Passing The Torch

                    

    Grandpa Wade was born Roy Clinton Wade on April 1, 1902 in Kentucky.  He was # 4 of 5 kids born to Rufus and Ellen Wade. I can't tell you anything about his youth .  I have only seen a few pictures and someone else had to point him out to me. I did, over the years, meet his three sisters and remember two of them well.
    Granny Wade was born Ruth Hunt in December 25, 1899 in Tennessee. If I am reading correctly, she was # 3 of  8 kids and though I surely have met many of her siblings I can only remember her youngest sister Sarah.
    Now Granny and Grandpa were in their mid 40's when I came along.  I was the first grand child born to their third child - Floye. As far back as I can remember they were like Mr and Mrs Clause. Grandpa was 6'2" - 6'4" tall and was pushing a good 400 lbs. Granny on the other hand probably didn't  make 5'2" and weighed no more than 115 lbs. They both had gray hair and if they had dressed in red you have thought the North Pole had come to Tennessee.  We used to tell our kids we were going to see Santa Clause.
    Back in the 1950's Dad was a butcher and Sunday was his day off.  It was spent visiting the grand parents.  Seems like we always went to see his parents and then about once or twice a month we would put our life into the hands of the Lord and cross the river on a rickety ferry so we could visit Granny and Grandpa Wade in Gallatin. Before Old Hickory lake was created you crossed from Wilson county into Sumner county via ferry boats.  The Cumberland river was swift and the road leading to the waters edge was steep and unpaved - good brakes were important.
     I may have been the first born grand child but I was treated no different than the last born.  If they had a favorite they kept it to themselves. When I was young they lived out of state for several years. Grandpa was in a leadership capacity in the shoe / boot making business. The point being is that I spent most of my informative years with Granny and Pa Riggan.  My younger brother Pat was closer to Granny and Pa Wade, but I still have some stories to tell.
     When visiting Granny Wade it was best to remember to go hungry, it mattered not that you had just completed a five course meal, she was going to feed you and you were going to eat. This didn't bother us kids because we were always hungry and Granny made lemon meringue pies and cakes.
     Quite often we would get to Granny's house and she would be in the process of fixing lunch ( note: we in the south don't cook meals we fix them ). Granny would realize that she was short some ingredient to complete the meal. " Roy, go to the store and get me bread or milk  and hurry back so we can eat ". Grandpa, being the dutiful husband, would climb into the car and head for town.  Brother Pat and I would go along for the ride.
    Now Grandpa could never hurry back, he knew too many people and he was an explorer. There were no convenience stores in the 1950's but there were small mom & pop grocery stores.  Depending on where Grandpa lived the nearest store could be as close as 2 miles or as far as 5 miles. Once we reached the store Grandpa would have to say hello to everyone - and he did know everyone.   This would take up the first 1/2 hr and then we would be headed back. Grandpa would be driving along and all of a sudden he would make a turn - " wonder where this road goes ".   A few miles down the road and another turn -  " wonder where this road goes ". A trip to the store which should have taken about 20 minutes winds up to as much as 2 hrs. We went thru Bethpage , Portland , Red Boiling Springs and one trip took us into Kentucky. By the time we returned lunch had been served  and Granny was pissed. Grandpa's trips to the store added a whole new meaning to the phrase "Out For A Sunday Drive".
    Grandpa was a big man.  His hands were twice the size mine are today.  He didn't have layers of fat hanging down and he wasn't big because he was lazy or ate the wrong foods. Grandpa was just naturally big and strong. I heard that he was not fast but quick, and if he got a hand on you there was no escaping his grip. He used to walk into a room where brother Pat and I would be watching TV.  He would lean over and grab us by the knee with his fingers and squeeze.  It took a lot of rubbing to work the pain down to a manageable level.
    Grandpa loved to eat and there was nothing he wouldn't eat, meat , vegetables , fruits or desserts and it didn't matter how it was cooked. His plate was a serving platter which he would fill to overflowing and when Granny made pies she made at least four - three for the guest and one for Grandpa. I once saw him eat a full meal for dinner and sit down to watch a ball game on TV.  Somewhere around the 6th inning he got up and went to the freezer.   He came back with a 1/2 gallon carton of ice cream opened at one end and a serving spoon. That 1/2 gallon didn't last the 7th inning and he didn't share.
