WC #1: About my Maternal Grandfather

So, tonight I pull out my first wild card; to talk about my maternal grandfather.  You'll probably begin to see a pattern with this post.  I tend to think about special people on their birthdays, and if they have already left this life, on the anniversary of their deaths.  Today would have been Grandpa's 127th birthday!

Edward Hill was born January 22, 1886 in Belvidere, Illinois.  I don't know too much about my grandfather.  I know his father died when he was young and his mother remarried Charles Watson. His mother was born Mae Smith in Baltimore, MD on January 6, 1866.  He had one sister and one brother, 2 half brothers and 1 step brother, but "Aunt Ida" was the only one I ever met.

I know that my grandpa loved baseball and would sit in front of the TV for hours day-after-day and watch the Chicago Cubs play ball all summer long.  He chewed tobacco, smoked a pipe and chewed Blackjack gum.  A kiss and a hug for Grandpa when I walked in the house would usually win me a piece of his gum!  Sometimes it was Chiclets though, but Blackjack was the best!

I loved my grandpa, but I'm afraid I can't say I have a lot of respect for him.  Maybe that's just my lack of understanding or information about him.  I've mentioned that my great-grandfather built beautiful homes and when he died, still owned three that were all left to my grandmother.  Grandma always left the care of the 4th street house to my mom & dad, but she and my aunt (Dorothy, aka DeeDee) took care of the other two.  To my knowledge, Grandpa never did anything to help.  They mowed all the grass (probably an acre or more for the two houses together), they did all the home repairs, they cleaned up after the renters and found new tenants, they did the shopping and cleaned the house and cooked the meals while my grandpa.... watched baseball.  I hear he worked for the railroad and that he was a custodian at my elementary school looooong before I was born, but I never remember him doing anything but sitting in his spot on the couch watching baseball, chewing tobacco and spitting in his spittoon. 

He was diabetic and took insulin shots every day, so maybe his health was much worse than I ever realized and maybe that's why he let the women in his life do all the work and take care of him, so I should cut him some slack, but I know I recognized at a fairly early age that it just didn't seem right.  They'd come in hot and tired from working outside on a summer day and as soon as they'd walk in the door, he'd begin hollering for his dinner.  Maybe that's what spurred some of my early feminist thoughts!  Hmmmmm....

Grandpa died in November, 1970; just three months before my mother died.  I remember that she really wanted to go to the funeral, but she was too sick herself.  My dad did manage to get her out of the house and into the car to take her to the funeral home for a little while at the visitation the night before.  I'm sure it was difficult for her, knowing she would be following him in the not-too-distant future.

I may not have known him well.  I may not have understood him.  But, I did love him.
Happy birthday, Grandpa.