My Grampa died last week, but it’s ok.
He was two days shy of his 104th birthday. He wasn’t having much fun over the last year. But the other 103 years were remarkable.
Born in 1897 with 14 other brothers and sisters, he left his small farm in Quebec at the age of 15. He left because he was tired of watching his mother go without eating after feeding the children. He worked on farms and then in a coal mine before settling out west on a farm in Alberta.
I only knew his last 35 years. His English skills were sketchy and he spoke with a thick French accent. After my Grandma died, he moved in with our family where he was more of a roommate and a friend, than a grandpa. It was then where he became a teenager. He’d party with my friends; kick their butt at pool, then go to bed at 9pm. He was incredibly strong for a man standing 5’2”, 120 lbs; he still worked out all the time. Not pumping iron, but tough physical work such as weeding countless rows of nursery trees.
My father joked with him about all the trees he weeded over supper one night.
He jokingly told him, “ You know, when I sell those trees in 15 years, I am going to give $5.00 a tree for all the work you have done.”
Grandpa was 85 then, and these trees numbered in the THOUSANDS. He told my Dad that he wanted it put down in writing, because he didn’t think my Dad was going to make it that long. (My Dad was only in his 40’s then.)
My earliest memory of him was when is about five years old. I was playing outside when he drove up in his Plymouth Volare returning from work at the gravel pit. I had caught a frog, so naturally I wanted to show it to him. He opened my hands and seen the frog, picked it up and popped it in his mouth so that the legs were flapping outside his lips, much to my delight. When you’re five, there is nothing cooler than that. The man put a frog in his mouth to entertain me.
At age 87, he became semi-retired and took up a sport. Bowling. The family was just glad he didn’t pick skydiving. At age 94, he bowled a 288 and won high average for the seniors bowling league. In this “age 55+” league, he was old enough to be everybody else’s father, with the next oldest bowler being some 72 year old kid. He made the front page of the Edmonton Journal, as well as the CBC and local news coverage for bowling on his 99th birthday. I was almost jealous of all the birthday smooches he was getting from the bowling alley staff and the cute nurses in his seniors lodge.
My Grampa loved playing cards. Blackjack being his favorite. He’d go over to the Casino once in a while and donate a ten-spot. He also sat in with us teenagers when we played our weekly poker game. He always would get up about 10 bucks, then suddenly get tired and go to bed. We noticed Grampa never got tired when on the rare occasion; he was trying to recover the fiver we took from him. He’d have a couple of shooters, (B52’s=GM+Baily’s+Kahalua), then he’d be up at 6 am to clean the place up for us, even taking the bottle returns in for the nickel refund.
He was the perfect roommate for two teenage brothers. When the folks were away for a week or so, Grampa was in charge. Of course being teenagers, the SHOOTER PARTY WAS ON! Grampa did 6 or 7 shots with my friends, and went to bed. The party raged until dawn, when I went to bed. I awoke to find the house with completely clean, and Grampa loading the empties into the trunk of his car. He said he was heading to the races that night, and for us not to burn the place down. My folks never knew a thing.
I once came home early one Sunday morning, from an all-night poker game, and I looked terrible. I asked Grampa, (who was reading the paper in his suit), where the rest of the family was hiding.
He replied with his French accent,
“Dey went to church”
I pressed him,
“Well didn’t you go to church?”
He answered, “I went dis morning”.
Being the smart-ass teen I was at the time, I asked him,
“Well did you pray for me?”
He peered up from his paper to see his disheveled grandson standing there, and retorted with a grin,
“It was only an hour.”
Then went back to reading his paper. I still heard him chuckling as I went downstairs to bed.
