Tell me about your grandpa

Miscellaneous and Personal Stuff I Must Share
41

Never knew my paternal grandfather, as he died when my dad was only 7 years old. He was a Lutheran minister, about 45 when my dad was born. Dad was the youngest of six, a change of life baby I think. I’ve seen a few pictures of him, and Dad has mentioned a few memories, but that’s it.

I knew my paternal grandmother, she lived with her daughter and grand-daughter, (my aunt and cousin) In my memories she was cool and restrained, she had a hard life. She lived out of state, so I didn’t see her as often as I did the grandparents who lived in our town. She did beautiful embroidery work, and showed my how, although I never developed the talent she had. I saw pictures of her as a young woman, she was beautiful, tall and slender.

My maternal grandfather, 1900-1982. Only went to school through the eighth grade. Begged his parents to let him go to high school. They told him “You’re going to be a farmer and you don’t need any more education.” So he left home at eighteen, and went to Kansas City, to auto mechanic’s school. Never did return to farming. He may not have had a lot of schooling, but he read a lot. Could recite long stretches of Longfellow’s poem “Evangeline”. Took me and my sisters fishing. Supported a family all through the Depression, retired from Santa Fe Railroad here in Topeka. Warm, loving man, I still miss him after more than twenty years. Oh, his English was sketchy when he started school, and he told us about how two other naughty boys told him to say a certain word in front of his mother. He did, she washed out his mouth with soap, and Grandpa never told us what the word was. Taught me how to count to ten in German.

Grandpa and his brothers changed the custom, in their little German Lutheran church in McFarland, Kansas, of having the women and kids sit on one side, and the men on the other. Instead of going through the hassle of what might have been a divisive argument, the married brothers started sitting with their wives, along with Grandpa, a teenager. This may have led to me being here today, as Grandma was not churched when she started going with Grandpa, and said she wouldn’t have put up with the male/female division if it had still been like that when she started attending with him.

I loved my Grandpa dearly. He had a stroke a couple years before he died. Was fine physically, but something in his brain kept him from talking. All he could make was sounds, except for cuss words. It was like a different soul in his body, We didn’t mind the language because that wasn’t really Grandpa talking. Then he slipped and hurt his hip, and had to go to a nursing home. I think he knew what was happening, and he died less than two weeks later. I think he let himself go.
He’s still waiting for my Grandma.

I’m going to wait a do a seperate post later about my maternal grandmother. I’m currently planning her 100th birthday party cake. She’s 99 years, 7 months, and 9 days old. Suffice it to say she is, along with my parents, one of the three living people that I love the most.

42

yellowval, you can send your share of the lutefisk to me. Although I am not Norwegian, I like it.

43

The only grandfather I have ever known is my maternal grandfather. My dad’s parents were both deceased before I was born.

My grandpa was born in 1915 in Saskatchewan. He moved to the United States when he was two, so he doesn’t remember anything from that far back. He grew up during the Great Depression and he’s told me many stories about how hard times were then, how low wages were, how scarce jobs were, etc. He worked on the farm for most of his younger life. He literally married the girl next door while living there on the farm, in 1938 (my grandma is still alive at age 86, but she is in a nursing home with Alzheimer’s). Throughout his life he has worked various jobs, spending several years at a creamery doing maintenance work before retiring around 1980. He always made a modest, but comfortable living. I have many fond memories of going to various places with him. Photography has always been one of his hobbies and he has taken many pictures of the family as well as the scenic beauty around our state and the region. He’s 89 years old now and he’s still going, though he’s had to slow down. I’m confident he’ll make it to 100. His spirit and his mind are strong along with his faith in God.

44

Here are my grandparents.

I loved 'em. They were both poor kids who grew up in a Mennonite region in Saskatchewan. My grandmother was very smart, my grandpa less so. But they loved each other like crazy. He had to leave school in grade 10 to work the farm, and my grandmother managed to get her high school diploma, but there was no money to even consider the possibility of college. They married and lived a tough life raising five children in the depression. When my dad split, my grandparents took my mother and her kids back in, and my Grandfather was more like my dad than anything.

