I have a very conflicted family tree. My paternal grandfather grew up on a tobacco farm in southern Georgia, and met my grandmother when on shore leave in Key West. Grandma was Miss Key West, and had been sent to Key West to live with my great-great aunt and great-great uncle after her father was killed in a horrific automobile accident in New Jersey. Yep, Grandma was a Jersey girl-- and Miss Key West. Cancer took her vibrant life just over twenty years ago, but she remains one of the most amazing women I have ever met, and was an incredible role model. After serving briefly in both the Navy and the Air Force, Grandaddy went on to work for Western Electric, which would go on to become AT&T. He took night classes at University of Miami for thirteen years before earning his bachelor's degree, and by the time he retired, was AT&T's director of human resources for the entire southeastern region of the United States. Golf was his passion, as was watching 60 Minutes on Sunday nights. He passed away in 2005, just a year after his mother. Longevity runs on the paternal side of my family. My great-great grandmother died when I was 13, my great-grandmother died when I was 29. Pretty amazing. My grandfather's sister, Aunt Betty Ann, just found out her 19 year-old granddaughter is pregnant and that she will be a great-great grandmother. When she delivered this news to me via the telephone, she declared, "You know Jennifer, our family is prolific!" She's a character. On my dad's side of the family, gatherings are all about chicken and dumplings, black eyed peas, collard greens, yellow squash casserole, corn bread, and banana pudding. When I attended Jim's celebration of life service a couple of weeks ago, I got to have a taste of my southern roots. It had been awhile. It was delicious.
This post, however, is about the other side of my family.
My maternal grandfather was born into a family of brothers who lived in an orphanage. He was fortunate to be adopted into a very wealthy family in southern California, and went on to study engineering at University of Southern California and after graduating was employed by Lockheed. He worked on the Polaris rocket, and Eisenhower's Air Force One. He was ambidextrous, and family lore states that he could stand in the middle of a chalkboard and work on the left side, switch chalk into his right hand, and continue writing on the right. He reprimanded his six daughters and one son in French, which he and my grandmother were both fluent in (as were most people in their station back in the day), and would entertain his guests by reading from Dr. Seuss books during cocktail parties. He was remarkable. A stroke took his life when I was 6 years old. I remember playing with his train set with him. I wish I could have talked to him as an adult, but I enjoy the stories I hear from my mother and her siblings.
My maternal grandmother was no less remarkable. Her father worked as a cameraman (and later, director of photography) at 20th Century Fox. He worked on the first film to win an Oscar, which was entitled Wings. Being a nature lover, he preferred to work on Jack London pictures and was away a lot. Grandma went to University of Southern California as well, and majored in Speech with a minor in Music. (Or is it the other way around?) Diction was very important to Grandma, and I daresay we have never had a family holiday when the dictionary or thesaurus hasn't come out because of a disagreement in word usage.
I am not kidding.
Grandma was 93 when she passed away, in her own bed, in her own house, in her sleep. She read The Wall Street Journal every day, using it to get informed about current events and find investments. A couple of years before she died she sold some stock that she had invested in so that she could put brand-new triple-glazed windows in her house. She was in excellent health, although she had osteoporosis and sometimes got ideas in her head that were just plain ludicrous. On the flip side, she had stopped driving a couple of years before she died, and was dependent on family to help her run her household. One aunt picked her up every Friday to do her grocery shopping (to go to market, as she was fond of saying) and get her hair done, and my uncle drove her to church every Sunday. Another aunt helped Grandma get her complicated taxes done each spring. My cousin did some work on her property, cutting grass and landscaping. Another cousin put her Christmas tree up each year once she got too old to do it herself. But you know, because she couldn't drive, she was kind of a prisoner in her own home. For years she had been an avid bridge player, and on into her 80s she taught bridge at her local senior center to folks much younger than her! Not long before she died she had to stop playing bridge because she would doze off during the game and could no longer concentrate well enough to be a competitive player. I thought she was going live to be 100. I had last visited her in the summer of 2009. Last summer I had been too busy to make the trek up to Atlanta, and the past couple of Christmases I've been just plain exhausted to travel over the holidays. I thought I had more time. I couldn't have been more wrong, and it's something I'm going to have to live with for the rest of my life. I do have a strong memory, though, and this has served me well.
At Grandma's viewing this past March, the day before her funeral, I recounted the following story to the assembled group of family and friends: When I arrived at Grandma's house on my last visit, she needed my assistance to get my bedding out of the closet. We made up the bed that I always stayed in when I came to visit. It took FOREVER. Grandma believes in making the bed with hospital corners. I have long said if I ever write my memoirs, the title of the book will be Hospital Corners, because my grandmother has had such an influence on my life. My mother and all of her sisters make up their beds with hospital corners, as do I. Anyway, back to the story... I began to get a bit exasperated because it was taking too long to get the bed just so... so I looked at Grandma and complained, You know, it doesn't have to be perfect. She looked at me with a twinkle in her eyes, and told me, Jennifer, it doesn't have to be, but it is.
That was my grandma in a nutshell. Everything was about appearances. A neatly-made bed signified a neatly-made life. She taught me the position of glassware in a proper place setting, and told me about the year she performed in Summerstock behind my great-grandfather's back while he was away at a movie shoot. Grandma was stunning, and wanted to be an actress. Her father wanted his daughter to have no part in what he knew to be a dirty business. In fact, when she married my grandfather, his mother disapproved of the marriage because of Grandma's family ties to the movie industry, and refused to attend the wedding. (Although Grandma was very fond of telling me that both my grandfather's and grandmother's family housekeepers attending the wedding-- in the back row. They knew their place, Jennifer.) She was a consummate lady, incredibly sharp, and although she was not a hugger, she did show grandmotherly affection and love in her own way. That night, after sharing stories about Grandma, we all prayed the Rosary around her body. We prayed for God to accept her spirit into Heaven. I had prayed the Rosary before, but never at a viewing, around a body. It felt very personal, and meaningful. My cousin David sat next to me, and we prayed. I shall not soon forget that experience, and I will never forget my grandmother, or the lessons she taught me.
A few weeks ago one of my aunts came to visit and told us, in front of company no less (I suppose I am no better for sharing this story on the internet), that she believes that my oldest aunt was not my grandfather's child, and told us about Grandma's friend. (Someone she had gone to college with and known before she met Grandaddy.) I told her under no certain terms do I believe this bit of gossip. I guess in some strange way it is interesting to think about Grandma having this kind of tawdry relationship, but she and my grandfather were connected. They could read each other's thoughts. They were partners in every sense of the word. She did not remarry after Grandaddy passed, remaining a widow for over 30 years. I am sure they are together now, discussing family... affairs.
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