Tell me a cool / interesting story / anecdote which has been passed on to you through your family

In My Humble Opinion
1

Everybody has one right? Tell me the most famous story that everyone in your family knows about. If not, just a particularly interesting one told by your parents or your 2nd cousin.

I posted something similar in another site and someone related their gramma’s Titanic story.

Here’s one my dad told me:

Him and his buddies were out drinking, ending up at the local watering hole. Someone they’d seen before but didn’t know well shows up and sits down. This guy, clearly very upset, orders a few shots and downs them in succession. When questioned why he was so despondent, he says his girlfriend just dumped him and he wanted to kill himself. My dad’s friend having a gun, hands it to him and says “alright you sonuvabich, let’s see if you have the guts to do it”. Without blinking the dude grabbed the gun and pulls the trigger. And again. And again. Everybody jumped back in shock as he did this, eventually realizing that the revolver was empty. Nobody saw my dad’s friend slip the bullets out. My dad knew it was loaded and didn’t know either. I think they continued drinking.

2

My maiden name is German and doesn’t have a T in it. There’s also a spelling with a T in it. That side of the family added the T in order to be distinguished from my side of the family. Why? Because my great-times-something grandad shot and killed his sister-in-law, their great-times-something grandma, over a cow. At his trial, my great-times-something grandad feigned an inability to speak English. He got off lightly.

I’m from the evil side. All who know me would be unsurprised by this.

3

My great-uncle John was one of the first doctors to live in Las Vegas when it was booming in the 1950s and '60s, and as such became the doctor to many of the stars (like Elvis – who gave him a Cadillac – and the Rat Pack) when they would be in town. Paul Anka became one of his very close friends.

The great family legend (which may be true, but…you know) is that my great-uncle was visiting Paul Anka at Paul’s house one day and saw some sheet music on the piano. My uncle looked it over and suggested to Paul that he send it to Frank Sinatra to perform, and Paul agreed. That song was “My Way.”

4

On September 6, 1901, my Great-Grandfather “Sternvogel” was in Buffalo, playing in the band at the Pan-American Exposition’s Temple of Music as President McKinley stood in a receiving line and shook hands with the public. When an anarchist named Leon Czolgosz made it to the head of the line, he shot the president, thus making Great-Grandpa a witness to an assassination.

5

Not an awesome story like being there for McKinley’s assassination, but an argument for beer, glorious beer - my mother’s grandfather had a stroke, after which he couldn’t eat much and was despondent. His doctor told him that if he could drink a bottle of beer a day that would be fine, even if he couldn’t eat - he lived another 40 years. Yay, beer!

6

My family has crappy stories.

Apparently, we were traveling on a ferry near Rehobeth, and I was a baby, and I was crapped on by a gull. :frowning:

Sure, they might be making it up, but why?

7

This story comes from my mom. She was ten at the time, so it happened in 1955.

My grandparents were a lot more enlightened/progressive than most white people of their day, i.e. they weren’t at all racist. My godmother is a black woman who was born in Watts and grew up there in the '30s; when she was three she watched her father beat her mother to death. She didn’t have a real happy childhood. When she was fifteen, she met my grandparents, who took her in; a couple of years later, my mom was born, and my godmother took part in raising her. Hence, we have always considered my godmother, her children, grandchildren, etc. as part of the family.

So anyway, Christmas Eve, 1955. My godmother no longer lived at the house by then, and had young kids of her own. They were all over at the house that night for Christmas Dinner, along with other extended family. Apparently, my great aunt K - this would be my grandfather’s brother’s wife - was, shall we say, not so enlightened as my grandparents.

Just before dinner, my godmother and her kids were in the den, sitting around the tree. K walked by and saw this, then went into the dining room at sat down at the table, where much of the family was already seated. K then says, “Al [my grandfather], why do you let these little picaninnies in your house, and let them sit around your tree? I mean, really.”

Absolute silence around the table. Without saying a word, my grandfather (who was all of 5’5") stood up, calmly walked over to K, grabbed her by the back of her collar, hauled her up out of her chair, and with one hand on her collar and the other on her waist, marched her to the front door. He opened the door, planted his foot on her ass, gave a good shove, and watched in satisfaction as she flew across the porch and sprawled into the bushes. He then slammed the door, walked back to the table, sat down, and said “let’s eat!”

8

My dad is younger than his siblings by about 20 years, and heard this story from his dad… but my grandparents, aunts, and all but one uncle on that side are dead, so I’m not sure how accurate it is.

We’re descended from George Stoneman, who was a Union cavalry general in the Civil War, then moved out to California and became governor. Although he apparently died nigh-destitute, he left descendants in California that were quite well-off (something about donating land to found a UC campus, or something).

