Grandfathers.............

[venivedivici]

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.

 

[Vincent Laguardia Gambini]

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.

Wow. Great story. Thanks for sharing.

 

[HornHammer]

Bump (cause I LOVE all these stories!).

They point to a simpler time!

 

[Califashorn]

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.

 

[jaypena04]

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

 

[orange turdfrog]

Ketch. I wish you would pin this as these are some great stories

 

[RDalton3]

My grandfather, a Texas grad(inducted into the UT Mechanical Engineering HOF 2012) is my best friend. He took me to my first Longhorn game and taught me everything I know about being a man. Unfortunately he's dying a slow death at a nursing home in Austin where it's very hard to get up and see him as much as I'd like with the kids schedules. He lived a few blocks from me in Houston for over 35 years and it's a really tough time for me.

I'd love to write about all the amazing moments we've shared but I can't at the moment. I just wanted to share how much he means to me with a quick shoutout. I couldn't even read the other (I'm sure) amazing responses. There's nothing in the world like a wonderful grandfather. Love ya Popo.

My grandfather, a Texas grad(inducted into the UT Mechanical Engineering HOF 2012) is my best friend. He took me to my first Longhorn game and taught me everything I know about being a man. Unfortunately he's dying a slow death at a nursing home in Austin where it's very hard to get up and see him as much as I'd like with the kids schedules. He lived a few blocks from me in Houston for over 35 years and it's a really tough time for me.

I'd love to write about all the amazing moments we've shared but I can't at the moment. I just wanted to share how much he means to me with a quick shoutout. I couldn't even read the other (I'm sure) amazing responses. There's nothing in the world like a wonderful grandfather. Love ya Popo.

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!

 

[trayzg]

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.

 

[Mr. LLB]

(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.

 

[First&10]

I lost my grandpa about a year ago to dementia. He went through hell and it taught me (and I have prayed to God) that I want to die of absolutely ANYTHING but that. He didn't know who I was for about two years before dying. Tough, tough thing to watch happen to someone you love. I hope your grandpa's remaining time is as painless as possible.

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.

 

[drunk randoke]

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."

 

[Dogged Horn]

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.

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.

 

[Dogged Horn]

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.


.

Funny. We used to sprinkle sugar on our grapefruit halves before eating them.

 

[Dogged Horn]

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.

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.

 

[Dogged Horn]

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.

So you are describing the deaths of both Poncho Villa (a huge hero of mine) and your grandfather? Incredible!

 

[Dogged Horn]

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

Did you go to the Cadillac Bar? Sounds like a hoot of a grandpa!

 

[Dogged Horn]

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."

What an amazing account of an incredibly brave and ferocious man. You must be very proud of his legacy.

 

[drunk randoke]

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.

 

[Dogged Horn]

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.

 

[zooey]

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."

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

 

[drunk randoke]

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

Yes it is. I'd like to be able to talk to some of the remaining soldiers.

 

[nhardt80]

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.

 

[mardoc20]

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.

 

[I Hear Voices]

(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.

That was very difficult to read. It also made me count my blessings.

 

[orange turdfrog]

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

 

[Tex Dog]

Some fantastic narratives here. I'm 71 and I'm enthralled by all of them.

 

[HuffTex]

My mom's dad has been the primary male influence in my life since I was 9. He was there when my dad walked out on my mom and me. He taught me what it means to be a man, a father, a husband, and so much more. I live every day trying to be half the man he was. He worked for Brown and Root or 50 years, before they forced him to retire. He started delivering blueprint all over Houston on his bike at the age of 14 and dropped out of school int he 9th grade to help his mom support him and his 12 brothers and sisters (even though he was the youngest). He taught me about cars, electrical work, home maintenance, small engine repair, being resourceful, not being wasteful, how to make pancakes, how to fry an egg, and that sometimes a glass of water is actually vodka (that was not a good day).

I will forever be grateful for what my grandfather has done for me. He stepped up when my father decided he had better things to do and by no means did he have to do that. He has gone so far and above any responsibility he has ever had towards me. He has meant so much to my life that I actually changed my last name to his while in law school so that the name he has worked so hard to build will not be laid to rest with him.

Today he is not in great health and suffering from Alzheimer's. It is hard to watch such a proud man go down such an undignified path. I would give anything to have one more day with that man when he wasn't angry because of his fear and dull because of his disease. Some days I wish he would die not because I wouldn't miss him dearly but because I know he would finally have peace and be reunited with his son.

This seems to have turned into a "dear diary" entry and for that I am sorry and because of that I will stop here. Good off-season thread OP. I am sure many others like myself have wonderful grandfathers that mean/meant the world to them.

That was not a "Dear Diary" post, it was a fitting tribute to a man who sounds like he earned it. OUTSTANDING.

 

[I Hear Voices]

Last night as my adult children left our home at the end of our traditional Christmas Eve dinner party, I reminded them of how fortunate they were to have the love, support and influence of both sets of grandparents. Hard work, kindness and love abounded and they are both the beneficiary of that legacy.

My mom's dad died when I was an infant. Her mom died several years earlier so I really never knew anyone on her side.

My father's dad and mother are still in my memories. Grandfather was a hatter and dry cleaner in a small north Texas town. The Great Depression really hurt his business. He passed when I was in junior high and since I only got to see him once or twice a year, I never really knew him except from the stories my dad told. My grandmother lived much longer and I can still remember her, especially the feeling of her hugs as she embraced me as we unloaded the car after a long trip north in an un-air conditioned 1953 Ford.

