how we were doing.” 

When the pandemic brought Williams’ weekly visits to a halt in March 2020, she said she never worried about how the staff was caring for her mom. 

Williams was able to visit through the window. She would use her cellphone to call the landline in her mom’s room. They would talk from opposite sides of the glass. 

“Of course, when winter came, that was a bit impossible,” she said. “But when the temperature was enough where I could go even for a few minutes, I would do that.”

The pandemic was hard on her mom, Williams said, because dementia made it difficult for Hammons to understand why she needed a mask.  

From Williams’ perspective, the staff did what it could to prevent coronavirus infection, but once COVID-19 got into the facility, it was an uphill battle. For a time, Williams and her husband weighed whether it would be better to move Hammons into their home.

“In any nursing home, when something like that goes through … there’s nowhere to run and nowhere to hide,” she said. “You’re kind of like a sitting duck.”

Hammons tested positive for the virus sometime in late November or early December 2020 and was moved to a private room. Ultimately, Williams made the difficult decision to not have her mom intubated or hospitalized, per Hammons’ wishes. 

On the morning of Dec. 8, 2020, Williams said she got a phone call from The Oaks. A staff member said her mom was unresponsive. She and her husband went to see her through the window.

“It was really cold,” Williams said. “I didn’t know if she would pass away later in the day or how long, and so I told my husband, ‘She seems at peace.’ And so we went home.”

Less than 15 minutes later, Williams got the call that her mom had died. Not being there pains Williams, even a year later.

– Elena Durnbaugh, Lansing State Journal

John Kline Jr.

McConnelsville, Ohio

John Kline
Courtesy James Kline

James Kline knew this was not going to be easy.

He had gathered with his mother, siblings and children in the parking lot of Highland Oaks Health Center the day after Thanksgiving after learning that his father, John F. Kline Jr., who had been taken to the COVID-19 wing of the McConnelsville facility, was nearing the end.

The family had visited in mid-October from Westerville, Ohio, and Parkersburg, W.Va. The facility was chosen in part because it was a reasonable midpoint for visitors.

The visit came weeks before the winter surge of COVID-19 cases would be reported inside.

On that warm day, Kline, 73, was in the memory wing and met his family outside, sharing stories about his college days as a standout wrestler and catching up with his grandkids.

It would be the last time the extended Kline family would have a meaningful visit.

A staff member called Trudy Kline on Nov. 1 to explain that the facility had had a COVID-19 outbreak and that in-person visits were being suspended.

Trudy bent the rules, however, visiting her husband in a room just inside the lobby, bringing him cookies, milkshakes and other favorites.

“We were not really supposed to be up close,” she said.

Then, a week before Thanksgiving, she was told that her husband of 47 years had contracted COVID-19 but had no serious symptoms.

Days later, she said, “it went from he was doing well to everything went wrong overnight.”

From the parking lot, James Kline decided that he would go into the facility first and report back on his father.

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“I went in in full PPE – a face shield, gloves, full plastic gown. It seemed like a movie,” he said of the stark COVID-19 wing, each room lacking adornments, wall hangings or color.

“Everyone in there was in a bad spot,” he recalled, patients and staff alike.

Lying on his back with oxygen tubes in his nostrils, John Kline was gaunt, pale and not responding to his son. His 125-pound frame was by now closer to 100 pounds.

James and Judy agree that COVID-19 likely hastened John Kline’s death. Kline died Dec. 2, 2020.

“I think it accelerated the inevitable,” James said. “It provided an end to a pretty difficult situation.”

– Dean Narciso, Columbus Dispatch

Steven William Lappe 

Evansville, Indiana

Steven Lappe
Courtesy Ann Leek

Steven Lappe wasn’t afraid of much, according to his stepdaughter Ann Leek. He’d been in combat in Vietnam as a Navy Seabee, building bridges at the Demilitarized Zone at Quang Tri and rebuilding them when the enemy blew them up in the middle of the night. 

His obituary says he was “the sharpshooter at the end of the convoy,” and his death certificate lists Agent Orange exposure as a partial cause.

