Grandfathers.............
- Thread starter orange turdfrog
- Start date
That was not a "Dear Diary" post, it was a fitting tribute to a man who sounds like he earned it. OUTSTANDING.
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.
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.
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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.
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.
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
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.
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!
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.
This was very hard to read and even harder to post, I'm welling up as I type this.
My dad's father came over via Brasero program. He established two businesses (a post tension company and a restaurant) that served as the backbone for that side of the family. My father and his brother still run the post tension company today. When I was a kid, he would always take me over the border to Juarez, we would visit the mercados and even caught a few bull fights. He passed away when I was in high school.
My mother's father is a lot harder to write about. I went to pre school and grade school around them so I spent a lot of time over there after school. He had a really special bond with my brother and him both being diabetics, he was my brother's best friend. When he died a piece of my brother went with him and sadly I don't think he's ever been the same since. My grandmother (is wife) is my last living grandparent, I don't know what I'm going to do when that day comes. My brother keeps this picture in his room.
My dad's father came over via Brasero program. He established two businesses (a post tension company and a restaurant) that served as the backbone for that side of the family. My father and his brother still run the post tension company today. When I was a kid, he would always take me over the border to Juarez, we would visit the mercados and even caught a few bull fights. He passed away when I was in high school.
My mother's father is a lot harder to write about. I went to pre school and grade school around them so I spent a lot of time over there after school. He had a really special bond with my brother and him both being diabetics, he was my brother's best friend. When he died a piece of my brother went with him and sadly I don't think he's ever been the same since. My grandmother (is wife) is my last living grandparent, I don't know what I'm going to do when that day comes. My brother keeps this picture in his room.
Love this thread. Appreciate all the posts here. Allowed me to think about some really cool memories of my granddad.
Some great stories shared here. Thanks again for all the posts.
Some great stories shared here. Thanks again for all the posts.
Both my grandfathers were 20+ years older than my grandmothers, so I never met either of them, but my dad told me a good bit about his father, who was born in the Tennessee hills, and was kicked in the jaw by a mule as young boy, disjointing his jawbone and locking his jaw so he could he could only take liquid nourishment for more than a year. A circuit-riding doctor took him to a medical convention, where the consensus was to cut out his lower mandible (chin bone), which they did, leaving him with limited chewing power, so his food (especially meat) always had to be finely sliced. My dad remembers him always having a jug of whiskey beside his bed and taking a pull on it every morning "to help his digestion".
My great-grandparents split the sheets a couple years later, and my great grandmother brought my granddad on the train to Texas, where she married a German immigrant rancher and bore him a son. My granddad didn't get along with his stepfather, and left home in his early teens to work as a cowboy for an old man who, as a boy, had been the only survivor of an aborted rustling party into Mexico, and had driven cattle up the trail in the 1870's. Still a young man when his stepfather passed away, granddad began raising his own cattle on a small piece of inherited land, clearing pasture and digging stock tanks with mule-drawn implements, and buying adjacent property (where I now live) as he was able. Almost 40 when he married, he and my granny raised six children, my dad being the youngest.
To supplement his income, granddad drove a mule-drawn wagon into Austin to supply the local general store, the round trip taking him all of two days to complete. I remember my oldest aunt saying that she and her mama and sisters, sitting on the front porch on a warm evening, could hear granddad coming up the road, singing to his mules.
My great-grandparents split the sheets a couple years later, and my great grandmother brought my granddad on the train to Texas, where she married a German immigrant rancher and bore him a son. My granddad didn't get along with his stepfather, and left home in his early teens to work as a cowboy for an old man who, as a boy, had been the only survivor of an aborted rustling party into Mexico, and had driven cattle up the trail in the 1870's. Still a young man when his stepfather passed away, granddad began raising his own cattle on a small piece of inherited land, clearing pasture and digging stock tanks with mule-drawn implements, and buying adjacent property (where I now live) as he was able. Almost 40 when he married, he and my granny raised six children, my dad being the youngest.
To supplement his income, granddad drove a mule-drawn wagon into Austin to supply the local general store, the round trip taking him all of two days to complete. I remember my oldest aunt saying that she and her mama and sisters, sitting on the front porch on a warm evening, could hear granddad coming up the road, singing to his mules.
Mom's dad was a fighter pilot ace in the Pacific in WWII. Flew F6F Hellcats off the Yorktown and Hornet. Won the distinguished flying cross, among other awards. Dad's dad was a lifelong employee with the Army Air Corps (now USAF) research lab at what used to be called Carswell (now NAS-JRB Forth Worth). Both good Texas men.
My mom's Dad died when I was 6 years old so I don't have many memories. My Dad's dad was an alcoholic POS. So, a man across the street when we moved into a new house took my training wheels off. He then morphed into essentially my grandfather and his wife my grandmother. They were at every major event in my life from elementary graduation to my wedding. He died 2 months after my Dad. I lost the 2 most significant men in my life within 2 months of each other, both unexpected. But, they taught me how to be man, husband, dad and man of faith. Good job Papa John (and Dad)!
My dad's dad died of a heart attack in a sales meeting when I was 2. So I never knew him. My mom's dad was an awesome guy. I miss him every day. I know he was kind of rowdy in his youth, but settled down in Abilene and owned a full sevice gas station (remember those?). I used to "help" him, but mostly drank free sodas out of the machine. He worked long hours. I remember helping him count the money at the end of the day. A couple of hundred bucks seemed like a million dollars to me. He died of lung cancer when I was at UT. Watching him wither away due to the disease was tough. Thank you for this thread. Good memories. Can't wait to see him again one day
What a thread.
I had a cool moment recently. I was talking country music with my dad. I told him my favorite singer was Marty Robbins. He said that's a coicincidence because that was your papa's favorite singer. I remember riding in his truck and listening to music and him singing but I do not recall Marty Robbins. I think subconsciously I must have picked it up though.
I had a cool moment recently. I was talking country music with my dad. I told him my favorite singer was Marty Robbins. He said that's a coicincidence because that was your papa's favorite singer. I remember riding in his truck and listening to music and him singing but I do not recall Marty Robbins. I think subconsciously I must have picked it up though.
Papa was born in 1896, a little older than a lot of y'all grandpas. Glad I got to know him. Carpenter and farmer by trade. Simpler times, he played the fiddle and for weekend entertainment they had friends over and all played blue grass on the porch. A tad grumpy, in a lovable way. I inherited that.
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