Family stories often unfold in the quiet details—births, marriages, losses, and the small moments that tie one generation to the next. The following narrative draws together those pieces from the life of Pauline Edith Mentzer Briles, focusing on a brief but deeply meaningful chapter in her early adulthood. Using records, newspaper clippings, and family memories, this “time in her life” story offers a glimpse into Pauline’s joys, heartbreak, and the strength she carried forward.
A Time in the Life of Pauline Edith Mentzer Briles
ca. 1915–1922
I was born on March 28, 1896, in Woodson County, Kansas, to Charles Oliver Mentzer and Nettie Adell Wells. Growing up in rural Kansas shaped everything about me—my sense of family, of community, and of responsibility. Those early years taught me to work hard and stay close to those I loved.
By the fall of 1915, my life took a hopeful new turn when I married Edward Osmond Briles in Yates Center. Like many young couples of our time, we began our marriage with optimism, ready to build a home and a future together. That hope deepened when our first son, Kenneth Eugene, was born on September 26, 1918, in the little community of Vernon in Woodson County. Holding him, I felt the pure joy of motherhood and imagined watching him grow into the world around us.
But our joy was short-lived. In June of 1919, when Kenneth was only eight months old, he became gravely ill. We took him to Kansas City hoping doctors there could help him recover. Instead, on June 10, 1919, our sweet baby slipped away. His passing left an ache beyond words—a hollow place that no parent expects to carry. Friends and family gathered with us two days later at Crandall for his funeral, where we laid him to rest in the quiet country cemetery. Their sympathy carried us, but nothing could ease the profound grief of losing a child.
Life, however, requires forward motion even in the midst of sorrow. By January 1920, Osmond and I were living in Iola, Allen County. The census taker recorded my name, my age—24—and my birthplace of Kansas. To the world, these were simple facts, but beneath them lived a deeper truth: we were still learning how to move through our days without Kenneth.
In the years that followed, remembrance became one of the ways I stayed connected to him. On Decoration Day in 1922, I returned to the Crandall cemetery with my mother, Nettie, my brother Paul and his wife, and my sister, Mrs. Roy Green. Together, we placed flowers on Kenneth’s grave. Standing there among family—those who had once lived in the same Vernon community where Kenneth was born—I felt the bond of shared memory. We honored not only his short life, but also the love that continues beyond loss.
Those years shaped me in ways I could not have understood at the time. They were marked by joy, heartbreak, resilience, and the steady presence of family. And even as life carried me forward, that chapter—Kenneth’s chapter—remained forever written on my heart.
Pauline’s story during these years is a reminder of how resilience is often shaped in the shadows of sorrow. Though her time as a young wife and mother brought both joy and unimaginable loss, she endured with the support of family and the grounding strength of her Kansas roots. Her willingness to remember, to return, and to honor her son’s brief life speaks to a quiet courage that deserves to be preserved and shared. In telling this part of her journey, we ensure that both her love and her grief continue to be remembered by those who follow.