“It was Vietnam, so he didn’t talk about it,” Leek said. “Very little was discussed, and the little bit that I do know was whenever he would go and speak to my kids’ school, he would actually talk to the kids about it.”

Lappe, 73, died at North River Health Campus in Evansville, Indiana on Dec. 17, 2020.

In the days before Lappe died, Leek said, she and her husband and their oldest son went into North River twice. They knew it was dangerous.

Vanderburgh County was ringing up more than 1,000 new coronavirus cases every week. Vaccines were nearly a month away, and then only for the oldest Indiana citizens.

North River was allowing two visitors at a time into a unit that had been given over entirely to residents with COVID-19, Leek said.

“They had you suit up so heavily when you went in there – the gloves and the face shields and the masks and the gowns and the whole nine yards,” she said. “I mean, you were completely shielded when you went in there.”

Leek had a high-risk job working with university students from all over the country and the world, but she hadn’t gotten COVID-19. She wasn’t scared. Her husband was Lappe’s best friend. If he had to say goodbye, he was doing it face-to-face.

The couple saw nothing that struck them as unsafe or risky.

“If I remember right, you had to go through an area and then through another area,” Leek said. “You went through doors or like a curtain or a vacuum seal or something, and then when that shut, then you went into the unit.”

Leek will remember Lappe as a physically imposing man, a Vietnam veteran, ironworker, gun enthusiast, fisherman and motorcycle rider with a heart for animals, loyalty to friends and stoicism about his wartime experiences.

– Thomas B. Langhorne, Evansville Courier & Press

Bill Malone

Anderson, Indiana

Bill Malone
Hannah Gaber, USA TODAY

Bill Malone was recovering from a heart attack at Bethany Pointe Health Campus when the pandemic started. He never left the nursing home in Anderson.

His wife wrote down all of her calls seeking information about his condition and care after the nursing home closed to visitors in mid-March 2020. By the time he was moved to another room after showing symptoms of COVID-19, Carlynn Malone was often unable to even reach a staff member by phone. 

After a week of asking for coronavirus testing, then in limited supply, Carlynn Malone said she was told April 11 that Bill had COVID-19.

The next day was the last day he was alert. She called the front desk at 1:52, 2:20, 2:25 and 2:56 in the afternoon before reaching a staff member who encouraged her to pay a visit outside his window. 

His eyes were glassy and bulging. It was the first time she realized he might not come home. They had been planning a trip out West to see the Rockies.

To comfort him, Carlynn sang a show tune, “A Bushel and a Peck.” It was one of many Bill had sung on stage in his nearly 300 community theater performances. 

He was 65, a retired schoolteacher, just like she was. They were both on their second marriages, and they each brought two children to their combined household. Ten grandchildren came along over the years. Bill died without meeting his youngest and 11th grandchild.

On April 15, Carlynn Malone got a call from Bethany Pointe at 1:40 a.m. Her husband could not be resuscitated. She lived five minutes away, she but couldn’t make it in time to say a final “I love you.” 

– Letitia Stein, USA TODAY

Martha Miles

Anderson, Indiana

Martha Miles
Hannah Gaber, USA TODAY

Martha Miles was known as the peacekeeper among 11 siblings. She raised three boys of her own and watched out for countless others as a social worker. She spoiled 18 grandchildren with gifts of cash – and once even a car. She died before meeting three of her six great-grandchildren. 

She entered Bethany Pointe Health Campus in Anderson in spring 2020 for a month of rehabilitation after a fall. Her family says they had no idea she had contracted COVID-19 until the diagnosis appeared on her death certificate.

Her son, Marvin, says friends miss the zucchini bread she used to give them when they were sick. He misses her Sunday suppers of pot roast, collard greens, macaroni and cheese and candied yams.

He would have taken her home had families been told that COVID-19 was a threat in the facility, he said, which experienced the Trilogy chain’s first major outbreak of the pandemic.

