My second “old” thread today. So, who was the oldest person you’ve ever met? And no fair saying “Eve!” and running.
Mine was my mother’s paternal grandfather, who was born in 1865 and lived to be 99 (I mistily recall meeting him once or twice when I was but a wee sprat). This means he probably knew people who’d been born in the late 1700s, which is kinda cool, now that it’s the 2000s.
I was also close to my paternal grandfather (b. 1890) and to Lillian Gish (b. 1893).
My greatgrandmother was almost 101 years old when she died. She was still active and had most of her mental capabilies. She died quietly in her sleep one night.
My great-grandfather, who was born in 1888 and lived to be 96.
I am sorry to say that I was afraid of him and spent most of our visits to his house hiding, so I don’t have too many memories of him. On the other hand, his wife (my step-great-grandmother), who will be 100 this year, is pretty much unforgettable, though not necessarily in a good way. (Suffice to say that she doesn’t want her house sold to “Negroes” after she dies, and has no reservations about dropping this fact into the conversation at every possible opportunity.) On the other hand, any woman who got up at 4 a.m. on December mornings, until she was 95 deserves a certain measure of perverse admiration; I say “perverse” because she did this in order to bake fruitcake. (Without liquor, of course; liquor is the devil’s nectar.) I’m sure some of it remains uneaten to this day.
My great-aunt lived to be 100. She was pretty with-it until well into her 90s. She was cool. After my maternal grandfather’s (her brother’s) death when she was 88, we were digging around together in his attic, looking for farious heirlooms he’d hid up there to keep them safe. This was in Kansas in July, and that attic felt like a furnace, but it didn’t faze her in the least. We gabbed away and had a great time.
My step-grandmother made it to 94, and was sharp as a tack right up to the end. We used to have philosophical discussions about practically everything. I miss her tremendously.
My paternal grandfather also lived to be 94. I’m not sure that even my father or my aunt miss the old grouch much!
Both of my great-grandmothers lived into their mid 90’s, but I never actually met my mom’s grandmother and I hadn’t seen my father’s grandmother since she was in her mid 80’s (I regret that too, I really loved her and wished I could have gone back to California to see her before she died). But the oldest person I have ever met is one of my friend’s great-grandmother, who was 102 last September when I met her at my friend’s wedding. Sadly, she died recently just this last December. She seemed like a really nice lady, smart as a whip too.
My wife’s great-grandmother died at 96 a few years ago. I think one of her sisters (two are still with us, and have all their mental faculties) is bearing down on that age already (the other is still a spring chicken in her late 80’s).
Our son was born about five months before she died, making her a great-great-grandmother, and we have several five-generation pictures in our album.
“Sherlock Holmes once said that once you have eliminated the
impossible, whatever remains, however improbable, must be
the answer. I, however, do not like to eliminate the impossible.
The impossible often has a kind of integrity to it that the merely improbable lacks.”
– Douglas Adams’s Dirk Gently, Holistic Detective
I will have to pull out my scrapbook to make sure, but it was either 1880 or 1881.
She was a great lady. Although she was tiny, she was pretty strong. Her and my grandfather and their children lived on a ranch in Southern Utah (think old John Wayne movie backdrops). She wrote a book about her life that gives details of how she saved two of her daughters (my grandma and aunt) from a rabid wolf that had come onto their property. Other stories are how they had to save their cattle from bobcats, how excited the kids would be to get an orange and peppermint for Christmas, how her youngest sister was killed by a rattlesnake bite, but the story that always stays with me is how her youngest son died one winter from “fever”.
The ground was too frozen to bury him, so they put him in a coffin my grandpa built and set it on the table for a few days while they waited for the ground to soften from a fire they had built.
She remembers holding his body before they put him in the ground and how he felt warm. It haunted her for the rest of her life that she may have buried her baby alive.
I love to talk to old people. The stories they can tell are priceless. I wonder what I am going to tell my grandkids. Everything is so boring these days.
My grandmother’s sister, my Great-Aunt Tessie, was 101 years old when she died in 1975, so I guess that means she was born in 1874.
We had a big party for her 100th birthday – the mayor came, and there was a big write-up in the paper. She had been married to a policeman or firefighter, I forget which, and drew a widow’s pension for something like 55 years.
My father’s oldest brother died I think at age 84; he was born in 1894 (he was 24 years older than my dad).
My husband’s grandmother is still alive; she will be 96 next month; she was born in 1904.
My grandfather was born in 1882 and died when he was 102. Other than hearing loss, he was in pretty good shape up to the end. In fact, he appeared to be crafty and conniving.
I don’t have any stories about my great-grandfather (b. 1865), though I have been assured that he was one royal SOB.
My father’s father (b. 1890), though, was in on the beginnings of the Russian Revolution, and escaped with the Cossacks nipping at his heels, in 1911. Fascinating old fellow; an amatuer archeologist and astronomer, taught my sister and I a whole bunch of science lore. I was eight when he died, and regret not having been old enough to really talk to him. “Trotskyite?! Were you MAD?!” Hmmm, maybe it’s just as well . . .
My great-great aunt Ide lived to be 99 and died sometime in the late 1980’s, not sure when she was born. She lived alone until she died, and although she had electricity, she would not allow a TV in the house.
The oldest still-living person I know is my great-grandma. She was born in 1903. She lived by herself until she was 88, then moved to one of those “assisted-living” condo places where old rich people go. She has hip problems now and lives in a nursing home. She can’t remember what she had for lunch, but one day we showed her a picture of herself on a horse (dated 1916 on the back) and she told us the horse’s name. We were all pretty impressed.
My Great-great Aunt Elsie was born in 1899. She’s still alive, and she lives and breathes to attend our annual family reunion in August. She always has the most fun, too…talking about when she was a kid, and making me laugh by telling me that she remembers how cute my grandma was when she was “kneehigh to a grasshopper”.
All four of my grandparents were in their eighties when they passed away in the early 1960s – nearly in reverse age order. My greatgrandmother celebrated her 97th birthday by attending my parents’ wedding (which fell on that day) and died three months later; she was born two months after John Tyler became President in 1841.
I suppose he seems like a youngin compared to all the rest, but my grandfather lived to the age of 91 (1896-1987).
He was wonderful as a grandfather (i.e., playing with the grandchildren, spoiling them rotten, etc.) and always full of stories. Unfortunately, I never understood those stories, because he both spoke with a heavy Italian accent and spoke somewhat indistinctly, so most of what I heard sounded like gibberish. Luckily, my mother was able to translate for him, and she loves to tell the stories he told to her.
My grandmother, born in May of 1900, passed away a couple of years ago at age 98. She thanked Jesus every day she was alive for each day she was alive. And I miss her…
I had the great honor of taking care of a lday named Esther at the nursing home. Even after I graduated college, and was employed elsewhere, I still visited her. She was 4’11" of pure spirit, wit, and charm. She passed on this last fall at the ripe age of 105.
Prairie Rose
If you’re not part of the solution you’re just scumming up the bottom of the beaker.
