Grandfathers.............
- Thread starter orange turdfrog
- Start date
God save us from Alzheimer's. He sounds like a great one. Sorry he had to go like that.
My Dad's father dies when he was 19, so I never met him. My mom's father died when I was 9, but I did get to have some pretty cool experiences with him.
He was a Finnish copper miner from just about as far north in the UP of Michigan you can get. They pretty much lived off the land and he was always hunting, fishing, gardening etc. My mom has eight brothers and sisters, and they all lived within minutes of each other and were always together, except my mom who was the only one to move away.
Used to love visiting because he'd always take me fishing. We'd follow these little gravel roads back into the woods, and hike what seemed like miles to fish these remote trout streams, always having to carry guns as there were all sorts of bears, wolves, coyotes etc. As a kid in Texas, it always made me feel like I was in the wild frontier.
They all had camps on Lake Superior, and we'd have these huge bonfires right on the beach and swim and fish in that freezing as water. My grandfather and uncles spent a month each year on Isle Royal hunting and catching as many Lake Trout, Pike, Muskie, Walleye etc. to smoke for the year. If the timing of our visit was right, I'd get to drive his boat out there and help him set up camp. As we were out fishing one night, he told me he enjoyed my company, and hoped I enjoyed his. The way he spoke and then sat there in silence told me all I needed to know. He died a few months later from lung cancer.
Memories I'll keep with me forever, and I still think that is some of the most beautiful country on earth.
He was a Finnish copper miner from just about as far north in the UP of Michigan you can get. They pretty much lived off the land and he was always hunting, fishing, gardening etc. My mom has eight brothers and sisters, and they all lived within minutes of each other and were always together, except my mom who was the only one to move away.
Used to love visiting because he'd always take me fishing. We'd follow these little gravel roads back into the woods, and hike what seemed like miles to fish these remote trout streams, always having to carry guns as there were all sorts of bears, wolves, coyotes etc. As a kid in Texas, it always made me feel like I was in the wild frontier.
They all had camps on Lake Superior, and we'd have these huge bonfires right on the beach and swim and fish in that freezing as water. My grandfather and uncles spent a month each year on Isle Royal hunting and catching as many Lake Trout, Pike, Muskie, Walleye etc. to smoke for the year. If the timing of our visit was right, I'd get to drive his boat out there and help him set up camp. As we were out fishing one night, he told me he enjoyed my company, and hoped I enjoyed his. The way he spoke and then sat there in silence told me all I needed to know. He died a few months later from lung cancer.
Memories I'll keep with me forever, and I still think that is some of the most beautiful country on earth.
My father's father was the dentist for Crystal City, TX. When I was young, I remember on a few occasions that his poorer clients actually paid him with chickens.
He had a massive grapefruit tree just outside his back door. One of my favorite memories of childhood was plucking a fat grapefruit off that tree, slicing it in half, and sprinkling on a little sugar before digging in. That was a part of breakfast on many mornings.
He had a pecan tree, as well - and my grandmother used the fresh pecans to bake holiday pies. My job was to climb high in the tree and shake out the nuts. I loved doing that. But cracking the nuts was a different story. I'd end up with pecan splinters under my fingernails, and eventually came to dislike pecans because of it.
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He had a massive grapefruit tree just outside his back door. One of my favorite memories of childhood was plucking a fat grapefruit off that tree, slicing it in half, and sprinkling on a little sugar before digging in. That was a part of breakfast on many mornings.
He had a pecan tree, as well - and my grandmother used the fresh pecans to bake holiday pies. My job was to climb high in the tree and shake out the nuts. I loved doing that. But cracking the nuts was a different story. I'd end up with pecan splinters under my fingernails, and eventually came to dislike pecans because of it.
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My Grandfather (dad's dad - mom's dad died when she was 2) was born in The Ukraine in 1895.
Desperately poor. Everyone in his village was poor. Serfs, pretty much tied to the land. His father had died when he was young. His older brother left for America a few years before and when his mother died, he was the only one left. The only thing left to him was an old cow. He sold the cow and wrote his brother that he was coming to America. He walked from just south of Lvov, Ukraine to Amsterdam, about 1000 miles, in the winter to catch the boat to America.
He arrived at Ellis island in April, 1913, just as he turned 18. He had $19 in his pocket. His entry papers at Ellis Island state that he was headed to his brother in Ohio to work in the coal mines. He heard of a place called Kansas City, where he could find work in the slaughter houses. He headed to Kansas and devoted his life to become an American. He enlisted in the Army when WW I rolled around because he heard he could apply for US citizenship in exchange for his service. He was gassed during the Battle of the Argonne Forrest and received a partial disability.
