Remembering Grandpa

The above photocopy of two photographs show my grandpa at different ages: the one on the left was taken within the past year; the one on the right when he was in his late teens or early 20s as a young soldier.

Here's a little bit of his biography, taken from the Obituary:

Jackson (Jack) Harold Carroll, 90, of Atchison, KS, died Friday, May 22, 2009 after a short illness.

Jack was born on May 2, 1919 in Hagen, VA to Andrew Jackson and Anna Louise (Carlson) Carroll. Mr. Carroll grew up in Fortescue and St. Joseph, MO. After leaving home, he traveled by hopping railcars and working on a potato farm in Idaho. Mr. Carroll was a U.S. Army veteran. He joined the Army in the late 1930s. Mr. Carroll was stationed at Fort Riley in the Calvary, at a time when they were still patrolling on horseback. When World War II started, his unit became the Fourth Armored Division where he was a tank mechanic. He served in Normandy, France, Rhineland, Ardennes, and most of Central Europe, where he engaged in combat, including the Battle of the Bulge.

After being discharged in 1945, he returned to St. Joseph. Mr. Carroll was married to Margaret Mae Webster in February 22, 1947 in Atchison, at the then home of Gilbert Hedrick. Together they moved to Atchison in 1950. He worked as a plumber and pipefitter for Local Union #45, St. Joseph, MO for many years, where one of his last jobs before retirement was the original Iatan Power Plant. He retired in 1982.

Mr. Carroll was a Deacon in the Community of Christ, Atchison, for over 50 years. He was a member of Local #45 Plumbers and Pipefitters Union, St. Joseph, MO, the American Legion Post #6, and the Lions Club until he lost his eye sight. In his later years he enjoyed going to Project Concern almost daily.

Okay...so I decided not to include the final paragraph about survivors...which include five sons, twelve grandchildren (only six, though, carry his genetics...the rest are "step"-grandchildren or adopted. Not that it matters...just saying, that's all), and five great grandchildren (again, only three are genetically related).

As for the memorial service itself, I was a bit disappointed. My grandma definitely had a better memorial service. The reason is because for hers, the microphone was passed around for people to share stories about her if they wanted to (I was the only one of her descendants to actually speak about her, and I did it from the podium). Also, the officiating minister for her memorial service really summed her up well, though his description would more accurately define grandpa. He had spoken about maps, with grandma being the center that held the family together or the focal point with her children scattered around the world at various points in life. For this memorial service, it was a different minister (Elder Don Harter of the Community of Christ).

My dad was disappointed that the minister didn't share the story the family had told him when he met with the family to discuss grandpa's life. It was the story of grandpa's 4th Armored Calvary Regiment coming to the rescue of the beseiged 101st Airborne at Bastogne, Belgium in World War II. Without that final victory, the Germans would have annihilated the 101st Airborne. What that means in personal terms is that grandpa saved his younger brother's life, and our family has been blessed because of it. Great Uncle Jim is the most popular member of the family (extroverted personality, funny in a way that reminds me of comedian Bill Cosby, and as a young man kind of resembled actor George Clooney). I can't imagine a world in which I would have never gotten to know such a great man like Great Uncle Jim.

The minister basically read the obituary, spoke a little about the life of my grandfather and gave a few reminisces. Then I went up to the podium to speak. Here's what I shared:

I just wanted to take a few minutes to share a few memories I have of my grandfather.

At work, one of the managers gives everyone a nickname and for some reason, he calls me "Nicky." All my life, I hated being called that name and didn't want anyone to call me by that name. Except for my grandfather. He used to call me "Nicky-poo" and for some reason, he was the only person I didn't mind calling me that. I guess you could say that it was our special thing that we shared. Only him, no one else. Not even grandma could call me that.

During some summers when I would spend a week with my grandparents, grandfather would sometimes take me fishing. I remember one time when we caught a catfish and I thought it was so cute with the whiskers that I gave it a kiss. Grandpa thought it was pretty funny and would tell everyone that I kissed a catfish. Since we couldn't walk two blocks in Atchison without him talking to someone, I thought the whole town would know that I kissed a catfish and I was kind of embarrassed about it.

Finally, the legacy that grandpa passes on to me is a love of maps and travel. I inherited this love of maps and traveling from grandpa through my father. Like grandpa, I can spend hours staring at a map and go on imaginary trips or planning road trips. This is something I will carry with me for the rest of my life and I'm grateful to share that love of maps and of travel with my grandfather.

After that, I returned to my seat. I regretted not sharing something else that I had thought of before but didn't write on my notecard to prompt my memory. The other thing I wish that I could share was: "My sister originally planned to have her wedding in October, but moved up the date to May. I'm glad that grandpa made it as one of his last goals to attend her wedding. We had a great family reunion for that happy occasion a few weeks ago, but a part of me missed the presence of grandma, who would have loved to have seen it, too. In fact, I can't help but think what a great way to leave this earth. He attended his last family reunion with those of us still living, and returns to reunite with his wife, sisters, sister-in-law, parents and grandson. I can imagine him sharing the joys of my sister's wedding with grandma. He lived to see that day and that is a great gift for all of us."