I do have a few "sound memories" and maybe you do to. My grandfather, my two uncles and my father liked to play dominoes when we all got together on these special trips. They set up a card table in the living room, turned on the ceiling fan, and pulled up four rocking chairs. I would crawl into my father's lap and was sure there was no better place to be. The chairs made comforting noises as they rocked back and forth on the wooden floors. Occasionally someone would come in through the front door of the house - a screen door like they just don't make anymore - and I'll always remember the sound of it opening and closing.

But the best, most deeply embedded sound was of the dominoes shuffling on the card table, and the friendly banter between the men playing a game they knew well. My dad would rock back and forth. I would close my eyes and just listen. I felt about as happy and secure as I ever have in my life during those moments.

The essence of those special memories has always been important to me and I have tried to share similar experiences with my kids. And I think I did as I was reminded of those memories from years ago when they said goodbye last night. I can still feel their arms around my neck, the same arms that held me close when they were young.

 

[TX Bootman]

My father's dad grew up in an immigrant family in NYC, born in 1910. He went to New York University, and then Missouri for graduate school during the Great Depression. My father told me stories about how Grandfather would eat ketchup packets for dinner, and how he had a nice waitress at a restaurant that would give him a few extra packets of ketchup to take home. He served in World War II, and came home when my father was 4 years old. He was a gruff man, and my dad says he was a little afraid of him until he was about 10, when they bonded over baseball. He and I were very close, and his influence was a major reason I went to West Point. When I was a senior in high school, he came from Lubbock to Irving for every one of my high school football games, until heart surgery did him in. He was in the oil business and was a petroleum geologist during the Wildcat days. He could relate to the roughnecks in the field and the investors with equal ease. He spoke 7 languages, and was a huge influence on the importance of education to me. He lived a hard life, and carried some deep scars from the war, and had a gruff exterior, but there was not doubt that his family was his greatest pride.

My grandpa on my mother's side also came of age during the depression. He was Jewish, and he married a Catholic girl, so his parents disowned them. They started their family of nine in 1942, and he worked in retail. By 1964, they moved to Texas, and he opened up a boot store on Main Street in Grand Prairie. They did all right, but he and my grandma lived in the same small house for the next 50 years until they both passed. My Grandpa was proud that he helped a few of his sons get into the boot business, and although he had Alzheimer's by then, he knew that I got into the business, too when I opened up our store in 2010. I would often call him just to hear him beam with pride that another generation had followed in his footsteps on my way home from work. He would get just clear enough to dole out some really good advice during those phone calls. The best part was just knowing that it made him happy. When I went to West Point, he tried to talk me out of it, but when I told him he was bound and determined, he was always in a West Point hat or West Point sweatshirt. From then on, every time I came to visit, he would walk me out as I left and salute as I drove away.

 

[mardoc20]

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.

Trust me-war and veterans have not changed very much in 2000 + of war. And most vets who saw combat don't like to talk about it. My grandad didn't have a war but my dad, my brothers and I did. I will tell you a Dad story-he fought in Korea and Vietnam in the infantry-when the Chinese hit the Eighth Army and X Corps in November and December of 1950......his unit the 25th ID had been chewed up pretty good by the Chinese-they fell back to a place along the Chongchon River.

I knew about that fight from history but Dad never talked about it - in the 1990's we went to DC to visit friends and they took us to the Hall of Heroes-there used to be paintings of different battles in US history there-My brothers were walking around and noticed Dad wasn't with us so we went to look for him.

He was standing in front of a painting and he was just looking at it. My older brother asked him about it and my dad said " You see that ridge and that half track-my company was 200 yards to the right.......I remember two things-it was cold as hell and we held for 12 hours. The Chinese kept coming and we kept killing them."

It was one of the few times we have seen Dad cry-he was quiet about it but we knew .......and we have never asked anymore about it, DoggedHorn

 

[Durantula23]

wow, please keep these coming!

 

[cammac88]

My grandfather and his brother quit school (7th/8th grades) in the late 1800s to help put food on the table in Richmond, Va. My great grandfather had committed suicide. They shined shoes and sold peanuts and newspapers at the train station. My grandfather eventually took correspondence to earn his high school diploma. Then he found his way into advertising, and eventually started his own company. He made a nice life for himself and his bride from the Pierce Ranch in Fort Worth. They met on a train. He had a custom-built home in Richmond, across the street from the U. of Richmond. The Spiders practice football field is land that he sold to the university.

 

[jamimer]

Sad. I hope you don't suffer from dementia. My paternal grandmother died in her sleep. My Dad died instantly in front of his fireplace of a brain aneurysm, after hauling a load of firewood (in a wheelbarrow) up the steep hill behind the house on his East Texas farm. I hope to take after them - either one - when it comes time to 'shuffle off this mortal coil'.

That's about the best way to die I can think of. He was lucky.

 

[mhg7989]

My grandfather was from my dad's side (my mom's father passed when I was 7 and didn't really remember him at all). He was my hero and there isn't a day that goes by where I don't think of him. He came from Arkansas during the depression to New Mexico. He had an 8th grade education, but worked in his family farm and worked in Potash mines until he retired in 1984. I remember the whole town revered my grandfather and called him by his nickname "Doc". He was the finest man I know!

 

[Klobaby]

Grew up in Huntington Beach CA with my dad and sister. Parents divorced. My dad still made sure that we kept in touch with my mom's parents. He would send us to Battle Creek MI for a week or 2 each summer. My grandpa and I would find worms in his compost pile and fish for Blue gills in a John boat. Every once in a while he'd get pissed for hooking a "speckled bass." Years later I realized these "bass" were crappie! He was a great man and WWII vet. Still disappointed that I skipped his funeral which was military one.