Finding Grandpa

                                                    Finding Grandpa


     For a few years now I have been somewhat interested in my heritage but the one who got me more involved was my little sister Vickie. She assumed that since I was retired I would have time to go to Nashville and help her track down the graves of our Great Grand Father Sam Riggan , his two wives and infant daughter .

     Before we get going , I think a little background is in order . Great Grandpa Sam was born May 26, 1866 and died Feb. 9 , 1947 ( 3 mos. before my birth ).  Dec. 22 , 1885 he married Mary E. ( Molly ) Greer.  They had five children.  Nina the last to be born Dec. 5, 1895, survived less than a month passing away Jan 2 , 1896.  She was followed in death by her mother, Molly, four days later. They were buried together .
      Mar. 12, 1897 Grandpa Sam married Sophia Jolly who was four years his senior, they had no children.  She passed away Jan. 19, 1944 and was buried in the same plot as Grandma Molly and Nina . When Grandpa Sam died he joined his two wives and daughter .
       Knowing that we have deceased relatives from the past is not enough for Vickie.  She needs visual proof of their existence.  Running around in old graveyards was not and still isn't on my bucket list but what the hell else is there for a newly retired guy to do.  So off I go to Nashville. Vickie also recruited her good friend Brenda Baird to help us in our quest although Brenda being an accomplished genealogist in her own right didn't require any arm twisting .
     Vickie and Brenda were at a stand still.  They had found out the above information and found out that the grave site was located in the Lagardo area of Wilson County, Tn.  Beyond that they were stumped .
     The first place we stopped was the library in Mt. Juliet. Vickie had previously found a family history written by a Great Aunt Marget Ballinger Sullivan.  I really had no idea I even had a Great Aunt living in Mt Juliet and was even more surprised to find out I went to school with her son Shelby and never knew he was my cousin.  He was a couple of years behind me and we traveled in different circles .
     The next place we went was the public library in Lebanon.  We prowled through old census books, books that recorded land transactions, and they even had books that listed every graveyard in the state as well as the people who were buried in them. We found where Grandpa Sam and his wife Sophia were involved in several instances of buying and selling land in the Lagardo and Martha communities but we couldn't locate the grave site .
     While we were in the area we visited a cemetery where one of Grandpa Riggan's brothers was buried and then stopped in Martha to visit the graves of Grandpa and Granny Riggan.  I was a young teenager when Grandpa died and in my mid twenties when Granny passed. This is the first time in more than forty years that I am looking down on their tombstones and I conjure up memories of the happy times I had as a kid following an old man thru the fields and seeing the worried look on Granny's face when I walked out the door .
     It wasn't that we didn't know where Grandpa Sam was buried - we knew he was buried in the Old Lagardo cemetery in Lagardo but Vickie and Brenda had not been able to find said cemetery in print or person.  I, being older and having a longer memory and having spent more time in Lagardo while growing up, determined they were looking in the wrong places so off we go on a road trip.
     I took them down several roads they had not known about because Vickie was just a baby when Dad stopped going to Lagardo after his Dad passed away. We located and tromped around several graveyards to no avail. Vickie and I spent almost a whole day roaming the cemeteries of Lagardo. Suprisingly there were quite a few.  Every family seemed to have it's own place for the soul to rest for eternity .
     The next stop was the State Archives in Lebanon .  They had even more books containing more graveyards and census information but they still couldn't give us the location of Grandpa Sam's grave. Anything you would ever want to know about Wilson County, Tn. from the date white men first set foot there can be found in the archives.
     During all of this searching it was discovered that Grandpa Sam was a business man who owned a general store and he bought and sold tracts of land from time to time.  I suspect that he was in a position to acquire land from his customers thru business dealings.  Many farmers back then would mortgage their crops or land for seed, grain, and fertilizer.  The merchants who supplied the items would take a note against property for merchandise. Somewhere along the way we found out that Grandpa Sam was big in the local Baptist church and he may not have gotten along with his son, my grandfather, because he may have been somewhat of a womanizer.  All of this was great information but it still didn't help us find his grave.
     Vickie and Brenda had to take care of other things and I wound up heading off on my own.  I started at the State Archives.  The lady there was very helpful and she pulled several books about graveyards from the shelf.  We had already gone thru a couple of them but we were trying to find a different approach.
     One thing that we had wanted was a copy of Grandpa Sam's obituary. Turns out there was only one newspaper printed in Wilson County back in 1947 and it was bi-weekly.  In other words, by the time the obit was published Grandpa had been buried for some time.  Thank goodness for word of mouth.  According to the obit Grandpa Sam was buried in Bloodworth / Thompson cemetery which was totally different from previous knowledge. Now we are getting somewhere.  This new information led us to a book listing all of the graveyards in Wilson County and sure enough there was Grandpa Sam.  I was even able to obtain a general area  to look in so off I went .
     Low and behold I found another graveyard or two we had not known about but they were not the one I was looking for. While driving around I saw a woman on a riding lawn mower and stopped to ask her for directions.  She brought out her mother who had only lived in the area for about 25 years, she in turn told me to go down the road to the little white house and if there was a car in the drive I should stop and ask for Miss Ann.
     Miss Ann as it turned out, was a the find of the century.  The house she lived in was the one she was born in some seventy odd years before.  It took me a few minutes to convince her I was not some con artist and then she started telling me how she knew of my grandparents, aunts and uncles.  She remembered Uncle Ray coming home from the war with wounds .  She was friends with and went to school with an older cousin, and, yes, she knew where the graveyard was located but she would have to take me to it or I would never find it .
     I got in the car with Miss Ann and her cousin.  She was right about being hard to find.  The graveyard was located just off Hwy 109 behind an equipment barn.  There were the grave stones - worn and broken.  Miss Ann drove me around the area.  Her knowledge of the area and the people brought back memories long forgotten. She was kind enough to allow me to return the next day with Vickie and Brenda.  She was a wealth of knowledge and a delight to talk with.
     I took Vicky and Brenda to the grave so they could see for themselves.  With a little help from some shaving cream we were able to bring up the carving on the stones and take pictures.
     So there you have it - Grandpa Sam, Grandma Molly, Grandma Sophia, and Nina are no longer lost.  Another page in the history of the Riggan family is written, and I can now include grave locator on my resume.  I have to admit I had a good time, but I think this was more a case of the blind squirrel finding the occasional nut.

