That’s what we all called him, not Grandfather, not even Grandpa, but Grandad Bill. Maybe because Grandad has a jaunty sound to it that seemed to fit his personality. He was a rake & a rambler – a little wild and a little unbuttoned – with an aptitude for mischief that kept him from ever getting through a formal event without embarrassing his daughters – or Grandma Mary. Nonetheless, I think he genuinely loved ladies. Despite the glint in his eye and the joke up his sleeve, his manner with women was almost courtly. He appreciated women and I think they knew it. It was impossible for most of them to be angry with him for too long. And, he really was good-hearted; just like Will Rogers, he never meet a stranger. But complete probity was beyond consideration. Even Grandma Mary never quite managed to domesticate him.
I thought he was terrific
By the time I was born he was already 67, a widower, silver-haired and slowed-down – at least by his standards. As he, himself, would say, “Just because there’s snow on the roof don’t mean the fire’s out in the furnace”. Before I was 10 years old, he had gotten married, divorced, had several affairs with a variety of ladyfriends – one serious – and had remarried the woman (Grandma Mary) who had originally divorced him. Of course in his youth he would have been less inclined to tone it down that much.
He lived with us for several years. I learned a lot from him.
Unlike the rest of my family, Grandad Bill had traveled.
I remember one story about a roadhouse in Pensacola, Florida near the turn of the century. Grandad said it wasn’t much more than a tumbledown shack. Anyway, while he was in there two boys got to fighting and one of them pulled out a great big knife and sliced the other one’s belly open. Then the one with the knife ran off into the swamp and never was seen again. Grandad told a lot of stories like that.
Beside stories, Grandad Bill taught me about dirty-ditties. He taught me quite a few. Once I had them down pretty good, we would walk over to the town café where his buddies, the local gentlemen of leisure hung out. There I would perform my repertoire for those assembled worthies. I got a nickel a song, they got an amusing diversion, and Mom got mad - as soon as she found out about it. Grandad Bill couldn’t understand what all the fuss was about.
Me neither. I liked those nickels.
He was also a craftsman. His primary equipment consisted of one very sharp pocketknife. With only that small tool he carved ax handles, walking canes, cups, toys, and much else that I’ve forgotten. I still have one of his ax handles. It looks like it was machined. I also still have a special swing he made just for me.
The design was all his own. It had two parts, a frame and a seat. The frame had four vertical pieces and two horizontal pieces. The seat, which extended perpendicularly to the frame was hinged to the inner two verticals. The whole thing folded flat for easy storage. Grandad finished it off with red paint left over from painting the barn. It was something.
Three ropes were needed for proper swinging. Two Ropes attached to the top of the frame on either side. The third rope attached to the rear of the seat. Pushing or pulling the top of the frame set the thing in motion. Grandad called it a glider. And that’s what it felt like. With more pressure on one side or the other the glider would move from side to side, as well as back and forth. once airborne, I could fly all sorts of acrobatic maneuvers.
I think if Grandad Bill had been born in any other time or place, he would have become an architect or engineer. He had an analytical way of looking at everything. He also had an appreciation of beauty. But he was born in 1881 in a North Missouri that was still a pioneer wilderness. There wasn’t much need for what he was best at.
After we moved to Ohio, I only saw him once or twice a year when the family went back for a vacation visit. Then, after I was in high school, I saw even less of him, because I didn’t always go back with the family for those vacation visits. (You know how rushed teenagers are, and what important business they’re always saddled with). Anyway, my brother and sister, Rick and Rhonda, knew him better than I did during his last years.
Rick told me a story about a visit to Granddad at the Crestview Resthouse at Bethany, Mo.
Grandad Bill had taken a fancy to Rick’s footwear. He started angling for a trade. Grandad proposed the equitable exchange of his perfectly good turn-of-the-century black, patent leather, ankle-high, lace-up wedding shoes for Rick’s obviously cheaper, but possibly – just possibly – more comfortable canvas tennis shoes. Rick objected that his shoes were a size, or two, larger than Grandad Bill’s. Grandad said that didn’t worry him a bit – a little extra room wouldn’t be a problem.
Rick said the walk back to the car in his socks wasn’t all that uncomfortable.
In 1972, at age 91, Grandad Bill passed away at Crestview – likely still wearing those tennis shoes. Before he died, he dictated the highlights of his life to my cousin, Rosa Lee Peterson. After he finished his narration he said, “If the good Lord allows me to live a little longer, I might have more to add”.
Grandad always had an appetite for more.
Me & Grandad Bill – Leon, IA - 1946