Here is a picture of the men in my family, all of them are gone except me. I am sitting on my grandfather's knee, my father is sitting next to his father, and in the back are my brothers sitting on my uncle's knees. My uncle was a Marine, fought in the Pacific, including Tarawa, Guadalcanal and Okinawa. He made it home, and in fact, while sailing from place to place in the war he managed to take the pay from many a sailor playing poker -- he arrived home with enough money to buy a brand new Cadillac.
Watching Yancy Derringer brings back memories -- my father did his residency at Charity hospital in New Orleans, my uncle was a Mississippi gambler, and my grandfather was a woodworker. I got to visit him and the shop in 1959, and we had a good ol' time - riding around on the Delta in his pickup truck, hanging out in the shop, drinkin' Coca Colas right out of the Coke machine.
My uncle inherited the shop after my grandfather died and I spent the summer of 1967 working for him. Tough boss, he expected a lot, and I worked like a sumbitch. He had his office in the middle of the millwork shop, a small, windowless room with his desk and a chair for visitors. At the end of the day I would go and sit there and wait for a ride home. He loved to play jokes, and one afternoon as I was waiting I picked up a trade journal and was engrossed in reading the articles about efficiently processing wood into salable products.
BOOM!!! What the hey? Unbeknownst to me, my uncle, always the joker, had pulled out his .38 revolver and fired a round through the floor. I nearly jumped out of my skin. It was loud, I tell ya.
So I go around to his side of the desk and look - what do you know - there were probably a dozen bullet holes in the floor -- he did that all the time to keep salesmen on their toes, so to speak. What a character.
Another day I arrive at the shop and notice that the front door was splintered from the inside out - huh? What happened? "Some sumbitch tried to break in -- I fired through the door at him, but I must have missed -- I heard him run off." Did I mention that he was a combat-hardened Marine? He didn't take shit from anyone, and anyone who tried to take anything from him was going to encounter deadly force.
My grandfather was born in Kentucky, his father was a surveyor who died of typhoid before my father was born, so I don't have a lot of stories about my great-grandfather. My grandfather had a brother, naturally, and as was their wont in those days, they played rough. My great uncle told my grandfather to stand at the bottom of a cliff while he, my great uncle, shot arrows at him. One arrow hit him right in the nose, hence the Jimmy Durante look. Knowing that they would both be in trouble when they got home, my great uncle said "Let's stay out until after dark -- that way they won't notice the wound when we get home." Kids, they never change.
Anyway, after his father's death my grandfather managed to go to college, he earned his EE, not a trivial feat in those days, but decided not to work for Big Electric, and eventually opened his millwork shop and was self-employed for the rest of his life. He lived in Clarksdale Mississippi until the big flood of 1927 forced him out (you can read the story of how devastating that flood was in the book "Rising Tide" by John Barry) and then he moved to Greenwood, where some of my family still resides.
Looking forward, I am still doing woodwork, and hope to make some more things for my own grandchildren. That is the way of my people. I have been encouraging my son to train his son to be a woodworker, if only to keep that tradition alive. Here is a picture of my grandson I took at Christmastime:
Which reminds me -- he has inherited our familial love of cars. Some day I hope to tell him about how his great uncle drove across the flat Mississippi Delta.
13 comments:
When my Dad felt secure enough he bought a Cadillac. The year was 1956 and what a boat it was! Pearl Grey exterior with a Silver Grey interior. Always a hushed feeling just to enter it. Like walking into church. Well, walking into synagogue.
My father drove a series of ratty used cars (a Kaiser Traveler, an Austin Somerset and so on) then he owned a couple of Fords. His last Ford was a '57 two door hardtop which he ripped the transmission out of trying to get it unstuck from a snow drift in the blizzard of '61. Then he switched to Corvairs.
What can I say - his brother had better taste in cars. And I, unlike my one surviving brother, have never owned a Ford. Found On Road Dead. Fix Or Repair Daily. Fails On Race Day. Fast Only Running Downhill. And so on.
Great stories. Triggers so many memories and stories myself. Here's one, if you'll indulge, on the self-employed angle. A friend of mine, who passed away this year in his eighties, was a shrimper. He saw it all out on the ocean, including watching a neighboring ship blow up with his nephew on it. Tough, old sea captain. He eventually retired and traveled quite a bit, so we only caught up once or twice a year. Anyway, one day he tells me he got his first job. I looked at him funny and he laughed. He pointed out that he'd been self-employed all his life, and at the ripe age of 70-something, he finally got a job. He worked for Bass Pro, checking out boats for the customers when one was sold. It had to pass his inspection before they let it go out.
Nothing like those old guys for inspiration.
Good one, Windbag - tough old guys rule!
Good looking family. All families need men. Strong men. Good for you.
Your grandfather with that hat and smile reminds me of my East Tennessee grandfather who moved his family to Iowa in the early 1900's. I couldn't have picked a better man to be my grandpa.
That is a great post Sixty. Thanks for sharing your family memories.
This kind of stuff is much more meaningful and important than the latest Trumpian outrage that gets all of the media's panties in a twist.
I hope you can share more your memories with us.
Thanks.
I could have been one of those boys in the Roy Rodgers shirts.
Will do, Troop - you are my mentor. I have at least one more that I want to post, but figured I would wait a spell. Maybe I have two stories - my great-grandfather who fought in the Civil War is worthy of a post.
East Tennessee is not a fur piece from South Kentucky - heck, we could be distant cousins, DB.
And you are right, AllenS - I was fortunate to spend time with my uncle and learn a thing or two about life and work.
Hats - I have a couple of them, but somehow they just aren't like the ones from the olden times.
BTW, Trooper, I am kin to the Yorks of Tennessee.
As for the shirts, my mother made those - when I got old enough I wore them - being the third child meant that I always had some swell clothes. A bit worn, perhaps, maybe 5 years out of date, but stylish nonetheless.
I love learning about people. History is about people, which is why I taught history and why I investigate people. I love and understand people, well most people. Didn't know your old man was a saw bones instead of a wood saw guy.
I spent the day in court. A shitbird who threatened a client had his plea hearing today. But, since yesterday was a govt. holiday there was a long docket. I've been to too many court hearings to still listen w/ anything but disdain as one loser after another whines to the court. One hearing went on forever as this guy w/ shoulder length hair in leg irons and orange jumps suit fired his attorney and demanded to represent himself at his trial tomorrow. The judge was much too tolerant. He is a spitting image of David Crosby, w/ shoulder length white hair and a soup strainer mustache. A liberal to the core. The prosecutor made it clear he was ready to try the case and would object to nay continuances tomorrow. He was pissed. But, this pansy judge will give the loser a continuance tomorrow, you can take that to the bank.
I knew I was in a rural county. Only one Negro defendant, and he was there for selling white man drugs, crystal meth.
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