Over the years, they survived by having my grandfather take odd jobs, including being a gas station attendant when he was in his 50’s. Anything to support his family. Eventually, they inherited a tiny parcel of land across the road from Grandmother’s family farm, and they began farming in their late 50’s.

They ran the small farm for about twenty years, with my grandfather making ends meet by taking part-time jobs and working as a hail adjuster for an insurance company. But man, they loved that farm. They put their hearts into it, and turned it into a success which they eventually sold to give them a nice retirement nest-egg. They retired to a small town, expecting fifteen or twenty years of relaxation for all their hard work. But a year or two into their retirement, my grandmother had a stroke and died. Grandpa had been diagnosed with early stage Alzheimers. He came back to live with my mother until he was too sick to be cared for, then he went to a palliative care hospital and eventually died.

My extended family fought over their money like vultures, and it destroyed the entire family. While he was still lucid, I told my grandfather that he should will their money to a foundation to establish a bible scholarship in his wife’s name. I’m not religious, but they were both very devout people.

They don’t come any finer than my grandparents.

45

Maternal grandpa - died when my mother was 12.

Paternal grandpa - Pretty quiet but was amazing with his hands. I have a violin that he made.

Paternal grandma - A wonderful woman that turned mean and violent in the last 2 years of her life. I never went to see her after she changed and don’t regret it a bit. She was already dead to me and I didn’t need any memories of a mean grandma.

Maternal grandma - The sweetest lady I ever knew. Also was the world’s best cook.

46

So that’s how you spell “Gee-ah-ghee” I always wondered. Your greatgrandpa reminds me of my grandpa, with his love for birds.

47

My paternal grandparents both died before I was born, she in 1955 and he in 1970. I’ve gleaned only a small amount of knowledge about them from my parents and my Dad’s sister: They divorced when she converted to Catholisism. Sometime during the late 40’s or early 50’s she got TB. She, my dad and his sister moved to Fort Stanton NM, which at the time was a TB hospital. My grandfather was a farmer in Iowa. She died when my Dad was 14 and (I’ve always been fuzzy on these details) either he didn’t want to go back to Iowa, or his dad didn’t want him there. So, my dad had a series of foster families from that point on. My dad still speaks fondly of his dad, but has never made it entirely clear why he was essentially an orphan at 14 when he still had a living parent until he was 28. I’m guessing this doesn’t bother my Dad, as he’s never actually spoken about it. Maybe I’ll ask him sometime.

Dad’s adoptive parents, there we’re many. The couple who “officially” had custody of him both passed away within the last 10 years. I never met them, and apparently he only lived with them for the summer months. During the school year he lived with another family in southern NM, who just took him in because he was their kid’s best friend. Mr. Shaw died when I was 5 or 6 years old. I thought for a long time that he was the Shah of Iran, who was in the news a bit at the time. Mrs. Shaw was a very nice lady who we saw every Memorial Day and Forth of July. She always insisted I eat food that I didn’t want, and thought my Mom was a bad mother because we kids liked hot dogs and Mac’n’cheese. I liked her. She passed away Valentine’s Day 1996. My dad saw her at the hospital 3 days earlier, and was a pallbearer at her funeral. He was close to her, and now I wish I’d have been, too.

Dad also spent much time with another family, Ruby and Jack. They had 13 kids, and (again, not legally) adopted my Dad. Jack died when I was in the 4th grade, and I don’t really remember him. They lived in Kansas at the time, so we didn’t see them all too often. Ruby is a great lady. She’s 82 or 83 now and has always treated my Dad’s kids as she does her ‘actual’ grandkids. I still have a fifty-cent coin that she taped to my high school graduation card. Inside the card it said, “Keep this and you’ll never be broke.” I’ll never be broke.