Lil' Sister

                                                              Lil' Sister



      Being the oldest of the family is not always what it should be but there are times when the good out weighs the not so good.  Take siblings for example, (there were times when I wished someone would have taken my siblings).  Growing up they could be a real pain in the butt.  Later on they were  a nuisance at times.  Now they are a part of my past, present and future. We have not always seen eye to eye and even now we don't always agree but we are tied together by blood- the bond of siblings. Each of us has walked the pathways of life some taking the right fork in the road others took the left and some paved their own roads. I miss not being close to my family I would like to see them more often, but whether we are close or far away I know that we have always been there for each other and always will be.
     My brothers and sister are somewhat scattered around the country and not always in touch with each other on a regular basis.  At this time not all of us even talk to each other, (Mom was wrong, I was only one of the kids with a stubborn streak), but there is always one binding agent that holds all of the other ingredients together - in this case that would be little sister Vickie.
     Vickie is eight years younger than me and looking back I would say she is lucky to have lived so long with four brothers.  She could be a real pain in the butt back then. She is the original one and only - the only girl in the family, the only girl in the family history to join the Navy, the only one of us to get a college degree, the only one of us to speak a foreign language, and the only one of us to have four husbands.
     I think Vickie has been more of a focal point for this family longer than any of us realize.  Her concern for everyones well being has always been a high point in her life.  Not just with her immediate family but also with her extended family, which seems to cover all of Tennessee, a good portion of the southeast and working on up the Ohio valley, then shooting out towards the west coast. I don't think she ever met someone she didn't know or know of - if she did they would be added to her family of friends by the end of the day.
     She can be some what bothersome, although never pushy, when she wants you to do something. But she only has best intentions and the welfare of all concerned at heart.  Vickie stays connected with each of her brothers and keeps us up to date with all of the happenings of our siblings, aunts, uncles and cousins far and wide. She is ready to embrace us in our pain or hug us in celebration. Each of us knows that if needed she will drop everything and be there for us. Speaking for myself,  all she needs to do is call and I will be there for her.
     I look forward to new entries to her blog as she travels around the country.  She has a knack for finding little out of the way places forgotten by all but those who remain. In these small country towns she finds the most interesting sights and places that most people would pass without a thought. In her past life she must have been an explorer.
     I have been proud of my sister although I admit to scratching my head from time to time when she comes up with some of her plans. I think of her as a free spirit with a whole world at her feet for exploration.  I envy her the ability to befriend so many people and maintain the relationship. My wish for her is that her life continues to be full, and free as the wind she follows.  I wouldn't change her for anything.
    I love ya, Sis.
     