He was discharged and returned home to start his family. He met and married an immigrant girl and started his family.
I loved sitting in his lap as a little boy, listening to him talk, fascinated by his wonderful accent.
He was a fierce patriot, proud member of the VFW. His hate of the communists was legendary. His cousin was a nun back in the Ukraine. Her faith pissed off the communists. She was executed shortly after WWII. He corresponded with cousins left in the Soviet Union. He would read the letters to us with a great sense of sadness. They were so poor and oppressed. This country gave him a happy life that exceeded all his expectations and it pained him that his relatives had so little. He died just a few years before e fall of the Soviet Union. Had he lived, he would have been so happy.
Boy, I miss him.
Desperately poor. Everyone in his village was poor. Serfs, pretty much tied to the land. His father had died when he was young. His older brother left for America a few years before and when his mother died, he was the only one left. The only thing left to him was an old cow. He sold the cow and wrote his brother that he was coming to America. He walked from just south of Lvov, Ukraine to Amsterdam, about 1000 miles, in the winter to catch the boat to America.
He arrived at Ellis island in April, 1913, just as he turned 18. He had $19 in his pocket. His entry papers at Ellis Island state that he was headed to his brother in Ohio to work in the coal mines. He heard of a place called Kansas City, where he could find work in the slaughter houses. He headed to Kansas and devoted his life to become an American. He enlisted in the Army when WW I rolled around because he heard he could apply for US citizenship in exchange for his service. He was gassed during the Battle of the Argonne Forrest and received a partial disability.
He was discharged and returned home to start his family. He met and married an immigrant girl and started his family.
I loved sitting in his lap as a little boy, listening to him talk, fascinated by his wonderful accent.
He was a fierce patriot, proud member of the VFW. His hate of the communists was legendary. His cousin was a nun back in the Ukraine. Her faith pissed off the communists. She was executed shortly after WWII. He corresponded with cousins left in the Soviet Union. He would read the letters to us with a great sense of sadness. They were so poor and oppressed. This country gave him a happy life that exceeded all his expectations and it pained him that his relatives had so little. He died just a few years before e fall of the Soviet Union. Had he lived, he would have been so happy.
Boy, I miss him.
Wow. Great story. Thanks for sharing.
Bump (cause I LOVE all these stories!).
They point to a simpler time!
They point to a simpler time!
My grandfather was in the Mexican Revolution. Joined at 14. Pancho Villa would recruit by driving horses through villages equipped with a saddle and a rifle. If you were game you hopped on. He was shot seven times and lived. Two bullets were lodged in his body, leg and forehead. He was a highly respected man in his city. He died at 84. He was an amazing man. Died in 69.
My grandpa on my dad's side was awesome... We would go to Laredo Texas a lot together... His relatives lived there and I would tag alon with him to the bar.. At 12 he gave my 1st shot of tequila, and got me drunk the rest of the nite.. My dad kept calling my grandpa asking if I was ok.. He kept saying to my dad " I love my grandson and he under my watch don't worry about it".... Great times we spent together, now I'm 38 and I miss my welo...I have a bunch of stories, but this is the 1 I will never forget.. Rip Ramon Pena!!! Love ya
Ketch. I wish you would pin this as these are some great stories
Wow called my grandfather Popo. Really haven't heard that much. All due respect to my father, I have never respected a man more than Popo. Literally lead the "American Dream". He was going to college during the depression and had to drop out. He went to work as a shipping clerk for a small company called Baker Oil Tools. Never left and ended up being the head of mergers and acquisitions for Baker International. Retired and then became the chair of the Baker Foundation. Would still go into work 2-3 times a week in his 90's (yes he still drove). Was from Houston but moved to California in 1963. The family Christmas in CA was the best. Hope everyone here can have memories this season like my family has had. Miss you, Popo!
I was never that close to either of my grandfathers for some reason. But my dad and my son are very close, they're like best buds. It's really cool to see.