My Mom’s Dad died when I was 6. My memories of him are vague, but always good. He lived in Chicago, at one time owned a bar, and looked damn good in a tuxedo. He bought me a stuffed mouse when I was 5, and he was the 1st person I ever remember smoking in my Mom’s house (probably around 4 yrs old, I was fascinated.) The same visit, he kicked everyone except me out of the kitchen while making spaghetti sauce. Made me feel pretty special. I’m sad that I didn’t get to know him. My Mom still refers to him as “Daddy,” and his death is certainly the most heart-breaking event in her life, still. Someday I’ll find the bar he used to own, and buy it for my Mom.

My Mom’s mother is a piece of work. She was absolutly horrible to me growing up. Nothing I did was good enough. She once told me that the only reason I got good grades in school was to make my sister look bad–and she was serious. She was even worse to my kid brother. We grew to despise her. Then, she retired. And then, she figured out that she’s mortal (she had a stroke 2 years ago, recovering famously now). She’s mellowed quite a bit. She’s figured out that my bro and I are OK. She wants us to love her before she dies, and we do. She’s nice to us now, and over the last 5 or 6 years we’ve both come to respect her. She’s the only grandparent we’ve ever really known. Over my 31 years she’s been both The Devil and An Angel. She’ll be 75 in October. We’ll throw a helluva party.

Great thread, thanks for the memories…and sorry I’m so long-winded.

~S

48

You can most definitely have it. I have always believed that anything that’s soaked in lye should not be eaten, but to each his own. Would you like some lefse to go along with it?

49

My Grandfather is 86 and cantankerous.

He’s also one of the most amazing people I will ever know.

He’s a dodgy old bugger. A lot of the things he gets up to aren’t very nice, but they sure are funny. For example, while living in the retirement village, he bought one of those remote doorbells that plays a bunch of different noises as well as tunes. He set it on “barking dog”, and put the speaker part in his shed. Then he sat by the back door reading his newspaper with the ringer in his hand. When the old ladies walked by his shed, he’d press the button and then laugh at the old ladies jumping out of their skins. He seriously considered trying the same thing at the mall.

He loves me and is very biased. One time he was complaining about a girl he saw who had her hair dyed an unnatural shade of red. “But Grandfather” I said “You like my hair and it’s purple”. “Yes,” he said “But it looks natural!”.

He’s always sure he’s right, but he’s not always right. He was complaining to Dad several years ago that his indicators were broken - they weren’t making the ticking noise anymore. He said he was going to book his car into the mechanic. Dad said “You don’t need to see the mechanic. You need to see the doctor.” Grandfather looked at him like he was mad. “Doctor?”. “Yes. There’s nothing wrong with your indicators, it’s your hearing that’s gone bad”. He wouldn’t believe Dad, and dragged him outside to look at the car. He turned on the indicator which made a distinct “Tick… tick… tick…” Dad said “Yeah. So?” Grandfather couldn’t believe it! “You can hear that? Ok, wait, maybe it’s only when the car’s running”. He turned the car on. Above the sound of the engine was a clear “Tick… tick… tick”. “Can you still hear it?” he asked. “Dad, if it was any louder, it would be giving your dog a headache” my father replied. Grandfather did go see his doctor and did get hearing aids, but despite getting free batteries from Veteran’s Affairs, he’ll only ever switch one on at a time.

He’s quick witted. Ten years ago, he bought himself an exercise bike to help with his bad leg. As he came out of the sports store carrying it, a group of teenagers laughed at him. One yelled out “Trying to get fit, pops?”. Grandfather replied “Nah, it’s for my Dad”.

He’s full of surprises. At dinner one night, he reached into his pocket, and pulled out a plastic bag which he dropped in the middle of the table. At first, I thought “Why is Grandfather carrying a bag of grass clippings?” and then we all realised it was marijuana. He’d found it lying on the ground outside the pub - thinks the young guy who brushed past him had dropped it. I asked why he didn’t take it to the police, but he said he thought they’d just keep it for themselves. In the end, he exchanged it for a six pack of light beer. I never thought I’d see the day that my 80-odd year old Grandfather became a drug dealer.