                                                                --------------------------------

     When Linda's illness reached a point that her days in this world were few, I had reached a fork in the road and had no idea which way to turn, Hospice had told me that the end was near and I would be having a hard couple of weeks. I called Vickie and she dropped everything and came to help. It was a difficult couple of weeks but Vickie's presence made it easier. As it turned out Vickie was the last thing Linda saw and for that I thank her.

MOM

                                 MOM





     I recently went on a trip to Tennessee and Kentucky to visit family. Whenever we siblings get together at some point in the conversation we will talk of Mom, Dad, Aunts, Uncles and, Grandparents. While visiting with brother Clint and his wife Judy our conversation turned to Mom and Judy asked the question, "was Mom ever happy"?
     I had to think for a moment before answering,  you see the last few years of Mom's life were not the best years.  For whatever reason she could find very little to smile about.  She appeared  happy being miserable.  During this time frame Mom and I were not on speaking terms so I can only refer to things I had heard.
     Was Mom ever happy?  The answer to the question lies deep in the past and I can only attest to the things I know.
      While I had what I call a good childhood there were times when it was hard to please Dad. Switches and belts often ruined a good day of fun and games.  Mom though never laid a hand on me. Neither did she stop Dad's punishment.  Many times the only way Dad knew there was a problem was because Mom had told him.  Mom was the first person we saw when we woke in the morning and the last when we went to bed so it was natural that I felt closer to her.
     Once when Dad worked for Logan's grocery in Donelson, there was an old black guy who hauled off the trash and out dated produce.  He was a very friendly old man and I took a liking to him. One Christmas season he sold Christmas trees in a vacant lot on Lebanon Rd near Donelson Pike. He sold cedar trees that he cut from the local fields and mistletoe he shot from trees. My brother Pat and I helped him as much as any 8 - 9 year old boys were capable of help- I think mostly we kept the fire going in the barrel.
     We only worked for a couple of days and had more fun than of hard work but after all was said and done he paid us for our help. The pay wasn't much and between us we probably were given a dollar apiece if that much. We were like any young kid with money- it was burning a hole in our pocket as we decided how to spend it.
      The closest store was a five and dime store on the corner of Donelson Pike.  This was the precursor of the dollar store- only everything was five or ten cents. We went to the store and browsed around looking for just the right thing. One of the items we chose was a bottle of cheap perfume to give to Mom for Christmas.  I know we bought something else but at the moment I can't remember.
     Opening presents on Christmas Eve was tradition in our family and Pat and I watched as Mom opened the gift that we had spent so much time choosing just for her. Looking back I think it is safe to say that the perfume was probably the most godawful stuff you ever smelled but Mom didn't let on.  She smiled as she opened the bottle and applied a little to her skin.  Even Dad commented on how good she smelled. She was happy.
     It was about that time in my life that I was allowed to join the Cub Scouts.  I went about being a Cub Scout with great diligence.  I went from Tiger Cub to Wolves to Bears and Webelos and along the way I accumulated a mass of gold and silver arrowheads as I completed the required task for each.
     Mom was the one who went to my pack meetings.  She was the one who stood beside me as I received my awards.  She was the one who made sure my patches were sewn to my shirt.  I think she was happy then- her firstborn was growing up.
     My formative years were spent in Mom's shadow.  Pat and I were her helpers.  We were taught to wash and iron clothes, peel, cook and mash potatoes, and make toast or pancakes.  I still had my days where a good whipping spoiled the whole thing but Mom was always there and I couldn't be mad at her for long.
      When we lived in Mt. Juliet there was a house up the hill that had burned to the ground and was abandoned.  Mom wanted to spruce up our home so she and I would walk up the road pulling a red Radio Flyer wagon that we used to haul back 5 or 6 concrete blocks. We used them to line both sides of the driveway and then we filled the cavity with dirt and Mom  planted flowers. The whole thing cost only time and a little work but she was proud of those flowers.
     I started working when I was 13.  We still lived in Mt Juliet and I rode to work with Dad on the weekends and holidays. - Mom liked to fish though she didn't often get the chance to go but come Mother's Day I took her fishing.  On the way home from work the night before Mother's Day Dad would stop so I could get Mom a one day fishing permit and two dozen crappie minnows.  Early the next morning Mom and I would walk to the creek and fish till the minnows were gone. This went on till I left for the Navy.  When I got back home we started up again for a few years. She was a lot of fun on those trips and she would tell anyone who would listen how many fish we caught.
     Linda and I left Tennessee in the late 1970's.  Our visits home were short and usually too far between but Mom was always happy to see us. Between visits we would have Mom come to visit us. Once in Florida we took her Disney World and to the beach.  She was like a little kid at Disney World and we seemed to enjoy watching her more than the exhibits. We always enjoyed her visits but like most people we were glad when it was time for her to go.
     To get back to the question - was Mom ever happy?  Yes, there was once a twinkle in her eye, a smile on her face and pride in her family.  I remember her laughter.  I have photos of Mom when she was young and in these I see there was once a young girl with dreams of being swept off her feet by prince charming and living in a fairy tale world - her future filled with the promise of wealth and happiness - days of sunshine and warm gentle breezes.
      Reality is not a dream.  You can't wish upon the first star you see at night and expect the wish to come true. Why she went sour on life I don't know.  Maybe she had a chemical imbalance from her medications, maybe she was slipping into the depths depression or senilty.  What ever the reason,  I lost a mother and my sons lost a grandmother years before she died.
     I loved my mother simply because she was Mom.  She wasn't always unhappy and she did love us.
    

