Vickie Lynn Johnson Raduechel (1945-2020)

 Vickie Lynn Johnson Raduechel (1945-2020)

My name is Renee Thomas Hawkley.

Vickie and I were best friends as young children in Shelley, Idaho. We lived a few houses from each other and played together nearly every day (abt 1950-53).

Even a small child can recognize someone who is special, and I knew that Vickie was special. Her skin was flawless. Her hair had soft, natural curls, and her eyes sparkled in sunshine. 

Her mother fussed with her hair daily, creating stylish ponytails and hairdos worthy of the teenagers or even the movie stars we admired. I remember glancing at Vickie out of the corner of my eye sometimes and wondering if she could hold still long enough to “freeze” into a porcelain doll just like the ones in department stores. She was that beautiful.

I must admit, something else that drew me to Vickie was the television set at her house. My dad didn’t think our family needed one . . yet. While Vickie and I made the excuse of “tending” her brothers, Brent, and “Doug-ie,” we watched a lot of TV shows — “The Lone Ranger,” “Lucille Ball,” “Howdy Doody” . . . basically anything that was on TV — until Vickie’s mother would get wise and redirect us to “Go outside and play!”

Which brings me to the story that actually matters to Vickie’s children and grandchildren (and my own) who might be reading this narrative. That is, if you believe that sometimes, children get help from angels even when they’re NOT acting so special. 

One day, Vickie and I were outside scouting for new adventures and came upon the open garage of the Christensen family who lived a couple houses from Vickie. We figured there just had to be some fascinating things in that garage, since Mr. Christensen was Shelley’s only jeweler. Who knew what kind of treasures might be discovered in the garage of a jeweler? 

Inside the garage, we discovered a treasure indeed — a couple of empty glass jewelry cases that appeared to be just the right size for “Hide and Seek” stations for later. Of course, we wanted to “test them out," so we did. Climb in. And “jimmied” the glass door shut behind us.

All scrunched up together inside the jewelry case, we started giggling, singing songs and noticing the wacky acoustics. As it started getting stuffy inside, we decided to get out.

Trouble was, we hadn’t thought about how to get the door back open, and every which way we tried didn’t work. Our giggles turned to tears, and our silly songs turned to prayers while the seams in the tempered glass held tight, even as we kicked them with all our might. 

I try in my mind to remember how the door finally gave way, but it doesn’t seem right because I don’t think the opening was a side-to-side opening but somehow an up and down opening. I just can’t remember the mechanism of the door or how it was actually fashioned. 

But this I do remember. One second, we were kicking and screaming as loudly as we could, sweating and running short of breath, and the next second the little glass door that we had so easily entered through and closed, just — opened. 

We both got out and went home. 

And ever since then, I’ve known the truth about angels.

I will always love and treasure my friendship with Vickie Lynn Johnson