Hurchison - James Arnett
JAMES ARNETT HUTCHISON
Source: obituary in a scrapbook from a collection of Fauniel Hershberger's typed by Walt W
James Arnett Hutchison, son of Walter and Millie Whitaker Hutchison, was born on a farm near Elmdale, Montgomery county, Ind., Aug. 18, 1929. When two years of age he fell out the window in Kansas, at his aunt's Nettie Murray, and dislocated his back, but during all that time he had every attention that his loving mother and father, brothers and sisters could bestow upon him. In addition he had the care of Riley hospital from March 30, 1931, until his death. On July 11, 1935, he was operated on. And all that time poor little James Arnett had laid on a frame until his death. Sept. 30, 1936, was the date for little James and his mother to return to the hospital in great hopes that James Arnett could get off the frame and walk and enjoy life as other children. James Arnett had been ill for six weeks. The last few days he took with pneumonia. They were advised by the family physician to remove James Arnett to Culver hospital. This was hastily arranged for and while on the road to the hospital, at near 11:15 o'clock Monday, Sept. 21, he passed away in the arms of his dear mother, at the age of seven years, one month and three days. He leaves to mourn, his devoted mother and father, four brothers, Bennie, of Waynetown; Chester, of Crawfordsville; Amos Olin and Telbert, at home; two sisters, Mrs. Esther Maxwell and Mary Hutchison, both of Crawfordsville; and many other relatives. A brother, Robert Olin, preceded him in death Aug. 5, 1920. He was mentally very brilliant and was a patient sufferer, all of which won the admiration of all who knew him. He loved us and we loved him so, Our little boy, And standing by his little grave, God gave us strength and made us brave To face the world. The parting here is full of pain, But we shall never part again, When we go home. Although it is so hard to part, Help us to say with all our heart, Thy will be done. Those hands that we have fondly pressed, That lovely hair so oft caressed, Lies 'neath the sod. That little soul now gone away, Which made us so short a stay, Belonged to God.