Grandfather B – You are a young gentleman. I expect you to behave like one.
My paternal grandfather was an interesting person. I;m not sure how tall he was but he was not a big man. His skin was red, like an Indian. He wore dark gray work shirts and trousers. He drove a truck for the local shipping company running day trips. He also had two very large subsistence gardens, ran a pack of beagles for rabbit hunting, raised chickens and kept a couple bee hives.
He was a member of the local Odd Fellows Lodge, I suspect more for Grandma to play bingo than for anything else. Bingo at the Lodge was a regular thing and I often tagged along. His other regular hobby was attending auctions. This is where I found a love of playing "what's this." I'm pretty good at looking at some random piece of hardware and figuring out what it was used for.
It was a treat to go with Granddad to get Saturday hair cuts. His barbershop was in an old cinder block, shed-roofed building heated by a potbelly stove. The old guy that owned the shop once gave me a blacksmith puzzle that had been taken apart. He told me I could have it if I could reassemble it and take it apart again.
Hanging out with Granddaddy B required a higher level of self control than my 6-year-old self was usually capable of achieving.You had to keep your hands to yourself, no picking up random things, and "don't pester me." The "act like a gentleman" comment came with a lesson on the importance
of reputation and family honor that many young people today could sorely
use.
Granddad drove a green, step-side,50's era pickup. It caught fire one evening around dusk. The fire department responded quickly but refused to drive the engine over the bridge that spanned our creek. That is until the chief was shown the bridge was constructed my steel i-beams supporting telephone poles as the foundation. Unfortunately, by the time they we able to reach the truck the .22lr and shotgun shells in the glove box started cooking off. So they backed off and pored water on the barn while the truck burned.
He gave me my first pocket knife. I was 6. It was a stiff, old hawk billed Barlow that I found in a box of auction stuff. When he finally agreed to let me have it he gave me another bit of wisdom: "Don't do anything stupid." I've carried a knife pretty much every day since then.
While he was strict I only remember him spanking me once. One of his bee hives was near the chicken coop and beagle pen under a small maple tree. I used to climb on the bee have to get a leg up into the tree. The hive was painted green and white and had a tar paper lid. I had a new daisy BB rifle that I carried everywhere. I decided one day that shooting the bees off the front of that hive was a fine way to spend the afternoon. Granddad found the BB's embedded in the front of the hive and knew exactly what had happened.
I take that back. I remember a second time. My cousin and I found a box of "torpedoes" in the attic.There were aluminum wrapped fireworks about the size of a big cherry. They exploded on impact like today's bang snaps. We used the whole box throwing them down on the sidewalk. They blasted little divots in the concrete. We both got it that day.