Just days before she died, she called him sobbing after she said she had pressed a nurse’s button for an hour with no answer. She was struggling to breathe. 

“She had no idea that she went in and caught COVID,” Marvin Miles says.

Martha Miles died on March 30, 2020.

– Letitia Stein, USA TODAY

Sue Miller

Kokomo, Indiana

Sue Miller
Hannah Gaber, USA TODAY

Before her death at the start of Christmas week, Sue Miller told her daughter what she thought about nursing home policies supposedly protecting her by keeping her family out: “Bullshit.”

The 77-year-old Alzheimer’s patient didn’t understand why her family’s visits were restricted at Waterford Place, where she had moved in September. The mother of six, who enjoyed wrapping silk flowers in gaudy bows and rescuing snakes and macaws, had always been known to tell it straight. 

A 103-degree fever announced Miller’s infection on Dec. 4, but two weeks passed without symptoms. Her daughter, Shana Driver, was surprised to get a call from a hospice nurse on Dec. 17 instructing her to come quickly with approval for final bedside visits. 

Each member was allowed inside for 15 minutes. No one questioned it when four of Miller’s children, their spouses, a granddaughter and a niece started a round-the-clock rotation, Driver said. 

By Day 3, the family knew the four-digit code to a white glass-paned door that opened onto the COVID-19 red zone. Relatives texted one another when it was time to swap shifts. They left their coats in the cars on idle in the parking lot. They ate fast food, fought and cried.

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Her daughter said the family saw basic COVID-19 safety rules broken inside the facility supposedly closed to visitors, such as failures to properly mask up. Health inspectors had documented similar problems.

Miller died on Day 4 of their vigil, while her son-in-law sat at her bedside playing her favorite Bee Gees songs. Her breathing became shallow, each breath further apart. She died on a Monday, four days before Christmas.

– Letitia Stein, USA TODAY

Phyllis Thompson

Louisville, Kentucky

Phyllis Thompson
Courtesy Ann Bellucci

Upbeat and pragmatic, Phyllis Valleau Thompson, 94, dismissed the worries of her four adult children after the COVID-19 pandemic ended visits at Westport Place Health Center, a senior residence in Louisville. 

“I’m fine,” was her stock reply, recalls her daughter, Ann Bellucci. “We always joked that she wouldn’t call if her hair was on fire.”

But COVID-19 caught up with Thompson in early December 2020. She died on Dec. 11.

Before contracting the virus, Thompson had a comfortable life at Westport Place, Bellucci said, reading and working her beloved 1,000-piece jigsaw puzzles. She read the newspaper daily but, was not a fan of former President Donald Trump, and never watched television.

Thompson moved to Westport Place in August 2016 after the death of her husband of 70 years, the Rev. Ken D. Thompson, a retired Episcopal priest.

Although it meant leaving their farm outside Louisville, Thompson adjusted well to life at Westport Place. Bellucci said she and the family were pleased with the facility operated by Trilogy Health Services.

With the onset of COVID-19, the facility began regular testing, and in early December, Bellucci got a call from her mother.

“Well, guess what?” Bellucci says her mother asked. “I tested positive.” But, Thompson added, “I feel fine.”

Thompson was moved to an isolation wing where she told her daughter she would stay for four days. Bellucci was surprised, because staff at Westport Place had told her Thompson would be isolated 14 days.

Thinking her mother misunderstood, Bellucci didn’t argue. Her mother continued to do well with few symptoms other than a cough.

But on the evening of the fourth day, a nurse practitioner reported to Bellucci that her mother’s cough had worsened and her oxygen levels had dropped. Later that evening, she improved and told her daughter by telephone that she wanted to be left alone to sleep.

“I said, ‘I love you Mom,’” Bellucci says. “She said, ‘I love you too, sweetie.’”

That would be their last conversation.

Just after 11 p.m., Bellucci’s phone rang. It was the nurse, in tears, reporting her mother had died. Four days after moving to isolation, she was gone.

Bellucci loved her mother and misses her. She’s sad that it was COVID-19 that caused Thompson’s death after her mother survived bouts with cancer and lived with heart disease and high blood pressure.

But she said she has no regrets.

“This was Mom’s way of going out,” Bellucci said. “She died very peacefully. I just felt like there was nothing I would have changed.”

– Deborah Yetter, Louisville Courier-Journal

Ed Windholtz

Batesville, Indiana

Edward Windholtz
Liz Dufour/The Enquirer

Lifelong bachelor Ed Windholtz died a few days after being diagnosed with COVID-19 a week before Christmas 2020. Windholtz didn’t get the sendoff he deserved, his sisters say, because the pandemic stopped his friends from attending his funeral.

Windholtz, 83, had been a farmer, like his father – the only boy in a family with eight sisters.

“He was spoiled,” his sister Barbara Windholtz said. “Because he was the only boy, he was always thought of.” 

Ed Windholtz worked his farm until his mid-70s. He grew vegetables and sold his produce at local farmers markets. He liked to laugh, tell dirty jokes and watch sports. And he loved his farm. 

Ed was close to his sisters Barbara and Audrey, who with sister Joyce were the only ones still living. Barbara, Ed and Audrey never married.

In 2017, Ed fell in the bathtub and hit his head. He was never the same and decided to live in a nursing home rather than be a burden to his sisters. He chose St. Andrew’s Health Campus in Batesville because it had a Catholic name – his faith was important to him – even though the nursing home was not Catholic.

“His body was failing him – that was the problem,” Barbara said. “His mind was always real sharp.”

Barb and Audrey visited him three to six times a week. When the pandemic hit, they had to cut back to weekly visits from outside the window of his first-floor room in the nursing home.

They hollered through the window, made posters with messages for him. Sometimes, aides would open the window a crack if they all were masked. 

It was going to be cold on Christmas Day 2020, so Audrey and Barbara visited Ed the Saturday before to bring his presents. He had just been diagnosed with COVID-19, but he didn’t have any symptoms and didn’t really believe he had the virus.

It was a happy conversation. It wasn’t too cold, and the sisters were glad to have a chance to see him before Christmas.

That night he went into cardiac arrest and died.

“We were totally shocked when they called and said that he passed away. We had been there five hours before,” Audrey said. “We know he had (COVID), but we don’t know if that’s what he died from.”

– Briana Rice, Cincinnati Enquirer

Bob Wray

Terre Haute, Indiana

Robert Wray
Courtesy John Wray

During the pandemic, Bob Wray was visited outdoors at Cobblestone Crossings in Terre Haute by his son, John, about once a week. 

He had been a resident there since 2018 after his health began to fail at age 95. Bob had Type 2 diabetes and hypertension but no other major health concerns until he caught COVID-19 in December 2020 at the facility. 

“They took good care of him there; it was unfortunate he contracted it,” the son said. “I guess they did testing at certain intervals, he came up positive with two other residents, and they were moved to the COVID wing.” 

Bob Wray died on Jan. 6 at 97.

Bob was a World War II veteran, having served in the Army in the South Pacific before returning to the U.S. and attending Indiana University on the GI Bill. He worked 22 years in the tire sales business for Goodyear in Michigan and owned a business supply chain with branches in Cincinnati and Louisville. He was married to Mary Ellen for 52 years before she died in 2004. 

John says he and his family always knew it was a possibility that COVID-19 would makes its way into the facility. 

Bob knew about the pandemic and could tell it was affecting everyone – especially at the home where the facility would lock down during an outbreak, his son said. He couldn’t leave his room in those days. 

“It really put the kibosh on that for most of the year. Not being able to be social was tough. … He bore it really well, though.”

Bob had been a longtime member of the World Gospel Church and Gideon’s International, supporting missions and work of the Gideons distributing Scripture to hospitals, hotels, motels, fairs and festivals. 

“He had a strong faith, a strong Christian faith, and his beliefs were that these times were coming,” John Wray said. “The prophecies predicted these times were coming, and they are here.”

– Nick Penzenstadler, USA TODAY


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