He also played the horses, but never losing more than ten or twelve bucks in a night. He’d grown up in a day where meals were a nickel, and a room for a MONTH was eight bucks. To Grampa, ten bucks was a LOT. He took me to the horse races when I was 12 and I still remember getting him to place my bet for me, against my Mom’s direct order. In the sixth race, I put two bucks on “Master Max” to win, a 13-1 shot. Grampa advised me to go with another choice, and maybe make the bet, “to show”, pointing out that his program indicated that this horse has never finished higher than 5th in it’s life. I politely refused to change my mind. He reluctantly placed my bet for me. Master Max won by seven lengths, and he never told my mom about my windfall. Grampa didn’t win a race that day, and the ride home was very quiet that night, but we continued to go to the races whenever I wanted to tag along. Though, he never bought another racing program in his life, and preferred to save the dollar and clip the race card from the newspaper.
Grampa drove until he was 98 years old. He once was ticketed for speeding, and the cops couldn’t find him on record because the computers didn’t trace birthdays into the 1800’s. He’d drive everywhere. He’d taxi the widows from the lodge all over town and go visiting my Uncle’s farm in the harvest time. Farming was never out of his blood. He drove a new combine (harvester) at age 99 and took great pleasure filling the grain hoppers with the power auger. A far cry from when he used to do it so many years ago by pitchfork and horse drawn plows.
After living with our family for 20 years, Grampa moved into the senior’s lodge where he was the oldest resident when he moved in at age 92. He shortly thereafter became the pool league, shuffleboard league, and dart league champion. He was called the “little gentleman” by the staff because he never complained and was always fun to be around. He was photographed for the local paper while weeding the senior’s Lodge vegetable garden, at age 95.
His 100th birthday was a media event. TV crews, newspapers, family came from across Canada, everyone he ever knew who was still alive came for this party. He loved every minute of it. Grampa said he didn’t mind being that old as long as he still had all his “marbles”. He was still razor sharp mentally, but he was now annoyed with a slight hearing loss. We often forgot how old he was because he still looked like a man in his 70’s.
I would bring him some snack food when I’d visit him in the lodge; he was now 102 and not as active anymore. His face beamed when I’d enter his room and put some juice boxes and tapioca pudding cups in his mini-fridge. He said once,
“OH, I like you!” when I brought him some goodies.
I said, “Grampa, you’d still like me if I didn’t bring you this stuff, wouldn’t you?”
He said, “Not so much” with a big grin and a sparkle in his eyes, knowing full well, that he got me once again with his rapier wit.
Even at that age he still would love to play Blackjack. Not for money, just for fun. He’d take great pleasure in winning and still was miffed about losing. He’d played with everyone who visited him. He played his last game on Jan 4th, 2001. He died Jan 6th, two days shy of his 104th birthday.
My brother and his nine-year old son, who was having trouble with his loss, went down to the Planetarium, and named a star near the Big Dipper after him. GG Theo. GG standing for Great-Grampa. A star chart was displayed at the funeral, pinpointing its location. All the Great-grand children (9 boys) placed a red rose in a vase on his coffin. A coffin he had picked out and paid for when my Grandma died some 30 years earlier. That day was the only day I ever seen him cry.
I was a pallbearer at his funeral. People from his hometown flew in, people who I never knew, people who I hadn’t seen in years, young people, old people, and some folks who had only met him once or twice, all kinds of people from all walks of life stuffed the big church in the city.
His casket was open, and he looked incredibly at peace with his rosary beads in his withered hands, again all dressed up in his finest suit for church.
Goodbye Grampa. It was easier to know that you were ready and wanted to go. This last year was tough for you. No more pain of Arthritis. No more intestinal disorders. No more not being able to do what you use to do. To recognize faces. To hear familiar voices. To play with the great-grandkids. No more embarrassment about not having all your “marbles” at 103 years. No more being lonely.
So I am happy you got what you wanted my friend, a peaceful ending in your sleep. I am glad you have so many friends and family waiting for you, and a million fond memories left with those you left behind.
I was the last one in the viewing line at the funeral. I had a gift of my own. Very quietly and gently, I tucked an Ace of spades, and a Jack of spades into his inside jacket, just out of sight. A perfect Blackjack. Nothing beats it.
Au-revoir, mon-ami.
