Just curious due to the thread on WW1 vets which involves centenarians. I’ve always had a fascination about generational overlap and how many individuals separate us from various times in modern history.
So, how old would the oldest person you can say you knew well be? (I’ll let you define knew well, though my definition would be something like “you knew them and they knew you on sight, you talked with each other and spent a significant amount of time together, and you have clear memories of them”). Give your own age as well if you don’t mind.
I’m 41; the oldest people I knew extremely well were my twin great aunts who were born in October 1889, which means they would be 118 if they were still alive (119 in October).* The grandparents I knew well include my mother’s father (a WW1 vet) who would be 115 and my paternal grandmother who would be 110.
I also knew the twins’ brother who was 8 years older, so he’d be 127 if he were still alive. I don’t count him though as I only met him a few times, I doubt he knew me from Adam, and while I knew who he was he was just the feeble little old man with the huge red nose who sometimes visited his sisters.
The oldest people I am positive my aunts knew well when they were young would be their grandmother, who was born in 1835, thus I’m one person removed from knowing the “adults in the Civil War” generation.
My Brother-In-Law’s God Mother lived to 102 and died in 98. So she would have been born in 1896. We used to have her over for holidays and visit her in the nursing home. She was a really nice old lady. She would be 112 today. My wife and I brought my baby daughter to visit her and it made her day. She was the queen of the dinning haul that afternoon. She retired from teaching before I was born. I always found it amazing that I knew someone that had been retired longer than I was alive.
My Great Aunt Anna was born in 1890, I barely remember her, mostly that she had a nice dog named Snoopy. So she would be going on 118.
Growing up, my “Grandma Wienke” was the oldest person I knew. I knew her very well – I lived with her for two summers in a row right my 7th and 8th grade years. The last summer I spend with her I was 13, she was 96. She lived to be 99, but if she were still alive today, she would be 129. She was a hoot, she loved listening to the Sex Pistols with me, she insisted that we have a spot of brandy each nigth before bed and had the greatest sense of humour. When she was younger, the woman was a total wild child. She’d been to “plenty of” Speak Easies. She used to wear a red petticoat, “just to drive the boys wild,” and once tried to join the KKK – back before it was considered a racist institution. She taught me how to brew a “proper” cup of English tea, and believe me, she is the biggest reason for my anal retention where the English language is concerned. She and I were like two peas in a pod seperated by far too many years – hell, I am even named after her in a weird way (her name was JoHanna – Austrian pronunciation, soft “j” – mine is Joanna – American pronunciation, hard “j”). I miss her.
I had two great-grandmothers I spent time with as a little girl. They both lived in town and we had frequent visits. I’m not sure how old M.G. was (but now I live where she lived in the 50’s and she graduated from college here at age ~70 in the late 60’s!), so I’ll have to skip her. My grandfather’s mother was 101 when she died, and I was 6 then. I remember her birthday party; I was very impressed by her age. She would be 140 now. I have a quilt she made in the hall; I can see it from here.
When I was a young girl in the 80’s there was an older man at my church whose father was a Civil War veteran; he was a young drummer boy or something, and had fathered this man in his old age.
Growing up, my “Grandma Wienke” was the oldest person I knew. I knew her very well – I lived with her for two summers in a row right my 7th and 8th grade years. The last summer I spend with her I was 13, she was 96. She lived to be 99, but if she were still alive today, she would be 129. She was a hoot, she loved listening to the Sex Pistols with me, she insisted that we have a spot of brandy each nigth before bed and had the greatest sense of humour. When she was younger, the woman was a total wild child. She’d been to “plenty of” Speak Easies. She used to wear a red petticoat, “just to drive the boys wild,” and once tried to join the KKK – back before it was considered a racist institution. She taught me how to brew a “proper” cup of English tea, and believe me, she is the biggest reason for my anal retention where the English language is concerned. She and I were like two peas in a pod seperated by far too many years – hell, I am even named after her in a weird way (her name was JoHanna – Austrian pronunciation, soft “j” – mine is Joanna – American pronunciation, hard “j”). I miss her.
My paternal Grandfather would be 107 if he were still alive. I’m 42.
My writing buddy is 93, she definitely fits the ‘knows me well’ part of the OP. She was two years old when WW1 ended and she grew up on the farm that was later subdivided into the housing estate that I grew up on. She remembers the road and houses being built where my father was to be born.
I have a living great uncle who is 90 and played soccer with my then 2 year old daughter before he moved back to Scotland. He was 83 at the time. He told me about his younger cousin who was a good cyclist, so good he went to the Olympics - in 1936.
My great-aunt and great-uncle (my grandmother’s siblings) both reached 100 when I was still a kid. That would have been nearly 50 years ago, so we’re talking pre-Civil War.
My grandfather was born in 1882 and lived to age 102. He’d be 125 now.
My great grandfather would be 123 this coming July. As a child I lived about 1/2 a mile from him and spent many days with him and his daughter (my great aunt). We were very close and I still keep a picture of him on my office desk. To this day, I always think of him when I see a Baby Ruth candy bar or Juicy Fruit chewing gum, as he always had plenty of both for his great grandchildren.
He died when I was 6 years old. I’m 43 as of last month.
As a child, I was close to my great-aunt May, my father’s mother’s sister. I was her “favourite” great-nephew. She was born in 1895. I still remember clearly the 80th birthday party we had for her in May 1975. She and all of her surviving friends (smoking like chimneys and drinking like fish) reminisced for hours about their schooldays, WWI, the Great Depression etc. It was just fascinating.
She died in 1988. If she were still alive she’d be 112.
I was 10 in 1961. The oldest person I knew then was my Great Grandmother (everyone called her Ma.) who was 92. She “had all her faculties.” I saw her every week or so until I left home at 17 and knew her as well as a child can, I suppose. She was born in 1870 (I did the math–it might have been 1869), so she’d be 138 now. This thread is making me feel historic. She used to talk to us about life before cars and before TV and growing up with no indoor plumbing or electricity and how excited they were when they got a pump in the kitchen and going to school in a one room school house and later teaching there before she got married at 19 and having ten children and two dying young. An amazing lady, really.