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Larry George Allen was born on July 14,
52, the son of Harold Allen Jr {AKA
Junior} and Jane Hart Allen. He would
lose his father to suicide at a very
young age {both Larry and Junior]. While
he seemed to mature without adverse
affects from the trauma of loosing a
parent, especially in such a tragic
manner, I can offer a bit of testimony
that may offer a slightly different
prospective on the affects of a suicide
on a child.
Larry and I grew close over the years,
but I believe it was due to one instant
directly associated with the death of
his father that not only formed a unique
bond between us, it also turned Larry
into my protector. Once the arrangements
had been made and the funeral finally
over, Aunt Jane needed to clean the
house out of Junior's memory. I probably
would not have recalled this time so
strongly if it were not for what
happened.
Before the reader moves on, I want to
explain why I believe what happened, was
allowed to happen. I believe that
children were seen, in those days, as
less likely to be affected by adverse
situations. Therefore, when a task
needed to be accomplished, and all
adults knew that the task would affect
in an adverse manner, the normal thing
to do would be to hand the task to the
children.
Larry and I were the youngest at that
point in time. The one place that needed
to be cleaned out was the basement,
where Junior had been found hanging. It
is now, and has always been my belief
that Junior never meant to commit
suicide, what he meant to do was scare
Aunt Jane so that she would come back
home to him. [Aunt Jane had moved out of
their home at that time.] In the
basement, there had been two nooses, the
one from which Junior had met his demise
and a second one. The second one
remained in the basement on the day
Larry and I were sent their to clean out
the basement.
I can still remember their house on
Allen Street in Gowanda. You entered
into the kitchen from the garage. Two
steps led to the kitchen doorway,
the doorway to the basement was a few
steps beyond. When you opened the door
to the basement, you stepped onto what I
always considered a platform, before you
went down the steps into the basement.
We were basically eyelevel with the
remaining noose, and a small part of the
rope that had supported Junior still
remained tied to the rafter. As soon as
I saw the rope, I remember stopping, I
really didn't want to go any further, I
don't believe Larry wanted to go any
further either. Everyone was telling him
he would have to be the man in the
family now, and I suppose that he was
doing just that when he took my hand and
led me down the stairs, whispering
don't be afraid.
He took me to the work bench
where our backs would be too the ropes
and kept me occupied so that I wouldn't
look. From that day on, Larry would be
my protector, I believe that he remained
my protector even after his own death.
Larry loved music. There is no doubt
that he inherited his musical ingenuity
from his father. He was part of a local
band. While I am not positive, I
believe he obtained his nickname,
Seadog, during his band days. He was
also very community oriented, involved
in all manner of community activities,
especially the Collins Volunteer Fire
Department. It would be his buddies at
the fire department that would respond
and attempt to revive him at his Collins
home in 1979.
Larry was playing his electric guitar
for his children, something that he
often did, when, according to
investigators, the guitar shorted out
and Larry was electrocuted as his young
children watched. I suppose that the
prior sentence explains to many that I
never believed that is what happened,
but there has never been a way for me to
prove differently.
Larry was buried at the Friend Cemetery,
Pine Grove, Gowanda, Town of Collins,
Gowanda, NY. Although I was at the
funeral, it would not be until four
years ago that I would visit the
cemetery while working on the Genealogy
of the Town of Collins. The first thing
I did upon arriving at the cemetery was
go to visit Larry's grave. When I did, I
was quite shocked. My husband, who has
been a true asset in my research could
not figure out what had upset me so,
after all, I had merely stopped in front
of another gravestone.
I explained to him that first, it was
not just another gravestone and second
that the date had to be incorrect. You
see, my house was hit by a van in 1979,
approximately four months after Larry had
been killed. The one thing I remember
clearest about that night was having
Larry rush in, grab me, hug me, push me
away, look at me, then grab me and hug
me again. He kept telling me over and
over that he was so worried because no
one knew where I was and no one knew if
I was alright. There is something else I
remember about that night, it was the
first and only time I could ever
remember being afraid of Larry; and I
could not understand the feeling.
When I returned home, I pulled out my
years of important papers, digging until
I located the information on my house
the night it was hit. It was one year
after Larry had died, yet he was here, I
swear, to make sure that I was fine.
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