    Grandpa had a rocking chair that had to have been built for him.  It was the only chair he would sit in -  probably the only one that would support him. The chair was a simple design and made of oak that had to have been 1" thick.   It was his throne and from it he would hold his grand babies, watch ball games on TV and tell stories to whoever was listening. Us kids used to play in the chair, at least two of us could sit in it at a time and get it to rocking.  We didn't have to worry about turning it over, it was to big. I don't know what happened to the chair.  I hope someone from the family still has it in their possession. Note: the chair was lost in a house fire at cousin Sally's house.
     I have forgotten most of the stories he told.  A lot of them were about things that happened at work.  He could twist  a common place episode into a chapter from the Arabian Nights.  I do remember a story about him but I think it was told to me by Uncle Paul.  It has been a long time. Grandpa had a Hudson automobile.  It was a long sleek heavy car that rode and handled well.  I don't remember the year but I do remember he had a maroon colored one. Back in those days, when you bought a new car you would return it to the dealer after a 500 mile break in period and they would service it. The service would cover oil, filter , air filter and a general check of different components one of which was the head bolts. The service required that all head bolts be re - torqued and to do this the valve covers had to be removed. Well, Grandpa dropped his car off at the dealer and returned later that afternoon, not that he was skeptical but he did check under the hood and promptly called the service manager over ( a man he knew ). He asked the service manager about the various aspects of the work performed and he was assured that all work was done according to factory specs. Grandpa looked down at the manager and told him he was lying. The manager swore to him the work had been performed properly. Grandpa told him the mechanic didn't exist who could torque head bolts without chipping the paint on the valve cover bolts, but if the manager could show him how it could be done Grandpa would kiss his butt on the court house steps and give him a week to draw a crowd. Knowing Grandpa, I would think he was a little more colorful than that.
    Some time during the late fifties they moved to a small farm in Bethpage.  Why I don't know because Grandpa was no farmer. He had relinquished the Hudson and for reasons only he would know and  bought a Simca. Now a Simca was a French made sub compact, four door, four speed transmission in the floor and a four cylinder engine.  I think a VW Beetle was bigger. This added a whole new dimension to trips to the grocery on Sundays. Watching him get in or out of the Simca was sort of like watching the circus clown climb into a car only big enough to hold a midget. The Simca didn't last long and his next car was a 59 or 60 Ford.
    While I spent most of my away time with Grandpa Riggan,  there were a couple of times I went with Granny and Pa Wade. The first time I can remember they lived in Casey , IL.  I wasn't yet 5 years old . I remember walking into town with Granny and getting lost.  A nice policeman found me and reunited  me with Granny. Granny would tell the story later and laugh because when the policeman asked me where I lived I told him Bledsoe St. which was where we lived back in Gallatin. During that stay I met a young friend and was out playing at his house when the mischief bug struck . I don't know why so don't ask , but I threw a rock at a dump truck running down the road and busted the windshield. I ran home but was soon followed by the driver ( my friend gave me up ). This later became one of the stories Granny would tell about me in later years and when she told it there would be a smile on her face and a twinkle in her eye. I don't ever remember seeing Granny upset about anything but if she was she would quickly turn around and laugh softly.  To her, our punishment was to know how disappointed she was even when she had to suppress a smile.
    The next time I spent the summer with them they lived in Missouri  ( can't remember where ).  They had driven down (  in a Hudson ) and the goal was to take brother Pat back with them for the summer and pick up cousin Madeline Ruth in Kentucky. Brother Pat threw a wrench into the works by coming down with appendicitis, in the 1950's that meant 1 week in the hospital and a lengthy recovery period at home. Once again brother Pat threw another wrench in the works by catching chicken pox while in the hospital and was sent home in a cast rather than spread the disease.  Within a week brother Clint and sister Vickie had the chicken pox but not me. Grandpa insisted that he was going back to Missouri with a grand child and it didn't matter who even though Mom tried to argue with him, I was packed into the Hudson and off we went to Missouri. This was before interstate highways and air conditioned cars. I was 9 or 10 at the time and once we arrived in Missouri Madeline Ruth got home sick and her mother came for her. A few days later I developed the chicken pox.
    Grandpa's sister May was staying with them and she took on the task of keeping me quiet, busy and out of the way.  She taught me how to play 500 rummy.  Aunt May was a great teacher and I learned well.  We played game after game for days and I won my share.
