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Grandpa stories

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My best memory of my grand father was that he had a hearing aid that fit in his shirt pocket with a wire that ran up to an earpiece, when he did not like the way a conversation was headed he would just reach into his pocket and turn off the hearing aid. I have his rocking chair that he would keep in the living room in the winter, and on the front porch in the summer.
I didn't get much time with my grand fathers, both passed when I was very young. I do have one memory of my grand father on dads side. I was probably 5 or 6 years old. I had went with dad to the farm. Dad left me at the house while he went down to the barn. Grandpa decided to teach me how to chew tobacco, he always chewed those long twists. Dad comes back to the house and I have a chew in my cheek which I was ordered to spit out. Was more than a little dizzy but no worse than the cigars I used to steal from dad. It was awhile before mom found out about it boy was she pi**ed at grandpa.
I knew both my grandpas well. My moms dad was born just after his parents emigrated from Finland. His wife, my grandmother was also born here just after her parents emigrated from Sweden. At christmas he would have a few and start singing old songs in Finn. My grandmother would yell from the kitchen "stop singing those songs Hank, speak english" He was a good natured man and while he was not particularly attentive to his grandchildren he clearly loved them all and treated us very well.

He loved to fish and would go onto the big lake (superior) in a rowboat and troll with a handline. He had the line around the back of his neck and as he rowed it would add extra action. He trolled a herring dodger with a herring out behind it. He caught some big lakers that way. He loved to fish and to him it was all about bringing home food for the family. Same with hunting. The objective was to kill as much meat as possible. He had a single shot 12 gauge and it was all he ever hunted with all his life be it big game or small.

I knew my dad's father very well and lived with him and my grandmother for several months during summer from and early age until I was 16. He always had a side job of some kind. He was the town electrician and when there was a power outage he and I and my uncle would get in his 31 model A and go looking for the problem. Uncle would climb the pole and fix it. His other deal was mowing the grass in the two town parks and the two cemeteries in town. I mowed grass every summer from the time I was about ten until age 16. He would be up at 6 am and fix pancakes and we would get in the A model and go out to mow. Back home at noon for lunch and that was the end of the workday. He made sure I had a rowboat at my disposal and I kept it on a bay of the big lake where there was a plentiful supply of rainbows, perch and northerns.

He wasn't very talkative but had a way of teaching with few words. One time we were mowing with a small hand mower around grave stones and he put his foot on the grounding blade to shut it off and it bent. I says "why don't you just pull the spark plug wire off". He says "go ahead". Lesson learned! That might make him seem like a mean guy but he wasn't. He did know the value of hands on experience.

Before wwII he had a taxi, rental hearse and bus business. He was also a bit of a man about town and he always carried a H&R 922 pistol. That eventually went to my dad and then to me. It's not much of a pistol and accuracy is poor but I treasure it.

When I was 14 there was a pair of yearling does that would cross through the backyard a couple times a week. This grandpa was never much interested in hunting but he commented several times that he should go to town and get some buckshot and kill one of those deer. So, occasionally I would sit on the back porch with a single shot 22 and wait for crows to land in the trees behind the house and try to pick one off. One evening as I was sitting there the two does came by. I say to grandpa "do you think one of these longs would kill a deer?" He says "you could try". so I slipped out the other side of the house and worked my way close to them in the trees and popped one. It dropped on the spot with a spine hit. I ran up and finished it with a head shot and we dragged the deer behind an outbuilding and field dressed it.

Then grandpa says "we'll go in the house and watch gunsmoke and then take her to the basement and package her up for the freezer" And, that's just what we did.
I didn't get much time with my grand fathers, both passed when I was very young. I do have one memory of my grand father on dad’s side. I was probably 5 or 6 years old. I had went with dad to the farm. Dad left me at the house while he went down to the barn. Grandpa decided to teach me how to chew tobacco, he always chewed those long twists. Dad comes back to the house and I have a chew in my cheek which I was ordered to spit out. Was more than a little dizzy but no worse than the cigars I used to steal from dad. It was awhile before mom found out about it boy was she pi**ed at grandpa.
Your story reminds me of something I did with one of the grandson’s. My daughter was living with us and her 5yo son( now 22 ). I was outside and my grandson asked if he could have some snuff. I gave him some and a minute or so later he asked if he could spit. Of course I told him to spit. Then he asked to spit out the chew. Of course you can I said. He was a bit green. He ran in the house. A moment later he was outside with his mom and he was vomiting. My daughter was thoroughly P.O’d and let me know it. I didn’t think at the time it would become a family story but that grandson reminds me of it now and then, lol.
@Piquant, this is the only photo I could find on my phone. I’ve had the shotgun for about 35 years, since one of my uncles died. I remember that while cleaning it up there were still several cockleborrows stuck in the lacings on the leather butt cover.
You made me look for pictures again and I found 3.


