My grandfather on my father's side died when I was very little. I was 7 or 8 years old, I believe. He was born in the late 1890's or early 1900's and was a potato farmer in rural Michigan about an hour north of Grand Rapids where I grew up. My father was born in 1930 and grew up in stark depression era poverty. My dad was the second youngest of 6 and, according to him, he didn't even have a pair of shoes until he was in the 8th grade (which was his final year of formal schooling, before setting off on his own to make his way in the world.)
My grandparents lived in an old ramshackle home without either running water or electricity until their children bought them a mobile home in the mid 1970's which they placed about 100 feet from their old house. Before moving into their trailer I dreaded visiting them. Not because I didn't like them, but because of their toilet.
Because they had no running water they had to make due with what they did have. So, to fashion a toilet they placed a hand-made wooden frame with a toilet seat over the top of an empty Hills Brother's coffee can which they rinsed out after each visit. I have a vague memory of my mother helping me balance on it once when I was very little, but I'm not sure if it is a real memory or one I conjured up from my fears of having to sit on it as a child.
Here's a picture of my father, Simon and me in front of the house he lived in with his parents until he was 13 or so:
And here's another one of Simon and I. In this one you can see the original house plus the trailer my grandparents moved into when I was about 5. This would have been about 1975 or so.
I have two main memories of my grandfather, other than that he was a quiet, stern man who I was a bit afraid of. The first also involved a Hills Brother's coffee can. My grandfather was an avid fan of chewing tobacco and was never without a large chunk stuffed in his lip. After they moved into the trailer and had water and electricity he loved to sit in his mammoth chair and watch TV and spit his chaw into the can he placed on the floor next to his chair. What I remember most is that he wouldn't empty the can of tobacco juice until it was full to the rim and nearly overflowing. I loved sitting near him and marveling at how much one man could spit.
The other thing about my grandfather that I remember is this song he used to sing. Somewhere we have a cassette tape of him singing it for us which I've tried to find, but in vain. I remember loving this song, and it was my favorite thing about him. I remember him singing it into the tape recorder when he was very old and frail. I think it was known at the time that he wouldn't live much longer and the family wanted to remember him and his song together.
It just now occurred to me that it was likely on the net somewhere so I googled it and, sure enough, there it was. I've
reprinted it below from a site which suggests that it is Irish in origin, but I've modified it a bit to match my memory of the words. As you read it you should picture it being sung by a gruff old potato farmer. That's the only way I can imagine it being sung.
BURGLAR BOLD:
I’ll sing you a song of a burglar bold
Who went to rob a house.
He opened the window and went right in, as quiet as a mouse
Then under the bed the burglar crept
And lay there close to the wall.
He didn’t know it was an old maid’s room
Or he wouldn’t have had the gall.
At nine o’clock the old maid came in
"I am so tired" said she.
She took out her teeth and big glass eye
And the hair from the top of her head.
While the burglar had seventeen kinds of fits
As he peered from under the bed.
From under the bed the burglar crept
And looked a total wreck.
The old maid was onto him and
Grabbed him by the neck.
She didn’t scream or holler at all
But stood there meek as a lamb and said,
“My prayers have been answered now
And at last I’ve found a man”.
Then the old maid a revolver took
And unto the burglar said,
“Young man it you don’t marry me
I’ll blow off the top of your head”.
The burglar looked for a place to run
But found not where to scoot.
He looked at her teeth and big glass eye
And said, “For God’s sake shoot”.
Here's a picture of my father, Simon and me in front of the house he lived in with his parents until he was 13 or so:
And here's another one of Simon and I. In this one you can see the original house plus the trailer my grandparents moved into when I was about 5. This would have been about 1975 or so.
3 comments:
He seems like a really interesting guy. Thanks for the cool story! My grandparents were depression survivors and I try to think about all of their stories whenever I find myself being a materialistic fool.
My gradparents were also Depression survivors. One story my materanl grandfather would to tell was how every morning he would go downtown (in Janesville WI, pop. 10,000 then) and deliver cross-town mail for busineses at a discount rate of one cent less than first class postage. The business would save a penny and my grandfather would make two on every letter he delivered.
Additionally, later in the Depression, my maternal grandmother was lucky enough to have a job as a switch-board operator for AT&T. Occasionally, there were payless paydays wherein a payee had two options. The first entailed deferring your pay until the next time AT&T could afford to pay you (with back-interest), or you could take your pay in an equivelient amout of AT&T stock. Well, grandma always says she knew that the government would never let AT&T fail and by then, grandpa was working at the Chevy plant down by the river. So she always took the stock. Suffice to say, when they retired in the 1970's, they were able to pay all their bills on time throughout. I wonder where my share went?
Thank you, I had a great uncle who used to sing this song at family gatherings. It was always a hoot!
I had forgotten all about it until I saw this post.
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