Anyway, at some point the descendants basically divided into the “rich Stonemans” and the “other Stonemans”. My grandfather was not rich. However, he did meet the rich relations at some point in time and stayed with them for a bit. And they snubbed him because of family events that apparently occurred around the turn of the century. So, not too far from my grandfather’s generation, but damn.

Anyway, my grandfather was so ticked off by the entire thing that he wouldn’t tell his daughters any details when they were doing geneology stuff… so whatever family tiff that split the families has now lasted over a century. Sheesh.

edit: huh. wiki article on George.

9

My grandparents passed down some stories about their ancestors who were in the Civil that turned out not to be entirely correct.

My grandmother told us that her grandfather, born in Ireland, was captured at the Battle of Antietam and sent to Andersonville Prison Camp, where he eventually died of scurvy. But she said that one Christmas while he was a POW his wife managed to send him a turkey with a bottle of whiskey hidden inside it.

My grandfather’s great-grandfather and grandfather also fought in the Civil War. To tease my grandmother he would claim that her grandfather had been running away when he was captured.

Doing genealogical research long after they had both passed away, I found out that my grandmother’s grandfather had actually been posted at a fort near Washington at the time of the battle of Antietam, and had never been near the place. He was actually captured after being sent to the front about two years later, at the Battle of Petersburg. And it was during a rout of the Union troops by the Confederates, so he probably actually was running away along with everyone else.

He did end up dying in Andersonville, but of course there was no way his wife could have sent him a turkey (and have it arrive, anyway), and he died long before Christmas. So if the anecdote happened at all, it must have been while he was stationed in Washington.

I also found out my grandfather’s great-grandfather had also been a prisoner of war. A German immigrant, he was captured in his regiment’s very first engagement with the enemy while they were on picket duty just south of Washington. He was freed in a prisoner exchange about six months later, but had gotten tuberculosis while a prisoner and was sent home.

I also came across a letter from an officer in the regiment stationed next to my great-great-great-grandfather’s unit, complaining that the Confederates had galloped straight through their lines, and then galloped back out again, without them firing a shot. He said that it appeared that the Germans had been making a bit too free with the bottle. So it looks like my ancestor was captured because he was too drunk to run away. Quite a glorious record.

10

My father’s maternal grandmother married against her parents’ wishes; they disowned her, in one of those XIX stories that you think happen only in novels until you hear it in your family. Her husband died a few years later, leaving her destitute, with a toddler and a newborn. Being “a woman of good breeding,” if she’d been childless she could have found a job as a tutor or governess, but not with two kids.

Some distant relatives (whose name is revered in my family) took her in. It was a very large family: grandfather, the other side’s grandmother, the parents, a handful of children, plus my great-grandmother and her two children, plus Leonor the cook.

The serving order at the table went in such a way that my grandmother, being the youngest, got served last. Leonor ate later, in the kitchen.

One day the entree was something grandma liked very much. Problem is, so did everybody else. Seeing the plates being piled up, she exclaimed “remember Leonor!”

“Leonor, uh?”

puppy eyes

11

I have three: one short, two long. I can’t decide, so take your pick.

My uncle Orville got married in secret when he was pretty young. He was living at home at the time, so he was probably the youngest age that you could be while being legally married at the time (1930’s). I am not sure whether he and his new bride consummated their new marriage immediately, but I imagine they did within a short time. I know what I’d do if I were a teenager with legal reproductive rights. I am not willing to think Orville a saint, I have heard too many other stories about him. Either way, they went back to their own parent’s house each night, never intending to break the news to anyone, it seems.

His secret was let out when the marriage license arrived at the mailing address he had put down, my grandparent’s home. I suppose he’d never heard of a post office box. My Baptist grandfather and grandmother were not happy for some reason.

He was not a saint, but he did have a selfless streak to him. The same uncle shielded his co-workers at an aircraft factory from a radiation event with his body. You could pick him up with a geiger counter afterward.

His brother-in law, my uncle Joe was a bombardier on a B-17 in WWII. During the Battle of the Bulge, his plane was shot down. He did parachute out, but landed behind enemy lines. He also landed wrong, breaking both legs.

He laid in the snow for three days before he was found by the Germans. His legs weren’t great thee days before, when he was found they had developed a bad case of gangrene. The Germans saved his life by amputating them.

When I talked to him about his plastic legs when i was a kid, he told me the preceding story of how he got them. I can’t even begin to imagine how I’d feel if the people I was trying to kill ended up saving my life by amputating my legs. He did not seem to bear any ill will for his captors when telling the story. He died in the late 1980s while flying an ultralight aircraft.