He’s inventive, but in a most peculiar way. Trying to trim his dog’s claws was a big problem for him as the dog kept slipping out of his grasp and running away. He solved this problem by tying the dog to the ironing board with octopus straps. Then the dog was nipping at his fingers, so he pulled one of Grandma’s old stockings over the dog’s head. I don’t think it’s an RSPCA approved method, but that’s how Grandfather got his dog’s claws trimmed (and don’t worry, the dog now lives with my aunt).

He’s self reliant. Before my aunt had to take the dog, he used to walk it every day down by the river, near the skateboard ramp. We visit him one day and find he’s got his old walking stick out of the cupboard. He has pulled the rubber stopper off the end of it, pushed a nail through and put it back on, so his walking stick now has a nail sticking out the end of it. Grandfather tells us it’s so he can pick up rubbish on his walks. It was quite some time later that he told us that the Real reason was that he was being harassed by some of the skaters while he was walking his dog. Rather than ask for help or even telling us what was going on, he made himself a weapon - and the old dodger said he’d planned that he could tell police the story about picking up rubbish if he’d ever been forced to use it.

He’s interested in new technology. He has a mobile phone, but he won’t tell us the number. He says we can call him when he gets home. He keeps it switched off all the time as it’s only for emergencies. He also has a video recorder. When he first got it, he called me complaining that it wouldn’t record. I asked him to tell me what he was doing so I could work out the problem. He said “I turn it on, put the blank video tape in, set the channel, press record. I give it a minute or so, then I stop it. When I press play, there’s nothing there.” I got him to repeat those steps to me, and I asked “Have you been rewinding it?” “Have I what?” he asked. Problem solved! And it’s simple things like that that make him think I’m some kind of technological genius :slight_smile:

He’s very intolerant and grumpy. Now that he’s in a nursing home, he’s learning to deal with the other residents, and he doesn’t have much time or sympathy for those suffering dementia. There’s one old lady who upsets him by coming in his room and rearranging things. Recently he was watching TV and she came in, and he warned her to get out “or else”. She went away. He was engrossed in his programme, and didn’t notice that she was back in the room at first, until he saw her out the corner of his eye. He had a glass of water, about a quarter full, so he just flung the contents at her. However, he quickly discovered that he hadn’t doused the poor old lady - his tall, strong and healthy physical therapy nurse was dripping wet and exclaiming “What have you done to me!”. I think that’s the end of his water throwing days.

He is a remarkable man, and I’m very lucky to have had some much contact with him over the years. Now that he’s very elderly and tires quickly I make all sorts of excuses to myself about why I don’t visit him so often, but I feel very guilty. I really must make more of an effort to treasure him while we still have him.

50

I know nothing of my paternal grandparents, other than my father once told my mother that his father worked on the railroads.

My maternal grandfather was born in 1905, one of eight children born to my great-grandfather and his first wife. Granddaddy’s mama died when he was an adolescent, and he got a new stepmother and nine new half-siblings. He fought in World War II in the South Pacific, got black lung though he never coal-mined nor smoked, and had four daughters. He died about ten years ago. He’d be 100 years old next year if he was still alive.

My maternal grandmother was born in Alabama to Melungeon parents. She met and married my grandfather when she was 13 and he was in his late twenties! Later, one of his brothers would marry one of her sisters. She made the best biscuits in the world. After six strokes and a heart attack, she died a few years after granddaddy.

51

Paternal grandfather: Died when I was 4 or 5, no real memories.

Maternal grandfather: Irish, very Catholic, came to NY (Brooklyn) when he was a boy with his mother and two sisters. Drove them all out to California over the summer of 1928 when he was 14 (we still have his travel diary which is pretty cool). WWII vet but I don’t know where he served. Worked for The Gas Company in So. California. Not a great guy…bigoted, intolerant, etc. The most remarkable thing about him was his smell. He had this distinct smell that I will always associate with him. Growing up I always thought that it was some particular kind of cologne that he wore. It wasn’t until I was in my late teens that I realized that it was the smell of someone on a 50-year bender.