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My grandfather on my mother's side was killed shortly after my mother was born. He was a painter on the high metal electric towers in Bethlem, PA. He was painting on one that was supposedly shut off but wasn't. Don't know if the shock killed him or not but the 110+ foot fall surely did. My grandmother well we did not get along. On my dad's side I had a fantastic grandfather. My dad's mom died when he was 12 so I never met her however grandpa married a wonderful lady who was a great grandmother to us. Used to stay for weeks at a time on his 300 acre dairy farm in Greene, NY which is now a Buddhist Monk retreat center. Tore everything down. Gramps taught me to shoot and hunt as my dad did not approve of guns so that was our secret. He died of a stroke milking his cows at 71 when I was 23. He loved his cows. First picture is my step grandmother and Uncle Earl. Second is Uncles Earl and David. Third is grandpa and my grandma shortly before she died. Sorry fo the length but you got me reminiscing.


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Saddled up ol Dan, my grandpa's Clydesdale. Jumped on and the saddle flipped down and i bit the dirt. Grandpa said you didn't punch him in the gut.

Dan liked to hold his breath in so the saddle was loose.

I still have a luv hate relationship with that horse.😂even tho he's been dead for years.
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My Grand Pa Alvae was born in Central Missouri in 1900.
He had a stepmother who he did not like. He grew up farming. He runaway from home with his brother and went to Nebraska weather fields being a water boy for thrashing machines. After that he went to New Mexico and Colorado. His brother left him to join the Navy in 1917. His brother lying about his age. Grandpa was on his own. He became a Cowboy,Quarry worker and logger. He once found an old revolver in the wilderness on a large rock. He took it and through it in the big dam they were building. He left Colorado and came back to Mo. He again became a farmer and welder. He was a very ruff man and drank alot.But he was very respectable. He once told me he helped pull several men from a local coal mine. He had a very long cable on his welding tow truck. He went to Pearl Harbour as a welder in1942 and helped retrieve bodies from the ships there. I learned alot from him. He passed in 1987. My father was a great man also. He learned alot and worked very hard. Lots of old memories in my family.
Salt River Johnny
I grew up in the house with my paternal grandparents and my mother and father. I was very close to Grandad. I’ve got a million stories about him. I had his Parker hammerless 16 gauge but got screwed out of it. I still have an 1873 trapdoor Springfield that he gave me with a story. He owned a service station on the edge of town, the first business that you came to when you entered thriving metropolis of 300 people. Field hands would come into town on Saturday night and blow off steam in one of the true Mississippi Delta honkey tonks (where blues music started). Often things got heated and someone got cut, stabbed or shot so the mayor said no more guns carried around in town. One Saturday afternoon a hand came walking into town with that rifle over his shoulder and Grandad asked him what he was carrying the gun for. He said that he was gonna kill Ol’ Skillet. Grandad told him that we couldn’t have killing going on in town and to give him the gun for safe keeping. He said “you can pick it up on your way home.” Apparently Ol’ Skillet wasn’t ready to be killed yet and he took care the rifle’s owner in a harsh manner because he never returned to pick up his gun. When I dug it out of his closet he told me to be careful it might still be loaded. I opened the trapdoor and sure enough it had a #6 shot ,410 shell in it.
My maternal grandfather passed when I was so young I have no memory of him. He served in WW1, buried by shell explosion and gassed.
Best story about him was the one time he drove a car. Horseman through and through. Went with my uncle to the train station when he joined the military. Drove back to the farm and when he got to the gate, pulled back on the steering wheel and hollored whoa. Car sat beside the barn until uncle came home.
In fourth grade 1950's , I met one of my best friends in life. Rudy. They were a family of three brothers , Rudy was the youngest brother , and my friend. Their Dad , was a West Virginian from the Green Briar country , and when the coal mines shut down in W.Va. , the family came north to Greene Co. Pa. for work . Honest , Christian , and my second Father. They always had English Setters to hunt grouse . We hunted the Laurel Ridge area for grouse , and when the day was done , our Dads would stop at a small watering hole down off the mountain. Rudy and I would wait in the car with Spotty , the grouse dog , while our Dads got refreshed for the rest of the ride home. Every time the Dads would get in the car to go home , Rudy's dad would recite this poem , taken from a book of poems called , "The Nimrod."............."Early He rises , waking all the camp with noise of preperation. Before day , He goes forth , returning well beyond the dark . His breath smells of strong drink , and the truth is not in Him." All those friends are gone to the hunting in the sky , except for me...........oldwood
My Mom's father he was born in 1901 in the mountains of Hampshire County WV and we called him "Pa". Best Grandfather a boy ever had, a bottomless well of patience and kindness to all but could freeze you in your tracks with just a glace. He fixed my toys, taught me to shoot, skin a squirrel and so much more. Born in a sawmiller's family he knew his trees and spoke of the tragedy of the chestnut blight and it's disastrous effect on both humans and wildlife 😢 In his early years he hunted with black powder and told of shooting at quail and then dropping to a knee below the smoke to see if the bird fell. Been missing him for 43 years:(
I wish I had paid more attention but then what little boy does, really? My maternal grandfather I only met once. He made pocket knives. Plastic was almost non existent back then so he used combs for the scales. I recall seeing one of his "pink" pocket knives.
My paternal grandfather was around for 2 decades and I knew him well. I remember us laying on the lawn watching for Sputnik. "Pop" let out a fart and had all our eyes watering. He said it was "like a dead horse in a sauerkraut barrel" (he was German).
Y'all have heard about my grandfather on my fathers side and his Ohio Vincent .36 flintlock that he taught me about muzzle loading. But not much about him other than that.
Before I was born he was a blacksmith and in the army with Gen. Blackjack Pershing during the Mexican Campaign chasing Poncho Villa. Heard many stories about that time. I don't know if he went with Gen. Pershing to Europe in WWI because he never talked about that time period. While he was in the Army they were changing from horse & mule power to cars & trucks so the Army changed him from blacksmith to mechanic and when he got out of the Army he went to work in Cleveland Ohio as a mechanic on Pierce Arrows and Franklin's.
My folks moved us from Ohio to South Florida when I was five and his parents followed two years later. My grandparents lived several blocks from us and had a large wooded area across the street from their house where Grandad and I would go squirrel & rabbit hunting with his Ohio flintlock.