(Mrs)
I wish I had stories like these. Both of my grandfathers were complete and absolute a-holes and so were their replacements. My dad's dad left when my dad was young. When he did come around all he wanted from my dad was labor. My dad would prefer to believe that his mother got knocked up at a soldier's dance than acknowledge that man as his father. My dad was raised by his grandmother even though his 3 siblings lived with his mother. At least he was spared from living with his violent and abusive stepfather. When my dad was 10 he walked in on his stepfather choking my dad's 14yo sister and got thrown across the room for trying to help her. When my dad was 14 his grandmother died and nobody came to get him. After 2 weeks he finally packed up his things and went to his mother's house with his dog. He was met at porch by his stepfather who said "I already have another mouth to feed, I'm not gonna have two" and shot my dad's dog. I never met the man but my mother grew up across the street from them and they both say nobody cried when he died.
My mom's parents were married for 40 years before my grandmother finally left him. She would've done it years before if it wasn't for her religious convictions. Church of Christ isn't big on divorce but she finally couldn't take it anymore. He was a womanizer and spent all their money and found out any time she tried to save any. This was back in the days when only the husband could make withdrawals and they'd call him if she tried. He didn't drink and wasn't physically violent but was verbally and emotionally. They had 6 boys and 2 girls and every time she got pregnant he denied it was his. He loved his boys but didn't give a rat's tail about his girls. He believed women were only good for keeping dinner on the table and there'd be hell to pay if it wasn't there when he got home from work. My grandmother remarried in her 50's. He loved her and treated her well but he had some skeletons in his closet and I don't have any kind words for him. My grandfather remarried also and I do have fond memories of visiting his farm in east Texas for 2 weeks every summer with my cousins but none of them have to do with him. I loved getting eggs from the chicken coup every morning and we would can fruit and paint the jars. I would sleep on the sleeping porch and listen to the train go by across the street at night. I still love the sound of a train in the night.
Sorry these weren't happy grandfather stories. I'm sure my uncles have some of those about their dad. By the time I came along my dad's mom was living in Indianapolis with her second (3rd?) husband. But I absolutely adored my mom's mom. She lived 2 miles away so we saw her once or twice a week. By the time she died in 2012 at age 92 she had 8 children, 20 grandchildren, I'm not sure how many great-grandchildren and one great-great-grandchild). We are all very close and see each other frequently, and we ALL get together every Easter, thanksgiving and Christmas at grandma's house (now at my mom's house). I loved that woman and miss her every day.
I wish I had stories like these. Both of my grandfathers were complete and absolute a-holes and so were their replacements. My dad's dad left when my dad was young. When he did come around all he wanted from my dad was labor. My dad would prefer to believe that his mother got knocked up at a soldier's dance than acknowledge that man as his father. My dad was raised by his grandmother even though his 3 siblings lived with his mother. At least he was spared from living with his violent and abusive stepfather. When my dad was 10 he walked in on his stepfather choking my dad's 14yo sister and got thrown across the room for trying to help her. When my dad was 14 his grandmother died and nobody came to get him. After 2 weeks he finally packed up his things and went to his mother's house with his dog. He was met at porch by his stepfather who said "I already have another mouth to feed, I'm not gonna have two" and shot my dad's dog. I never met the man but my mother grew up across the street from them and they both say nobody cried when he died.
My mom's parents were married for 40 years before my grandmother finally left him. She would've done it years before if it wasn't for her religious convictions. Church of Christ isn't big on divorce but she finally couldn't take it anymore. He was a womanizer and spent all their money and found out any time she tried to save any. This was back in the days when only the husband could make withdrawals and they'd call him if she tried. He didn't drink and wasn't physically violent but was verbally and emotionally. They had 6 boys and 2 girls and every time she got pregnant he denied it was his. He loved his boys but didn't give a rat's tail about his girls. He believed women were only good for keeping dinner on the table and there'd be hell to pay if it wasn't there when he got home from work. My grandmother remarried in her 50's. He loved her and treated her well but he had some skeletons in his closet and I don't have any kind words for him. My grandfather remarried also and I do have fond memories of visiting his farm in east Texas for 2 weeks every summer with my cousins but none of them have to do with him. I loved getting eggs from the chicken coup every morning and we would can fruit and paint the jars. I would sleep on the sleeping porch and listen to the train go by across the street at night. I still love the sound of a train in the night.
Sorry these weren't happy grandfather stories. I'm sure my uncles have some of those about their dad. By the time I came along my dad's mom was living in Indianapolis with her second (3rd?) husband. But I absolutely adored my mom's mom. She lived 2 miles away so we saw her once or twice a week. By the time she died in 2012 at age 92 she had 8 children, 20 grandchildren, I'm not sure how many great-grandchildren and one great-great-grandchild). We are all very close and see each other frequently, and we ALL get together every Easter, thanksgiving and Christmas at grandma's house (now at my mom's house). I loved that woman and miss her every day.
i had a wonderfull Grandad....the only person i have ever known that practiced what he preached...
