Jan and Flora Hartog

Celebrating Together
photo courtesy M. Visher

Our congregation was sad to learn of Flora's death last week (September 11th). Jan had died back in March and we've all been grieving that loss. Now, Flora has joined her wonderful husband and both will be sorely missed.

Below are messages shared after Jan's passing. We invite you to send messages to be added to this page for Flora and Jan, which we will post here. Email craig@wkmn.com if you'd like to add your thoughts, stories, or prayers.

Remembering Jan

I knew Jan and Flora long before First Pres people did, I suspect. Jan, Flora and I were members (attenders) at First Congregational Palo Alto in the 1960s, 1970s. I knew their children. I have always valued them. They were/are caring people, free thinkers. I loved hearing about their life in Holland during World War II and their perspectives on current happenings.

I loved for many years sitting in the first 3 or 4 rows on the right side (looking at the pulpit), most often Jan and Flora were in the row directly behind me (aren't we creatures of habit!). I would get to hug and greet them each Sunday.
Jan, I will miss you! You were special in my life.

Norma Grench

From Annette Hartog (Mijdrecht, 27 maart 2007)

Dear Dad

Now that it's over and you are gone
And I wasn't with you when it was done
I cannot imagine that you are dead
But I think about your life instead

So much of it I'll never know
All of that unspoken sorrow
Words you didn't want to say
Hoping pain would go away

I think about your father too
And the loss that burdened you
Silent grief and maybe guilt
The basement of the life you built

The years you worked to make a living
Providing for us, always giving
Ever trying to create a way
To find the joy in each new day

And Dad, guess what, you have succeeded
I think you did just what you needed
Oh, I knew you weren't always "fine"
Although you said it all the time

I also knew that you believed
In the good your life received
And that deep within your heart
You were ready to depart

I imagine you in outer space
Or some happy spirit place
And there is where you finally can
Speak to your father once again

"Son" he says in Dutch of course
"There is no need for such remorse,
What happened in that terrible way
Was war in which you had no say"

Your father leads you to the light
And together you take flight
To whatever happens next
Be it heaven or a new life's quest

But Dad I sure do miss you saying
"Aba aba aba" or hot-sickie-daying
That on most days I heard you call
"Hiep hiep hurrah daar ben ik Ma"

As I think about your life today
Now that you're gone in a physical way
I feel you closer and I hear
"Bye Annette, I love you dear"

Love you too Dad, bye

Annette Hartog

Many people may not know that Jan was an accomplished artist. I was impressed when I visited his home one night that he had his watercolors framed in his house. Being the humble soul he was, he did not claim much of a talent but it was obvious he was quite accomplished. I will miss a friend and a fellow artist.

Bob Topor

I wanted to share that I visited Jan and Flora with Grace Gibson maybe
a month ago and sat with Jan who shared a little about himself. I
felt he was ready to pass on. He was a wonderful and dear man with
much love and caring for others. Now Flora has more living to do and
hopefully will find way to meet her days with less stress. My prayers
are for her and family. Wish I could be there for the memorial.

Jean Barker

Jan and Flora Hartog came to the U.S. after surviving the German occupation of their homeland, the Netherlands.

I met them, in Palo Alto, in 1971. When Jan learned I was an artist, he expressed an interest in learning to draw and paint. It turned out that he was very talented. He and Flora joined my art groups, both in town and those in Arizona, California, and Canada.

There came a time when Jan told me he liked to do wood work, and offered to frame my oil paintings. That he did for the next 22 years, from small sizes to five foot works. He also build a large, unique easel for me; a design which showcased his clever engineering talents.

Both Jan and Flora have continuously been a blessing to me and my children over the years.

Grace Gibson

I have many memories of dear Jan that cover a span of 36 years. Most of the ways in which he touched my heart through his thoughtfulness, generosity, and steadfast support are familial in feeling and action; thereby deeply personal.

Recollections for public consumption, however, consist of many times I benefited from his handy-man talents. There was the over-sized scratching post he built for my over-sized cat. The reconstructed closet rod he designed to support the weight of too many shopping trips. The cheap clock I'd won selling Tupperware, that didn't last long. In Jan's eyes, throwing it out wasn't an option so I was beseeched to let him fix it.

Yes, I have this sweet image of Flora sending Jan off to single women's homes all over town on Saturday fix-it-man trips, calling to tell them he was on his way. Flora was as generous with her husband's "free" time and he was, when it came to helping friends in need. Flora and Jan made an impressive team who continuously gave, gave, gave acts of unconditional love. Flora often bore the casserole while Jan had his tool box in tow.

It was far more than their time and talent, however, which this team shared with others. They opened their home and their lives for friends to join in on. Imagine, for example, a couple looking forward to an extended vacation by themselves, a chance to try out their new camper and relax in the mountains or by the sea, a real open road adventure. Then picture that same couple deciding to invite two friends to join them on this trip, from Yosemite to Big Sur, just because those friends could really use it. Not only was that generous on so many levels, but it forever bound my mother and me to Jan and Flora through memories of hikes and bears, tents and pit toilets, Jan reading books by the river, and two dear souls who readily shared the alpenglow in their lives.

I treasure the part of Jan's heart that he gave to me. I will be missing you, dear Jan.

Deborah Johnson