52

Well, my paternal grandparents I never really knew because they lived in the Pittsburgh area (where my father grew up), so I rarely saw them. Actually, now that I think about it, I never met my paternal grandfather – he died before I was born.

My maternal grandfather fought in World War II and played football for the Chicago Bears in the '40s. He died two years and one month ago.

53

They are all dead.

Mom’s dad went before I was born and her mom went when I was very young. She died of cancer and was very (understandably) grouchy. But I don’t have any pleasant memorys of her.

Dad’s folks lived forever and were spectacularly bland. Really not much positive to say about them really. Grandpa took us fishing, but wasn’t much of a role model and Grandma was a very negative person. Can’t really remember her having anything nice to say about anybody. By the time she snuffed it, I was glad to be rid of her.

54

On the paternal side, my grandparents were ethnic Swedish immigrants from Finland, where my grandfather was born in 1876, to Saskatchewan in ~1904, where they homesteaded on the northern edge of the Great Plain, near Prince Albert. They had 10 kids. My grandfather was a lumberjack and, later, sold lumberjacking equipment; he passed away at home from pneumonia in 1932.

My maternal grandfather was born in 1889 and lived in New York City; he was an engineer and inventor, primarily interested in refrigeration. Amongst his creations were the original machine that made Brillo pads, lightning arrestors for commercial buildings and a deep freezer patent that he sold to Westinghouse for $3000 (a princely sum in those days, but I think Westinghouse did OK on the deal). He served with the U.S. Army in WWI and WWII, making it to the rank of colonel (artillery and demolitions, IIRC). He made a boatload of money (which made for a bit of culture clash when rich New Yorker’s daughter married Canadian lumberjack’s kid), but managed to flush it all, after my grandmother died, trying to develop his invention of the continuous ice ribbon freezing process, commonly known today as flake ice, rather than marketing it to inestors. Well, it was his money, I’m glad he got to play with it.

I knew him pretty well; he died when I was 20 at which point we were a bit estranged, partly due to his and my mother’s belief that I should become an engineer and partly due to hippie times.

55

maternal grandpa: Well, this fellow died when I was only a wee one, so I never knew him. He was a farmer, at least for a while. Raised six kids.

Paternal grandpa: I knew this creature for a while. He wasn’t nice to his kids or their spouses, was okay to the grandkids but always favored my cousins over my brother and me. If I listened to his bullshit stories for a while, he’d give me money–but that didn’t make me enjoy his company. Nobody mourned his passing.

56

Paternal grandfather (1882-1952) - I’m named for him, but never knew him as he died long before I was born. Son of a Confederate veteran. Born in Culpeper County, VA and one of 6 children. Never learned to read, and didn’t learn to write anything except his name until very late in life; however, he could build anything and worked as a carpenter. From what I’ve gathered, he was a stern but loving man - he just expected everyone to work as hard as he did. Ran a boat across the Potomac River during Prohibiition bringing liquor back and forth. Loved to hunt and fish. A simple man with very simple pleasures. “Poppa Lee” to all that knew him.

Maternal grandfather (1908-1977) - Born and raised in the mountains of Virginia, he served in southeast Asia during WWII. Married my grandmother when she was 15. He worked as a guard on a chain gain and then as a police officer for the District of Columbia. A very jovial, happy man, he loved my brothers and I more than anything in the world - we were “his boys.” Another hunter and fisher - he taught me how to shoot a gun and tie a fly. “Boss” to all.

57

Maternal grandfather: That’s Pop to me. An auto mechanic. He often brought cars home with him from the dealer or worked on cars for family and friends in order to save them money. I used to get a bit of a high from the gasoline smell that permeated his basement garage. I kick myself for not learning a bit more about auto maitenance when I had a chance. Since marrying that controlling wench after my grandmother’s death, he’s been a lot less giving with his time. He still enjoys acting up though, making weird faces at passing cars, pretending to trip over doorways, stepping on the flip-flops of Japanese (don’t get him started on the Japs…WW2, you know) tourists. He insists that he was raised by Indians, and loves to talk about the time he burned down the mountain near his childhood home. We’ve always said that we’ll never know when he actually does go senile.