Ex. if you can't say something nice about someone, don't say anything at all ...
The worst thing i ever heard him say if he was really mad was.....( oh tut ! )
You knew he was upset if you heard that word.....
And the most important thing....He had a close relationship with God!!!! He always put others before himself.
Amazing thread!
Here's text I copied from an article on grandfather from WWII. He died before I was born. I wish I could have known him.
The News had the privilege of reading the Citation given T-Sgt. Morris Walker, here on furlough, when he was awarded the Silver Star for gallantry in action in the vicinity of San Angelo in Teodice, Italy. The Silver Star was pinned on Morris by General Mark L. Clark on March 11, 1944.
The Citation given Sgt. Walker by Major General Fred L. Walker, U.S. Army 36th Division, in Italy, read in part, as follows:
Morris W. Walker, Tech. Sgt., for gallantry in action on January 22, 1944 in the vicinity of San Angelo in Teodice, Italy. Sgt. Walker was assigned the mission of leading a machine gun section of his unit across the Rapido River on the night of January 21-22. While attempting the crossing the area was covered by heavy enemy mortar and artillery fire and the rubber assault boat to be used by the section was destroyed. On the morning of 22 January he succeeded in getting his men across the river where the positions were constantly subjected to enemy machine gun, artillery and mortar fire which resulted in heavy casualties. Constantly exposing himself to this fire, Sergeant Walker moved among his men seeing that they were properly protected and assisted in improving their morale. He then volunteered to cross to the east side of the river and secure artillery support, and in returning, took three walking wounded soldiers with him. Finding the pontoon bridge destroyed he swam the swift flowing river and brought back a rubber boat, successfully evacuating the wounded men. He then delivered the message calling for artillery support. His gallant actions reflect great credit upon himself and the armed forces of the United States.
He described the mission in an interview released by the War Department today.
"It was when the 36th crossed the Rapido River," he said. Our battalion was ordered to get across and secure a bridgehead. I led a light machine gun section in an assault boat. The boat was riddled with enemy machine gun fire and we were swamped.
We swam back to shore, found a pontoon bridge, and started fighting our way across. Only three of us in my section were able to make the crossing. We dug in and the next morning 50 more men out of our company made it. Men from other outfits crossed, too, and we were ordered to dig in and hold the ground.
All day we were under machine gun, sniper, and terrific artillery fire. We had no communications so we couldn't get artillery support. It looked as though we were going to get cut to bits by the Jerries. They asked for volunteers to go back across the river to get artillery support. To reach the river we had to cross a level open field 800 yards long, under constant fire and direct observation. A GI named Joe Vasquez and I volunteered.
We crept and crawled across the field, and when we got to the river, we found three wounded doughboys, so badly hurt they couldn't move. The bridge had been destroyed by shellfire, so I swam across the river and got a boat - it was cold and the current was swift, but I knew I had to make it.
We took the men across, got them to an aid station, and got the urgent request for artillery support to the battalion command post."
Sergeant Walker received the Purple Heart for a wound from a shell fragment on Hill 593, near the Monte Cassino Monastery.
"It was a screaming meemie shell and I heard it coming," he said. "I knew it was going to be close. It hit about five yards behind me and just sprayed the whole area with fragments, but I was lucky, for I wasn't badly hurt. I was out of action for five days."
Here's text I copied from an article on grandfather from WWII. He died before I was born. I wish I could have known him.
The News had the privilege of reading the Citation given T-Sgt. Morris Walker, here on furlough, when he was awarded the Silver Star for gallantry in action in the vicinity of San Angelo in Teodice, Italy. The Silver Star was pinned on Morris by General Mark L. Clark on March 11, 1944.
The Citation given Sgt. Walker by Major General Fred L. Walker, U.S. Army 36th Division, in Italy, read in part, as follows:
Morris W. Walker, Tech. Sgt., for gallantry in action on January 22, 1944 in the vicinity of San Angelo in Teodice, Italy. Sgt. Walker was assigned the mission of leading a machine gun section of his unit across the Rapido River on the night of January 21-22. While attempting the crossing the area was covered by heavy enemy mortar and artillery fire and the rubber assault boat to be used by the section was destroyed. On the morning of 22 January he succeeded in getting his men across the river where the positions were constantly subjected to enemy machine gun, artillery and mortar fire which resulted in heavy casualties. Constantly exposing himself to this fire, Sergeant Walker moved among his men seeing that they were properly protected and assisted in improving their morale. He then volunteered to cross to the east side of the river and secure artillery support, and in returning, took three walking wounded soldiers with him. Finding the pontoon bridge destroyed he swam the swift flowing river and brought back a rubber boat, successfully evacuating the wounded men. He then delivered the message calling for artillery support. His gallant actions reflect great credit upon himself and the armed forces of the United States.