Unlike at my grandmother's memorial service, I did not break into tears while sharing my memories. Truth is, I was closer to grandma than I was to grandpa. What I didn't share and wouldn't share is that grandpa was kind of hard to get to know. He was a man of few words. He loved watching baseball games or listening to it on the radio. He loved to fish. He loved fixing things. He hated watching movies or television (opposite of my grandma. In fact, my grandma shocked me in 1996 when she wanted to watch Pulp Fiction but I refused to put it in the VCR for her even though my sister wanted to watch it). My dad only received one letter from his father and it was a letter telling him not to marry my mother. Grandpa didn't want any of his sons marrying an Asian lady because "the Japs" killed his cousin in World War II. He refused to buy Japanese cars or products because of that. However, my parents marriage proved him wrong and mom became his favourite daughter-in-law. Out of all of their children, grandma and grandpa probably visited us the most, including when we lived in Germany (they didn't visit their other son when he lived in Germany in the late 1970s).

I knew how to make grandpa laugh, though, and his laughter is always something I will miss the most. My dad and I have failed, unfortunately, to convince him to write down his life story for posterity's sake. Grandpa lived probably a typical male's life as a young man. He claimed to have had many girlfriends, including a French one (which I always wanted to hear about. I'm glad that I share his love of French women!). Great Uncle Jim told me that when grandpa met grandma, he became a changed man. I guess the proper term would be "domesticated." Not that its a bad thing. I owe my church membership in the Community of Christ (RLDS) to my grandmother (she was a 3rd generation member). I don't know what religion grandpa affiliated with before he married her (I'm thinking it was the Methodists) but I'm glad her religion won out over his.

During the memorial service, a lady from church (Lorraine Strine) sang "Amazing Grace", which was a song that a few family members wanted sung at grandma's memorial service in 2005. I objected to that because the song did not reflect my grandma's personality (she was definitely not a "wretch"). Grandpa, on the other hand, had a wilder streak and became a responsible family man, so I thought the song was perfect for his memorial service. I love the song, but it should not be sung at every funeral / memorial service. The other song played at grandpa's memorial service was "One Day at a Time" by Patsy Cline, which was also played at grandma's memorial service. I guess that was "their song."

The minister didn't pass around the microphone for other people to share their memories of grandpa. I was surprised about this. Instead, he read a few religious pieces, such as Footprints and the famous one from Psalms about walking through the valley of the shadow of death and fearing no evil (so cliched!). For tomorrow's post, I will write about an annoying thing my evangelical aunt told me about grandpa in his last week. It deals with the evangelical obsession with "being saved" and proclaiming Christ as "Lord and Saviour."

Anyhow, several people after the service complimented me on what I said about my grandfather. I did hear people laugh a couple of times, which I expected they would (I'm pretty good at getting laughs where I intend for them to be). I'm really glad that I made the memorial service, though. That I was the only one to speak about my grandfather kind of bothers me. A few people spoke at my grandmother's memorial service. I wanted to hear other people's memories of my grandfather. In fact, I even tried to get Great Uncle Jim to share some of good stuff that he knows about his brother, but he refused. He will take those stories to his grave. He's in his 80s and I told him, "I'll give you $100 if you live to see triple digits!" He said that he didn't want to live that long. He's the oldest remaining family member and the last of his siblings (he was the baby of his family). I hope he lives long enough to see my wedding some day (I'm aiming for October 2012).

What else can I say about my grandfather? He is certainly missed. I know I felt it when we stayed in his house. He built that house back in the 1950s. It's a three bedroom with another room in the basement, which also had his workshop and garage. His youngest son, John, is the executor of his estate and John doesn't want to live in that house. He's even thinking of selling it or letting his son rent it. Since cousin Matthew is a bit of an anti-social (he was also grandpa's favourite grandchild), if he gets the house, I doubt he'd let any family members stay there in the future. He's not big on family gatherings. I pretty much did my emotional closure on the house that I've known all my life (my dad was about four years old when they moved into that house). I'm not sure I'll visit Atchison again because its just too painful to visit. All my life, I would get excited whenever we went to Atchison, but the excitement was not because of the town. It was because we were going to visit grandpa and grandma. Without them there, there's little reason to return. All I would experience are reminders of the past...a lifetime of happy memories, spending time with people who no longer live there.

My Aunt Helen suggested that we have a family reunion every May in Atchison, but even my parents aren't too enthused about it. I guess family members are starting to worry about relatives drifting apart, now that the patriarch is gone. However, I'm not opposed to family reunions, but I would prefer them in other locations...such as with our Minnesota relatives or with my Uncle Ron in Omaha. Anywhere but Atchison.

I'm not expecting that grandpa left me anything in his will, but all I wanted were photographs. My Uncle John said that he would make copies of photos I wanted, but he also promised that four years ago when grandma passed away. Easier said than done. So, I went through all the photo albums and swiped the ones I wanted (mostly of me at various ages...from baby to young adult). I ended up with over 135 photos. Sorry to be a thief, but I don't trust that cousin Matthew will be a good steward of family history so I took the photos of me for my own safekeeping. I don't want anything else from them (but if grandpa did leave some money for all his grandchildren, I wouldn't refuse it). I'm a keeper of family and personal history, so I saw it as my sacred duty. They'll never know what they're missing (if they look, they'll see gaps in albums and notice not many photos of me, so it wouldn't be too hard to figure out what happened).

God bless you, grandpa. Rest in peace! And enjoy the spiritual realm for me. Man, I wish I could astrally project myself into heaven just for one night to have a special conversation with my grandparents, together again in a younger form (I've read in spiritual books that souls can assume whatever appearance they want and most generally pick the way they looked when they were between 25 and 35. For me, I'd pick the way I looked at 28). Grandpa is on his greatest journey of all...where the only map is spiritual and the destination is eternity.