I find myself harking back to lessons that I learned from my grandfather long ago. I suppose it might be said that he was first of all a stoic who found ways to accept whatever fate might send his way and then make the best of it. Surely his life was difficult but he seemed to approach it with a dogged determination and a never ending sense of humor.
His was an interesting life that is filled with mystery to this very day. In many ways he had to write his own biography because the adults who should have been helping him shape it were never really there save for a woman that he called his grandmother, a lady named Sarah Reynolds. Born in the nineteenth century, he lost his mother, Marion, at birth. She was a woman whose name he seemed to know who has never turned up on any historical documents. His father, James, immediately panicked upon the death of his young wife and handed my grandfather over to Sarah who does not appear to have any familial links to either James or Marion.
It is difficult to believe that my grandfather’s existence in the United States does not show up until he married my grandmother in the early nineteen twenties even though he claims eighteen seventy nine as his date of birth. For over thirty years records show nothing about him, not even after his who grandmother died when he was only thirteen or the fact that he had to go before a judge to determine who would be his guardian.
As it turns out he chose a man named John Little who had graduated from the United States Military Academy at West Point to guide him into adulthood. My grandfather called this man his uncle but I have never been able to trace his ancestry to that branch of the family. Sadly John Little died rather young while serving in Puerto Rico after a devastating hurricane in 1900. I have reached out to his descendants but none of them seem to recall that he was a guardian for anyone, including my grandfather.
It saddens me to think of how alone my grandfather must surely must have felt at times and yet he never expressed such feelings. He spoke fondly of living with his grandmother and I suppose that she gave him the kind of love that every child needs to feel strong. He had little to say about his father who seemed to be only peripherally in and out of his life. He expressed great pride in the accomplished uncle that he chose as his guardian. Somehow Grandpa learned to read and write and take care of himself and he often spoke of how he quietly moved from job to job in one state after another. It was not until he met my grandmother in his forties that he found a long lasting relationship that seemed to finally provide him with an anchor.
Still, he and his family struggled greatly during the Great Depression when work was difficult to find. Just as he had always done from the time he was born he found ways to weather the storm and come out whole. There did not seem to be any kind of tragedy that kept him down, not even the death of his only son who was only thirty three at the time. His stoic nature and perennial sense of humor kept him going year after year. Somehow he understood that life can be brutal at times and he weathered great storms without complaint. Only the death of my grandmother seemed to set him way off balance for a time but eventually he found his way again.
Grandpa spent his last twenty years in a rented room in a house with a widowed woman whom he would eventually call his “daughter.” The two of them created a kind of family life that allowed them to survive the blows of the world. Even together their income was minimal but they did not seem to require as much as people do in these times. They were content to have a roof over their heads and food to keep them alive from day to day. Grandpa thrived in that environment and grew older and well past one hundred years while the woman completed her career and retired to spend her days with the man who had become a father to her.
Grandpa was a storyteller with a sharp whit and the mind of an historian. He had lived through the Gilded Age, the so called Cleveland Panic, the march of Coxey’s Army and multiple wars. He was living and working in Oklahoma when oil was found on the Osage reservation. He recalled seeing the first city lit by electric lights and celebrating the first flight of an airplane. His sense of what is important in life was tempered by one hundred eight years of living almost anonymously through great upheavals and change. Somehow in spite of the many losses and needs in his life he retained an upbeat philosophy about the world.
I am now slowly but surely moving in the direction of the last chapters of my life. Like my grandfather I enjoy telling my story which has been so much easier than his. At times I have to remind myself not to fall into a trap of despair when the world seems to be so awry. I turn to the wisdom of my grandfather that taught me that nothing in life is static. Good times always come back around. Good people inevitably win the day. Patience and determination keeps us moving forward. Survival can be difficult but humor and optimism will keep us motivated.
I feel blessed to have listened to my grandfather and his philosophies on life. A man who might have been bitter instead learned how to find the best in the world around him. He believed in the honor of humanity even in the toughest of times. He always insisted that the present is where we find the good old days if only we are willing to look beyond the ugliness to see the brilliant lights of humanity. He lived history and his personal story was a treasure that he gave to me.
All It Takes Is A Little Love 