He described the mission in an interview released by the War Department today.
"It was when the 36th crossed the Rapido River," he said. Our battalion was ordered to get across and secure a bridgehead. I led a light machine gun section in an assault boat. The boat was riddled with enemy machine gun fire and we were swamped.
We swam back to shore, found a pontoon bridge, and started fighting our way across. Only three of us in my section were able to make the crossing. We dug in and the next morning 50 more men out of our company made it. Men from other outfits crossed, too, and we were ordered to dig in and hold the ground.
All day we were under machine gun, sniper, and terrific artillery fire. We had no communications so we couldn't get artillery support. It looked as though we were going to get cut to bits by the Jerries. They asked for volunteers to go back across the river to get artillery support. To reach the river we had to cross a level open field 800 yards long, under constant fire and direct observation. A GI named Joe Vasquez and I volunteered.
We crept and crawled across the field, and when we got to the river, we found three wounded doughboys, so badly hurt they couldn't move. The bridge had been destroyed by shellfire, so I swam across the river and got a boat - it was cold and the current was swift, but I knew I had to make it.
We took the men across, got them to an aid station, and got the urgent request for artillery support to the battalion command post."
Sergeant Walker received the Purple Heart for a wound from a shell fragment on Hill 593, near the Monte Cassino Monastery.
"It was a screaming meemie shell and I heard it coming," he said. "I knew it was going to be close. It hit about five yards behind me and just sprayed the whole area with fragments, but I was lucky, for I wasn't badly hurt. I was out of action for five days."
Very special. You were lucky to share those wonderful places, family & memories. My Dad loved nothing better than to fish. I spent most of my childhood, along with my brother & 4 sisters swimming in whatever stream, creek, river or lake we happened to be near at the time. We fished too, ran trot lines and seines, and trapped minnows. We had a worm bed in our backyard in Houston.
Wow, that is quite an amazing life he led. How special to have all of that history and memories from the stories he told you. He must have been so proud - of you, his sister, and the family and life he made for himself here in America.
So you are describing the deaths of both Poncho Villa (a huge hero of mine) and your grandfather? Incredible!
What an amazing account of an incredibly brave and ferocious man. You must be very proud of his legacy.
I am, thank you. I'm fortunate enough to have possession of his Purple Heart. His whole life he never spoke about the war, to anyone. My aunt lived with him while her husband (his son) was in Vietnam. She said occasionally he would say things like it was too bad to remember or talk about and that he had an absolute hatred of everything German. I gather he carried a lot of scars and baggage from his time there.
Here is a picture of him being awarded the Purple Heart and Silver Star.
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I am, thank you. I'm fortunate enough to have possession of his Purple Heart. His whole life he never spoke about the war, to anyone. My aunt lived with him while her husband (his son) was in Vietnam. She said occasionally he would say things like it was too bad to remember or talk about and that he had an absolute hatred of everything German. I gather he carried a lot of scars and baggage from his time there.
Here is a picture of him being awarded a medal.
Very special. My experience has been similar in that men find it difficult to speak about the acts of war to which they were subjected and in which, of necessity, they participated. It was much more 'personal' back then. I can only imagine.
That's a great piece of history. It's wonderful that you keep this in your family history. So much of the personal accounts have been lost over the years.
Here is a brief summary of the 36th Div. I wish that I knew more about the Italian campaign during WWII.
https://en.m.wikipedia.org/wiki/36th_Infantry_Division_(United_States)#World_War_II
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Yes it is. I'd like to be able to talk to some of the remaining soldiers.
Grandfather, my dad's dad was a Methodist minister , last serving in Fredricksburg. We used to spend holidays with him and my grandmother, playing in the small peach orchard with my sibs and cousins. When I was about 10 and he was about 80, I got a new catcher's mitt and when I couldn't find anyone to play pitch with, he showed me he still had an arm.
On my mother's side, my great grandad eloped with the governor of North Carolinas daughter and moved to Mexico, where my grandad spent his youth. Later, he taught Spanish at SW Texas in San Marcos, where (I am told) he was the first football coach of the school, named them the Bobcats.