And I know I said three, but this one’s short, too:

I was dropped on my head when I was less than a day old. My mom was given painkillers after the birth, and I was left on her stomach. The chemicals took their course. Mom took a nap. I took a dive head first onto a tile floor. I don’t think I was seriously harmed, but no one seems to be surprised by this story. :confused:

(what? no. really, I’m fine)

12

My father was out carousing with his friends, all pretty new drivers, in Washington DC where they lived. They almost creamed FDR whose motorcade was driving through a red light.

13

My dad was a naval bomb disposal officer in WWII. A few days after the D-Day invasion, he was sent ashore on a landing craft. His job was to follow behind the advancing troops and clear out the booby-traps that the retreating Germans were leaving behind.

Being an officer, he got to ride up with the pilot of the landing craft instead of down in the belly with the rest of the reinforcements. He apparently cut a jaunty figure, puffing away on his pipe as he surveyed the massive landing operation that was still going on.

His landing craft stopped close to the beach. Another stopped further back, so a line of troops was wading between my father’s landing craft and another one a few feet away.

Suddenly a freak wave washed ashore. The two boats rose up, and then smashed together violently. Half a dozen soldiers were crushed to death right in front of my father. He was so shocked he opened his mouth and dropped his pipe in the surf. That was his introduction to what war was really like.

Later he found someone who knew a little French and they taught him enough to buy a new pipe. That was the only French he ever learned.

14

My paternal grandfather flew reconassaince planes for the Army Air Corp in the Pacific Theater in WWII. Now some details of the following story I’m hazy on because it’s been so long since I heard it, so you gotta bear with me here:

My grandfather had gotten assigned to transport a Marine captain from one base to another before returning to his own. I don’t know where(I think it was in China but it could have been over an island as well) but his plane was shot down. They crash landed in the open but there were no enemy soldiers waiting for them giving him time to call his superiors on the radio. He was given instructions to walk east and find a dry riverbed and then walk north along that riverbed to a pre-determined location where he would be picked up by friendlies. It was going to be a long walk, over a week if I remember correctly.

The Marine captain said the plan was stupid because the map clearly showed a shortcut through the jungle. “Two days max and we’re clear” or something akin to that. My grandfather disagrees and says he will stick to the plan which earns him being berated by the Marine captain over how soft and scared the Army is before the Marine walked away cutting through the jungle.

My grandfather walks north along the riverbed for a week and some change, all along the way finding the food and water that was being airdropped by American pilots. Each package had enough food and water for two men, so he was doing quite well. Finally after walking the entire route as given by his superiors he’s picked up and after a couple days recuperation he’s back out flying missions again.

About 3 months later the native resistance fighters bring to the American camp a raving lunatic American they had found wondering lost in the jungle eating tree leaves and insects. Curious, like the rest of the camp was, my grandfather wondered over to where they were holding the American getting checked out by doctors and immediately recognized the hardcore Marine captain who had taken his “two days max” shortcut.

15

Two:

My grandfather’s friendship with Albert Einstein

My father was Benjamin Britten’s unrequited love

16

My Grandfathers uncle.Interesting guy.

17

Charles McNary was my roommates grandfather.

18

My adoptive mother is 97, so this story goes back a ways. Her grandmother was known to be a soft touch to any passing hobo or peddler, so she was approached by this young gentleman selling odds and ends of jewelry after the Civil War. She didn’t really want to buy anything, but he persuaded her to buy a ring with a red stone. I think it’s a garnet, nothing terribly valuable. He was Frank James, Jesse James’ brother. My cousin still has the ring.

19

My family opened a hardware store in the early 1950’s. They wanted a big grand-opening so they called the Louisiana Hayride, a then popular regional launching ground for lots of talent, to get someone to sing and entertain that day. The person they sent did a great job and was very popular. He called himself Elvis Presley.

20

My grandmother’s mother divorced her husband pretty soon after she had the baby. He must have been pretty rotten; we don’t know since she would never talk about him. We didn’t even know his name until right before she died, apparently. Anyway, so then she was a single mom with a baby in 1918, and couldn’t earn enough to support a child. She placed her daughter with some cousiny sorts and went off to work. A while later, she remarried, became able to support her daughter and came back for her. The family had adopted my grandmother and wouldn’t give her up. So, my great-grandmother kidnapped her daughter and headed for California. Woo! Some of the time, they worked in one of those orange-shaped OJ stands you used to see by the side of country roads, but I haven’t seen one for a long time.

Incidentally, the new husband’s cousin was Nan Aspinall, the Lariat Girl, who worked in Wild West shows and was the first woman to travel horseback, alone, across the US in 1910-11. That’s as close as we get to fame (unless you count my dad fixing the Beach Boys’ sound equipment back when they were young and poor).