    

It's A Small World After All

    



                               It's A Small World After All




     Some times to put things into their proper perspective it is necessary to go back to the past or at least to a place that holds the portal to the past.
     Lil' sister Vickie has been after me to visit our cousins in Kentucky, Madeline Ruth and Tommy Navarro. They are my Grandmother Wades nieces so that makes them my second cousins. As kids we saw each other often when visiting Granny and Grandpa Wade and in many respects we grew up together. At one time Madeline Ruth and I road the back seat of Grandpa's Hudson automobile to Missouri.  Great Aunt May ( Grandpa's sister) was in the back seat with us and Elmer the family Cocker Spaniel was panting away on the deck under the rear window.
     Madeline Ruth is seriously into tracking down the roots to the family.  She has visited archives, libraries and graveyards in two states and, while I don't think it was necessary, Vickie has encouraged her. Together they have roamed several ancient burial plots within about a 150 mile radius of Smiths Grove, Kentucky.  In the process they have uncovered the grave sites of ancestors long forgotten and lost in the passage of time. Madeline Ruth's diligence has opened new chapters in the history of our ancestors and we now have new stories to pass on to future generations.
     While visiting with Madeline Ruth I took her to an appointment in Nashville, Tn. and afterwards  we went to the Mt Olivet Cemetery hoping to find the graves of two of our great, great ancestors who were buried there around 1824. The staff at Mt. Olivet were very helpful and provided us with detailed maps and directions. The burial sites were in one of the oldest parts and after much searching we found tombstones belonging to people all around but never found the markers for our relatives.  If there ever was a marker it long ago disappeared - almost two hundred years have passed. Instead of a picture of a worn moss covered gravestone we settled for a picture of the neatly mowed grass covering the general area of the burial plot - sorry,  Madeline.
     As we left the cemetery I turned right towards Donelson, Tn. where I lived and grew up as a young boy.  I wanted to see what changes have taken place since last I was there. Along the way I pointed out the location of Shady Lawn which was a road house Dad used to frequent. The building is gone but somehow I new where it used to be. Once we got into Donelson I pointed out the the buildings that once housed C&S Foods where Dad and I worked, Logans Grocery where Dad once worked is now a CVS and the site of the first fast food restaurant in Donelson ( Burger Chef , surprisingly Linda can still sing the jingle from the advertising logo ).
     I turned on to Donelson Pike and drove past the elementary school where I, Pat, and Clint learned our ABC's.  It's now a senior center. Clint and Judy attend plays there.  The building looks the same and maybe next time I will stop and see if the wooden floors have the same smell held deep in my memory.
     I drove on down the road looking for Colonial Circle.  It didn't take long to realize I had gone too.  far and had to turn around.   Then I wound up passing the house we lived in because I remembered the street to be longer, the hill to be steeper. When I found the house I saw there were changes - an addition to the right side, a carport to the left side.  Those things were expected as it was a small house to begin with.  I wanted to stop and see if the large hackberry tree in the back yard was still there and how big it is now... maybe another time.
     The thing that struck me as odd was that the rise from our house to the one next door was only about two or three feet high.  I distinctly remember it being twice as high.  We used to play king of the hill and roll down it. The street had a slight rise starting in front of the house and I remember having to pedal hard on my bicycle to get over it. The street itself is shorter than I remember.  In reality, from the house to the school is no more than 1/2 mile.  I guess when you are eight or nine years old and walking to school it was probably two miles long.
     This got me to thinking about visiting Grandpa Riggan's farm and looking for the "LARGE" cedar and oak trees that you drove between when entering his yard.  I used to play among the roots of the oak tree. The trees are still there but they are not as big as I remembered.
    Seen thru the eyes of a child I am a giant and the world is a vast and wondrous place. When you  delve into the depths of the past you should have a young child along with you to remind you of how big the world as you knew it really was because as you get older you realize that not only is life short but the world you remember was not really that big a place after all.

     I enjoyed my visit with Madeline Ruth- even the walk thru Mt. Olivet.  I particularly enjoyed her family and feel bad that it was so long since we last saw each other.  I liked talking about the past with her and hearing of the things she found out about our relations.  It makes me more enthusiastic about writing in my blog.
     Thanks,  Madeline Ruth.  I'll try to get back for another visit before another thirty years goes by.
    

Southern Fried

                        Southern Fried





         Growing up in the 1950's wasn't much different than growing up ten or twenty years earlier. Many people still used out houses, drank water drawn by the bucket full from deep wells, took baths in wash tubs and cooked on wood burning stoves. Kids ran around barefoot in the summer and always had a runny nose in the winter.
      Medical science was progressing but lagged behind in many areas. Childhood diseases like chicken pox, measles, and mumps were still around, as was polio. People died from heart attacks and cancer but no one seemed to know why. Smoking was widely advertised as a good thing recommended by doctors and cholesterol was not yet a word.
     Mom was a good cook as was her mother before her.  Time tested recipes were handed down from mother to daughter.  Staples at our house were mashed potatoes, Navy beans and cornbread - and if we could get it, maybe a roast or a ham hock cooked with the beans.  Real stick to your ribs kind of food.
     I have often heard that it wasn't the cook but the ingredients that made the food taste good - but think about that for a minute. In the 1950's and 60's every housewife had a gallon can of lard in their cupboard.  Crisco was the most famous of the brands. Lard was used to make biscuits, pie crust, cornbread, fry fish or potatoes - the many uses for lard constitutes a long list. If you didn't use lard you used butter, real butter, none of this salt free easy to spread stuff we have today. No one threw away the empty lard can you set it on the stove and poured the cooking grease from the pan in to it, you see lard was a re-usable commodity and when mixed with a little bacon grease some foods were made more tasty. Mom could go thru two gallon cans of Crisco in a week not counting what she dipped from the used can on the stove.
    In the 50's there was no such thing as diet cola, sugar free food, salt free or gluten free food. Everything was fried and in our case it was "SOUTHERN FRIED". Dad was a butcher and every steak had a nice edge of fat around the outside and when Dad finished a steak there was only the bone left.  A little marbling of fat in a roast made for a better roast. Ever eat Red Eye Gravy?  It is the grease from frying country ham in a cast iron skillet. Some would mix a little flour with the grease to give it consistency and the last thing you do would be to wipe the gravy off your plate with a hot biscuit and eat it. Green beans were often cooked with strips of bacon to add flavor.  It was delicious and you didn't mind the little grease from the bacon that floated in the juice.
    Granny Wade would cook cabbage, another one of those things that smelled when cooked.  She would cook corned beef with the cabbage. Mom on occasion would make sauerkraut with pieces of hot dogs - it was tolerable but I never did acquire a taste for cabbage.
     Farmers still killed hogs in the fall and made their own country hams and sausage.  The sausage was stuffed in the hogs intestines for a casing and when fried in a cast iron skillet it was delicious. Chitlins are fried hog intestines and considered a delicacy by many country folk.  I could never get past the smell.
     Granny Riggan never, as far I know, cooked on anything but a wood stove. She did a pretty good job and again most things were fried and there was always a can of lard nearby. One of the things I remember about Grandpa Riggan was his breakfast.  After eating two fried eggs and some bacon or sausage he would slice off a pat of butter and place it in the middle of his plate then pour some Br'er Rabbit sorghum on the butter and mix it into a paste with his knife. He would slice open a hot biscuit and spread the mixture on the biscuit and eat it. I have a jar of sorghum in the cabinet now.
     Dad had it in his head that he was a good cook and I will say he could cook a steak or fry fish on a grill but I was never happy with his skills on a stove. Anything he cooked on a stove was fried.  He used to cook liver but it turned out with the texture of a hockey puck and his steaks were either overcooked or running red with blood they were so rare. He had a specialty he called goulash it was a concoction of fried ground beef, stewed tomatoes, onions and, I think, green peppers and noodles. He would start by frying up the ground beef and when it reached the right texture he would pour in the other ingredients and continue cooking until ready to eat. Did I say that he never poured off the grease from the beef?  He just added a little water. One of the worst whippings I ever had was when I turned up my nose at a plate full of his goulash.
     People today eat a lot of fast food and I have to admit I have consumed more than my share.  But walking into a Burger King or Wendy's is not the same as eating at a local, family owned, "greasy spoon ". The smell is different as is the taste of the food. Back in the early sixties, one of my favorite places to eat when I worked at the grocery store, was the Woolworth's lunch counter.  After gulping down a burger and fries I would top it off with a banana split. They had balloons hanging above the counter with different prices in them, you choose one and paid the price inside for the banana split, anywhere from one cent to forty nine cents.
     Dad had a customer by the name of Daisy.  She was loud, flirty and fun.  She also owned a greasy spoon restaurant about a quarter mile from the store. She served home style cooking to a hungry lunch crowd. I always sat at the counter rather than a booth. At the counter I could watch the short order cook frying hamburgers and piling them on a plate until they were needed. I can't remember the cooks name, he was a black guy that talked to me as he cooked.  Every now and then the plate of burgers would get so high that one would slide off on to the floor where he would pick it up, brush the dirt off, and put it back on the plate, all the while looking to see if anyone saw what happened. I always made sure I got a fresh one hot off the grill.
    Over the years medical science has made many advances.  Polio has been all but eradicated, vaccines control mumps, measles and chicken pox, cures for many cancers have been found -  or are close. Smoking has been determined to be the leading cause for lung cancer and high levels of cholesterol are major contributors for heart disease. At one time eggs were good for you and then they were bad for you and now they are good for you again. Cooking with lard is down because vegetable oil and peanut oil is better. Sugar and salt are bad if consumed in great quantities so we now have foods that are sugar free, fat free, gluten free, caffeine free, low cholesterol and organic. For all of these advances kids have ADD  or OCD and allergies for everything. Remarkably every one in the world should not have a cholesterol level higher than 200 and if you are over the age of fifty you are probably taking one kind of pill or another to combat clogged arteries. By the way, there was a report on CNN the other day that doctors have determined organic food is no better for you than non-organic - just more costly.
     I was a picky eater with a definite sweet tooth and I survived "Southern Cooking" as did my siblings, parents, grandparents and forefathers. I never knew what an allergy was until sometime in the 80's and never had a cholesterol problem until the last couple of years ( it's not that bad ). Cancer had a hold on Mom's siblings and they all died of one kind or another, Mom was the only one to have lung cancer - twice -and she lived into her late 70's.   Prior to that all of our ancestors lived to ripe old ages in their late 70's, 80's and even 90's. If there was any heart problems it didn't show up until real late in life.
    I am not advocating going back to using Crisco lard but I do think modern medicine has taken some of the fun out of life and definitely flavor out of food in their effort to extend life. Linda has a heart condition and diabetes, her pill intake on a daily basis could constitute a meal on their own. For myself, except for a slightly elevated cholesterol level, I'm OK - but my doctor says I stand a chance of having a heart attack if I don't start taking cholesterol pills. After watching Dad pass away with cancer a heart attack seems to me to be more merciful.
    What I wouldn't give for an old greasy spoon restaurant hamburger and fries. Who wants to live to be 150 anyway !