He later moved to teach at Berkley, where (I am also told) he cruised bars with Caruso, had lunch with Einstein, and survived the great fire in the twenties.
Grandad was a character for sure, and I wish he was still around for more stories, true or not. My last visit with him he told me over and over again that the trees in Missouri were a lot taller than the ones in Texas because they got a lot more rain.
On my mother's side, my great grandad eloped with the governor of North Carolinas daughter and moved to Mexico, where my grandad spent his youth. Later, he taught Spanish at SW Texas in San Marcos, where (I am told) he was the first football coach of the school, named them the Bobcats.
He later moved to teach at Berkley, where (I am also told) he cruised bars with Caruso, had lunch with Einstein, and survived the great fire in the twenties.
Grandad was a character for sure, and I wish he was still around for more stories, true or not. My last visit with him he told me over and over again that the trees in Missouri were a lot taller than the ones in Texas because they got a lot more rain.
Wow. Compared to some of you my granddad was pretty ordinary.
My grandpa Samuel was born in Concordia , Miss in 1908.....the town is dead now-got wiped out in the Great Flood of 1927. About 1916 his family moved to Mound Bayou and worked at one of the cotton plantations picking cotton-he met my Granma there.
Well he got tired of that (and other things too) and so he decided to move to Memphis in 1921-he worked in a factory and drove a delivery truck. When he came home he married Grandma in 1926;they stayed together for 58 years until she passed away.
They lived in Hattiesburg Miss until 1929-then he and her and the then four kids went north went on the Great Migration to Chicago-my dad was born there in 1931. When he first got there he worked in a hotel as a bellhop-did OK but later one of his friend got him a job working as a Pullman porter on the Illinois Central RR-His 1st train was the Panama Limited-the night train to New Orleans.
Then he went on to the Santa Fe RR and the Southern Pacific and worked as a Pullman porter and cook on those two for about 15 years-his favorites lines were the Grand Canyon Limited-60 hours one way from Chicago to LA and the Arizona Limited down to Tucson. He learned how to chef as well-they got paid a little more steady especially during WWII.
The other thing he liked about the western trains was that they tipped real good and unlike the southern trains nobody ever called him "Boy" or worse......he was either "Porter" or "Edward"
He left the rails for good in 1953 and moved to Texas and went to work at a hotel as a breakfast cook and baker;he did that for about 20 years and then retired for good.....that is if you don't count the catering and other stuff he did on the side
He passed away at 98 in 2006-saw Vince and the guys win the NC.......I still remember the grin on his face when saw him a week later. I was blessed to have him in my life-we all were.
My grandpa Samuel was born in Concordia , Miss in 1908.....the town is dead now-got wiped out in the Great Flood of 1927. About 1916 his family moved to Mound Bayou and worked at one of the cotton plantations picking cotton-he met my Granma there.
Well he got tired of that (and other things too) and so he decided to move to Memphis in 1921-he worked in a factory and drove a delivery truck. When he came home he married Grandma in 1926;they stayed together for 58 years until she passed away.
They lived in Hattiesburg Miss until 1929-then he and her and the then four kids went north went on the Great Migration to Chicago-my dad was born there in 1931. When he first got there he worked in a hotel as a bellhop-did OK but later one of his friend got him a job working as a Pullman porter on the Illinois Central RR-His 1st train was the Panama Limited-the night train to New Orleans.
Then he went on to the Santa Fe RR and the Southern Pacific and worked as a Pullman porter and cook on those two for about 15 years-his favorites lines were the Grand Canyon Limited-60 hours one way from Chicago to LA and the Arizona Limited down to Tucson. He learned how to chef as well-they got paid a little more steady especially during WWII.
The other thing he liked about the western trains was that they tipped real good and unlike the southern trains nobody ever called him "Boy" or worse......he was either "Porter" or "Edward"
He left the rails for good in 1953 and moved to Texas and went to work at a hotel as a breakfast cook and baker;he did that for about 20 years and then retired for good.....that is if you don't count the catering and other stuff he did on the side
He passed away at 98 in 2006-saw Vince and the guys win the NC.......I still remember the grin on his face when saw him a week later. I was blessed to have him in my life-we all were.
That was very difficult to read. It also made me count my blessings.
I printed a copy of these awesome memories. I've let my family and friends read them and they are moved by these post. I recommend all do the same. Merry Christmas. John
