My pappaw quietly passed away yesterday.
He was an amazing man. He grew up during the great depression. His father died during the great influenza epidemic of the 1920s. His mother remarried a much younger man who I knew as Daddy Vincent. He didn't talk till he was three years old - and once he started he never stopped. His family move so many times finding work that he wasn't always in one place long enough to learn his teachers' names. One of his early jobs was cleaning roads as part of the WPA that was instituted by FDR. He played industrial league ball.
As a young man he took one of his paychecks and bought a round-trip ticket to the Gulf Coast because he had never seen an ocean or a beach. He rode the train all night, got off and saw the ocean and hopped back on the train to go back to work. What mattered was that he was able to see something he hadn't seen before.
He married a beautiful woman, my grandmother, and they raised three incredible children. They worked hard, saved and planned for the future.
In WWII he joined the Air Force. He worked on planes. One of his bunk mates was Vince Minelli (you may know him by Vincent Minelli - Liza's father). His comment on Vince: "He couldn't pitch a tent to save his life." He even played ball with professional ball players.
After the war he became a steelworker and she was the homemaker. After a while they were able to build their dream home. It was my home too on many occasions. He became a union representative/lobbiest in the 1970s. He would take us with him when he travelled. Because of him I was able to meet George Wallace when I was about five years old. The two of them took us many, many, many places. Often the kids slept on the floor because we had just enough money for where we were going and what we were doing. Of course we didn't care because we were kids and sleeping on the floor was an adventure. The best part of the trips was the fact that no matter where we were he knew people.
Even though he eventually retired from work he never really retired. He sold real estate, repaired lawn mowers, collected and rebuilt spindle sewing machines, grew cacti and aloe plants. He even cleaned roads again just for something to do.
He collected everything. He had coins (given to the great grandkids), license plates, tools, plants, lawn mowers, sewing machines, pianos, cans, pens, matchbooks and there is no telling what else. He was so bad at collecting "things" that my grandmother said the day he came home with a second wife that was it. She may have been a little serious.
The man survied three open heart surgeries.
The last few years were not easy. His vision failed him. His knees failed him. His mind failed him. He was depressed and angry that he could no longer live the life he had once lived. He blame my aunt for losing his license. He blamed my dad for taking his truck away from him. He blamed himself for having to depend so much on my grandmother.
The last time I saw him he told me he just wanted to die. I couldn't say anything so I just hugged him. I hugged him tightly like I did when I was a little girl.
I love this man. I know he loved me. I have never doubted that in my life. I know life will be different now. There will always be something missing, some sense of security that I felt knowing he was there for me, that he was in my corner.
Pappaw, I love you and I will miss you so much.