    The house they lived in was a large two story house in a nice neighborhood with large trees lining the streets and sidewalks. One of the trees was hollow though still alive until I got to it. This tree had big black ants crawling over and around it  and I decided to chase them with lit matches ( and no I don't know why I did it).  I must have gone thru a couple of boxes of Grandpa's matches before I noticed that smoke was coming out of the top of the tree and I must have gone thru several cups of water before Granny figured I was up to something, she soon realized that more than a garden hose was needed so the fire dept was called in.  As the fireman chastised me for playing with matches Granny turned away, I know now she was trying to keep a straight face. This was yet another story she told with a smile on her face and a twinkle in her eye.
    Granny used to tell a story about Grandpa.  I don't know the time frame of the story but you can see it was early in their marriage and I don't know if there were any kids at that time. The story goes that Grandpa came home from work one day and Granny needed him to go to the market and buy a head of cabbage and a pound of beans for supper. She gave Grandpa 8 or 9 cents and that was all of the money they had until payday. When he returned he had the cabbage and beans and TWO newspapers and no change.  She said she wanted to shoot him. I think about this story when I hear Linda complain about prices at the grocery.
    Granny was very hyper.  She would give the Ever Ready bunny a run for the money.  Once she got up and going she didn't stop. I remember them living on N. Water St in Gallatin - it was several blocks into town.  Most of the stores were on the town square. Granny often walked into town to do some shopping.  Her legs were not that long but she could move and it was hard for me to keep up with her.   When she got back she went right into preparing supper or ironing clothes or whatever needed to be done, all the time she sang a tune . The tune was an Irish lullaby made famous when crooner Bing Crosby sang it to Barry Fitzgerald in the movie Going My Way. The song was TOO - RA - LOO - RA - LOO - RAH ,.  For no reason at all the song will slip into my head and take me back to a simpler age . It's not Bing Crosby that I hear,  it's Granny as she moves from room to room or sews a button on a shirt while singing that song.
    About 1959 or 60, Grandpa decided to run for the office of sheriff of Sumner county and he won . Dad grew up around Gallatin and drove a cab there for several years so he would get out and talk to the people he knew and I would go with him on occasion.   I remember standing in the crowd in front of the building where they posted the election results as they came in. Grandpa remained sheriff for many years on into the 1970's.  He had a tan 1960 Ford car with a red light on top - that was referred to as a bubble gum machine.
     I came home on Xmas leave in 1965 and had brought him a couple of fat green cigars encased in clear plastic tubes. Besides eating, Grandpa loved to smoke cigars and pipes.  He must have had 20 pipes in various places and boxes of cigars. Anyway, when I gave him the cigars he thanks me and asked if I smoked cigars and being the big shot of the moment I told him about sitting in the barracks watching ball games and playing cards and puffing on cigars. He told me to go into the coat closet and pull out a box or two to take back with me.  His " friends " showered him at Xmas with boxes of cigars of all description - two stacks to the ceiling. The ones I pulled out turned out to be some of the most foul smelling cigars .
    The Navy had me busy for the next few years,  Linda and I married in 1967 and then I had to make a life for myself after being discharged, but through it all we would visit with them from time to time . When Linda was introduced she was welcomed with open arms and Granny filled her with stories of me that have been long forgotten and she always had a twinkle in her eye and a smile on her face when she told them.
    Linda and I moved to Florida in 1979 and our sons were born there.  After a short stint in California in 1983 we moved to Georgia and were lucky enough get back to Tennessee occasionally. When we did, a visit to Granny and Pa was a given. Danny barely remembers them and I doubt that Clay remembers them at all but I remember Grandpa setting in that big rocking chair with Danny on his lap and Clay in Granny's arms.
    Grandpa died in late August 1985 just a few days after my Dad passed away. It was rare for him to be sick but he spent his last days in a hospital. Mom told me that she and Aunt Sarah asked the doctor what he died of.   The doctor said there was nothing you could put a finger on.  He felt that Grandpa's heart had just gotten tired of pumping all that blood through his big body for all of those years and it just stopped . His grandsons were his pallbearers.
    Granny went on for another two years.  In my eyes she never aged but in the end she was tired,  her glasses were a little thicker,  her back a little bent over, but her mind remained clear and sharp. She no longer sang Irish lullaby's but I have no doubt she sings them in heaven.
    Granny's death marked the passing of an era the likes of which will never be seen again.  The torch passed from one generation to another. Years later the torch was passed again with the death of Mom.
     It is hard to imagine future generations of the family.  Will they be male or female?  What place will they hold in their world?  What mark will they leave on society?  Will their memories be as good as mine?