Paternal grandfather: Pappy B to me, Chipper to everyone else. Retired from the local textile plant. Quite the talker. No one is a stranger to him for long. We’ve all heard his stories a million times; my family thinks I’m a saint for listening to him ramble as long as I do. My wife is afraid that I will end up the same way, as I seem to have picked up a few of his catch phrases. Was at one time verbally abusive to his family and quite bullheaded in his beliefs. Although still racist and tight-fisted, he’s mellowed a lot with age, to the point where he actually cries over the phone whenever he mentions my father, who died when I was only 5. Since my grandmother died, he spends most of his time with a “lady friend” who we all appreciate very much for looking after him.

58

I’ve posted about my grandmothers before, but I’ll throw it out there again:

Paternal grandmother (1901-1986) - A saint. She never had a cross word for anyone that I ever heard her mention. She had the same pew in her church for more than 60 years. She attended school up through the 3rd grade, but I don’t ever remember her reading or writing much. She married my grandfather in 1921, when he already had 3 children who were nearly her age. Her step-children and her natural children numbered 8 at one time, now there are only 4 left (including the oldest, who is 98). Grandma Annie lived with us for a bit while I was in high school and I loved talking to her. She was a wonderful old woman. “I’ll dance at your wedding” was what she always told me. She missed it by a year.

Maternal grandmother (1918-1987) - A character of the first order. Drank Pabst beer like it was going out of style, and smoked Pall Mall cigarettes by the boxcar load. Cussed like a sailor and cheated at cards. Was a “Rosie the Riveter” during WWII and was married 4 times. She could play the guitar and mandolin and made up dirty songs that she taught my brothers and me. An equally wonderful old woman as my other grandmother, but for entirely different reasons. On the day of her funeral a HUGE thunderstorm hit after the ceremony and we all figured that Grandma Ruby was throwing one helluva party, with music blaring, liquor flowing, cigars in abundance, and fucking among the angels. “Awwwwww shit.” - her favorite saying when anything was going either very right, or very wrong.

59

Paternal grandfather: He died 12 years ago. He was tall and lanky and a farmer from birth. He was outside from the time the sun came up until after dark every day. He chewed tobacco and would spit in this cup he kept by his side at all times. Even after all these years, my grandmother’s house still faintly smells of chewing tobacco. He drove blue pickup truck and I can still remember how that truck sounded whenever he’d pull up in our yard. I can remember standing out in his garden helping him pull up peanuts and sitting under a tree in the backyard helping him shuck corn. Unfortunately, he suffered from Alzheimer’s and the last 5 years of his life were spent in his bed, not recognizing any of us.

Maternal Grandfather: He lives out in the High Desert near Yucca Valley in CA in a cabin that he is refurbishing himself. He had open-heart surgery in the early 80’s and was told not to expect to live much past 10 years after that. He’s outlived that prediction two times over. He does pretty much what he wants to do now, as he approaches his 80th birthday. He was married to my grandmother for over 50 years and for most of those years she made his life miserable. Three years ago, he decided he’d had enough and wanted to be happy for the remainder of his life. He divorced my grandmother (after letting her have the house and anything else she wanted/needed) and looked up his first girlfriend who he’d dated back during World War Two. She was widowed and when they met again for the first time in about 40 years, she showed him a locket that she’d worn around her neck all those years. It had my grandfather’s photo in it.

He bought the cabin up in the High Desert and is in the process of fixing it up. He is happier than he’s ever been in his life, I think it’s safe to say, despite the fact that he is recovering from stomach cancer and having a large portion of his stomach removed. I think my grandfather is a shining example of the saying, “Follow your bliss”. Even if you are almost 80 years old. He’s taught me a lot of valuable lessons about life but I think that is the most important. :slight_smile: