Adrian man, caretaker, find something to be thankful for on his 101st birthday

ADRIAN — Howard Fenner woke up last Friday morning and laid out his best suit. After all, it's not every day the local newspaper wants to interview you.

"I got all shaved up this morning," he would later say.

It was a special occasion. Fenner was to be the subject of a human interest story. A man with a birthday on Thanksgiving.

It's not a particularly rare occurrence, though. Fenner's birthday falls on the holiday every five or six years.

But turning 101 on Thanksgiving is a rare occurrence.

Fenner shrugs it off. After so many birthdays, one assumes they lose a little bit of their meaning.

A sit-down conversation at his Sterling Estates home begins with the typical questions: where are you from, what did you do for a living. Have to ask about World War II, as well.

Fenner sits in a recliner clad in his suit. It's a little big on him, the result of weight loss in his older years. It's not hard to tell that Fenner was once a strong man, about 200 pounds, a body made strong from the military, farming and factory work.

Fenner has stories, lots of them. The war, working 12-and 15-hour days, his wife, Elizabeth, their travels in retirement. Stay long enough and you'll hear plenty of them.

Dottie Sizemore-Ahern has heard them all. Multiple times. Sometimes Fenner's caretaker tunes them out or just nods along.

Stories of life

Fenner was born on Nov. 26, 1919, in Lyons, Ohio. His mother looked after their farm following the death of his father when Fenner was only 9.

Adrian was the big city back in the day since "Wauseon wasn't much of a town in the ’30s," Fenner recalls. He met his wife up in these parts, a woman from Tecumseh named Elizabeth.

They dated for a year and half before marrying, often times only seeing each other once a week. They would have five children together.

Fenner was drafted into the war and served in the Navy from 1943 to 1945 spending time in Japan as well as Guam after the war was over.

He laughs about being drafted and said he enjoyed his time. Like so many veterans from the era, Fenner said "It was a job we had to do."

Fenner entered the war at 24 and was one of the older sailors who worked on his barge that took cargo from ships to troops on shore.

"You do a little bit of everything when you have a bunch of kids running around," he said.

He didn't see much action, though. And Fenner will tell you that.

"You were on the goddamn little barge; there wasn't nothing," he said.

Fenner's colorful language is one thing Sizemore-Ahern gets on him about.

"(I tell him) if he doesn't stop his cussing God's going to get him," she said. "He cusses like a sailor."

The years following the war were spent working — a lot.

Fenner worked upwards 15 hours a day between two and three jobs before hiring on at the Ford Motor Co. Then he worked 12 hours a day, seven days a week for 20 years.

Elizabeth raised the kids. Fenner admits he missed them growing up.

Fenner made up for lost time with his wife in retirement. The two got a camper and joined a camping club, traveling all across the state, to the south and out west.

"We had a good life," Fenner said.

Elizabeth died in 2006. They were married 62 years.

These are the stories Fenner tells during the interview, however, there's one story that continues to unfold.

The story of Fenner and his caretaker.

Something like family

To say Fenner barged into Sizemore-Ahern's life isn't an exaggeration.

Sizemore-Ahern had moved into the trailer park and her daughter was on her to meet the "nice little old man" next door. She wasn't interested, though.

Sizemore-Ahern was grieving the loss of her son, who she had cared for after he suffered a head injury. Jimmy had a piece of his brain removed and required constant care.

"I put my life on hold for my son," she said.

Fenner needed someone, though. A strained relationship with his children, Fenner needed someone he could trust. So he paid her a visit one day.

"You might not want to talk to me, but I'd like to talk to you," Sizemore-Ahern remembers him saying.

Soon after Fenner's abrupt visit, Sizemore-Ahern found herself paying his bills and scheduling doctor's appointments.

"He conned me into it," she joked.

It was just a job for Sizemore-Ahern, at least at first. Soon their relationship grew into something stronger, something that felt like family.

"I became his family," Sizemore-Ahern said.

Fenner had what he lacked — a trusted person he could rely on. Sizemore-Ahern became his power of attorney.

"I'm your little angel, ain't I honey?" Sizemore-Ahern says turning to Fenner.

"Yessir," he replies back.

Sizemore-Ahern was born in Tennessee, her southern accent still detectable in certain syllables. Her father wasn't around much and when he was, he was abusive. In Fenner, Sizemore-Ahern found a father figure.

"It seems like I've known him all my life," she said. "He (God) gave me the father I never had."

Sizemore-Ahern watches over Fenner like a baby, almost in hovering fashion.

"And you like it too," she said, looking at Fenner.

"Yeah," he chuckles.

Fenner's more independent when under the supervision of her daughter, Judy Holmes. Holmes lives with Fenner. Sizemore-Ahern lives in Onsted and visits about every other day and on weekends when Holmes needs some time away.

"I really couldn't do it if my husband wasn't behind me 100%," she said.

Comfortable with time

It'll be four years in April since Sizemore-Ahern started caring for Fenner. Their bond has only grown since the day he walked into her life.

Long before the pandemic altered daily life, Fenner enjoyed a good drive and a bite to eat in town with Sizemore-Ahern. The two still get out from time to time, but she's protective of the man she now calls family.

When his children wanted to take Fenner out to eat a couple of months ago with dozens of other people, Sizemore-Ahern put a halt to it immediately. It's not worth the risk, she said.

The two still get out from time to time for a drive and will make their way to Ridgeway Cemetery to visit Elizabeth.

Fenner and Sizemore-Ahern share the feature of not showing their age.

Sizemore-Ahern, 73 herself, attributes it to never drinking or smoking.

"I've done all that!" Fenner interjects. "I wasn't no angel. I didn't have to."

The similarities go well past appearance. Hard work defines their lives. Fenner at Ford, Sizemore-Ahern wherever she could.

Their toiling was dedicated to providing for their families. For Fenner, it was for his wife and kids. For Sizemore-Ahern, it was for her three kids.

And both have gone above and beyond what the average person is asked to do.

Fenner did it in Japan and on each of those 12-hour days in the factory. Sizemore-Ahern embodies the true meaning of caretaker. First with her son, Jimmy, now with Fenner.

They also understand mortality. Sizemore-Ahern knows this might be the last Thanksgiving for Fenner. He does too.

"I don't worry about that stuff," Fenner said. "It's natural."

Sizemore-Ahern is grateful for the day he introduced himself.

"I had to think of someone else other than myself," she said. "He actually saved me."

The appreciation runs deep for Fenner, too. Mid-sentence, he chokes up and a tear runs down his face.

"What are you crying for?" Sizemore-Ahern asks.

"For all you do for me," Fenner replies.

Sizemore-Ahern rises from her fold-up chair and walks over to him, taking his hand.

"I do it because I love you," she says. "Plus, one day I'm going to send you a big bill. You can't afford me."

They both smile.