One day when I was 10 or 11, I asked my dad why we moved from Ohio and he said he was tired of Lake Erie catching on fire. I didn't know anything about my maternal grandparents because they were never talked about.
One day my folks told me that my Grandpa Frank and Uncle Harry, moms brother were coming for a visit. I remembered my Uncle Harry from when he came back from WWII and scared me half to death when he showed up on our door step in uniform before we moved to Florida. He was a sight at 6' 4" in his uniform.
He would tell me stories about serving with Gen. Patton in Europe but never mentioned anything about my Grandpa Frank. My brother & I were old enough that mom & dad figured it was time to hear about why we didn't know about her dad, because he was going to visit.

Seems he was a beer delivery man in Cleveland and one day he caught his wife cheating on him. She was in a bar with her lover and when grandpa Frank went in he tried to shoot them but his glasses fogged up and he shot the wrong man. He spent 18 years in prison over that and that was the reason we moved to Florida. Uncle Harry & Grandpa Frank spent about a week or so and went back to Ohio. I don't remember much about the visit, except Grandpa Frank gave me an old picture of him in his horse drawn beer wagon. He was a very large man even at his age. His hands made up two of mine. When they were getting ready to leave, grandpa Frank told me not to show the picture to mom and I never did.
Never knew my grandfather, he left home at 12 and went to sea, went under sail, steam and turbine. Didn’t speak any English so never got his masters ticket. Had three ships blown from under him running the North Sea during WW2. Could never go back to Spain as the facists would have hung him. Married an Irish/canadian and settled in STH Wales (uk) when he was in his 70’s died at 100+. This is the only pic I have of him, my father doesn’t mention him but I imagine he would have a world of stories to tell.
My maternal grandfather was a motorcycle messenger in WW1… he had a TV repair shop in NJ when I was a kid. We lived in GA from the time I was 4, so I only met him and Grandma a couple of times on short visits.

Paternal Grandpaw worked the TX oil fields and had a stroke before I was born. He was in a nursing home and I only got to meet him once. He couldn’t talk, but sure played a mean game of dominoes. Paternal “Grammie” lived to be 100 with all her faculties intact until she passed. I met her and her husband Charlie several times on family vacations to Texas. Very nice people.
I was lucky and knew all my grandparents. My paternal grandfather was born around 1875 and my grandmother about 1895. It was prearranged marriage. They were Greek immigrants and never learned English. They settled in Galveston TX about 1911 and opened a restaurant with many other family members. He passed in 1955 when I was 7 but I remember him well and for a little kid my Greek was pretty good. My grandmother passed in 1975. They were very kind to all the grandkids. My maternal grandparents were a different. My maternal grandfather was born in 1895 and was a New Orleans fireman and was not drafted in WW1. His brothers were and there were some stories there. He married a women from France in 1919. She spoke very little English and was very short tempered. My French never reached a conversation level and was not real close to her. My grandpa was kind and I enjoyed being with him. He passed in 1960 and my grandmother passed in 1980. They all left me with mostly great memories.
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