OPEN TO INTERPRETATION

A series of short stories.....

 

 

 

Grandpa Marion W. Grubbs (Circa 1922)

.....as seen through my eyes!

By: Jacqueline E. Hughes


As a card-holding member of the IrishCentral.Newsletter via my Facebook connection.....whatever the hell that means?!?!......I've recently perused their new post entitled, The Worst Irish Insults and Racial Slurs, etc.  Thanks to Cathy Hayes (author) and The Racial Slurs Database (source), I was able to identify something from my childhood that has haunted, and, possibly, greatly warped me, thus helping to create the 'twisted' adult I am today!  No comments, please.....

I enjoy seeing how the rest of the world perceives this friendly, beautiful and mystical race of human beings with whom I have a great affinity with, along with much love and respect for.  IrishCentral.com, The Galway Advertiser, WorldIrish, Rare Irish Stuff, Burren Perfumery and, Naill O'Dowd himself....the founder of IrishCentral, are among the many sites I look for everyday on Social Media in order to keep-up with the news, views and events happening within the daily 'breathe' and lifestyle of Ireland. 

Let us not forget Ireland's colorful, albeit often sad, history, as well!  I have written many times about the Great Famine in Ireland that changed the easy-going perception of life as the Irish once knew it and forced a simple, loving group of people beyond the brink and into the depths of disparity.

Marion and Hester

My exceedingly proud paternal grandfather, Marion, was tall, handsome and his smile could stop you in your tracks and make you turn around and come back for more.  He often spoke of his Irish heritage but, he never delved deeply enough to afford us tangible insights into his ancestry which could include dates, towns or experiences.  He was also a very private man.  As an adult, I often wonder just how much my Grandpa actually knew of his past or, perhaps, he knew and never wanted to talk about it!!

His oldest son and my Father, Jack, my namesake, occasionally alluded to certain ideas that he must have picked-up on through the years about his beginnings.  Even these are minimal and, at best, convoluted like a seashell washed-up on a sandy Connemara beach in the summertime.  I recall the feeling of negativity, at best, with terms such as 'Shanty Irish' and 'potato eater' coming to mind.

Olga and Jack Grubbs

The Urban Dictionary defines Shanty Irish as, "Irish decent people who live in filthy dwelling slums.  They have a culture that consists of getting drunk until the room spins, surviving off of TV dinners and counting their freckles....."  Well, I suppose certain stereotypical images of the Irish poor have been and will be spread from generation to generation within a colorful offhand manner and my Dad certainly contributed to his own, mild verbal abuse. 

Thinking back on the lines of my Mother's younger siblings in My Ukrainian Connection, I believe my Dad's attitude can be attributed to 'Generational Beliefs.'  Succeeding WWII, the 'twenty something' generation chose to abandon their pasts and consciously embrace a life built upon The American Dream......literally throwing away reminders of what once was for a future of what could be.  What better way to dismiss the past than to trash it and move on?

Grandpa Marion moved-on quite easily becoming a local businessman and revered, upstanding member of the small community of Three Rivers, Michigan, back in the late '50's and early '60's.  He and Grandma purchased the existing American Laundry located on 4th Street across from Dock Foundry and they renamed it Three Rivers Laundry and Dry Cleaning. 

The laundry soon became a multi-generational establishment with my older brother, Ron, initially driving-up from Terre Haute, Indiana, where we lived at the time, to work at the laundry for Grandpa during the summer months.  I remember his second purchased 'set of wheels' was a monumental find when he answered a local ad for the sale of a green and white '57 Chevrolet with one owner and "Priced to sell....!"  Wow....what a classic car!  I often bet how he wishes he could have held onto that stunning vehicle, forever.....

Classic 1957 Chevy

With much debate (I am being very tactful here) and soul searching, my parents decided to follow Ron's lead and move one more time.  Yes, Jack and Olga soon became the 'new' Marion and Hester and proceeded to run the laundry side-by-side, through thick and thin, for many years to come! 

Rhinie Status

And, that's how I made it to Three Rivers and began my eighth grade year at Three Rivers High School with Rhinie status, "....babes slung into changing classes and memorizing locker combinations."  Big Brother, Ron, was making a mark for himself as a Junior.  We were both the 'new kids on the block' at a very vulnerable time in our young lives and we had so much to prove, especially to ourselves.  At least he could drive.  And, he owned a cool car, too!!!

Grandpa remained the patriarch of our clan and to this day I can still visualize him walking into the laundry's back room just to see how things were progressing.  Of course, we always knew of his presence before actually seeing him due to the ever present lit cigarillo cigar, Tiparillo, complete with white, plastic filter, he held snugly clamped between his teeth, lips and a smile.  Its sweet aroma preceded him.....always.  And, that was my memory of 'working' Grandpa.


Grandpa Marion at his home on 7th Street with its totally fenced-in, manicured green lawn, two-story, white clapboard house complete with glassed-in, three-seasonal front porch and two humongous cherry trees in the backyard, was pretty much the same as 'working' Grandpa to me.  He always dressed to impress even while doing yard work, carving the turkey at Thanksgiving or loading his small boat with gear for a fishing day-trip on one of the surrounding lakes.  Once a year, he would trade-in his magnificently groomed appearance for a padded, red velvet look, including snow-white hair and trimmings, and saunter onto the chilly front porch (the only room large enough for all of us to be together) and distribute wrapped presents he'd pull from the large black bag he had slung over his shoulder.  Everybody received a gift from Santa, including the adults, and we older grandchildren were not about to break the spell he had on us by "spilling the beans!"

Now, thinking about The Urban Dictionary's definition of Shanty Irish, the one thing in particular that stands out to me is the 'informal' times surrounding Grandpa's life.  For example, when he was playing 'horseshoes' with all of his brothers at a Family Reunion or backyard barbecue; League bowling nights and Mom and us kids would sit on tall stools, sipping a Coke, watching Dad and Grandpa bowl; A foursome sitting around the kitchen table playing game after game of euchre on a warm and sticky weekend night........  All of these occasions, memories, if you will, are intertwined with the sight of long-necked beer bottles (Drewrys and Stroh's) and clear, jelly-jar glasses filled with liquid gold poured over cubes of ice. 

I don't think Grandpa or Dad drank any more than anyone else did back then.  When your chin barely makes it over the kitchen counter top, you're at an age when everything is exaggerated and larger than life itself.  Drinking and smoking back in the 1950's was a huge part of the 'social norm' and both activities were actively encouraged as a form of stress relief and relaxation.  The well-stocked home bar and coffee table, replete with a 'candy jar' like receptacle filled with fresh smokes for guests, exemplified the social climber or 'host with the most' who cared about the people who visited their home. 

The article in The Irish Central.Newsletter entitled The Worst Irish Insults and Racial Slurs somehow reignited a burning verbal onslaught that I loathed hearing as a child, especially when it came from my stylish Grandfather!!  He would inevitably employ the term "Pot-Licker" when making negative references to people, outside the company that surrounded him.  I was appalled by his unsavory attack which usually was repeated loudly and often, especially when more alcohol was consumed.  My mind conjured-up so many nasty impressions which included a chamber pot like the one kept under our beds when we spent the night at the old farmstead in South Bend, Indiana, before the indoor bathroom was installed.  Maybe he was in reference to another pot, the toilet, and that conjured images of unmentionable germs and impossible scenarios.  What was a young girl to think?




Drewry/ Muessel Brewing Company Located In South Bend, Indiana  (Between 1936-1947)

 

Instead of asking my poor Mother for an explanation, I preferred to allow my fertile imagination to run rampant and never, not once, did I exchange my misguided thoughts for the truth.  I can see some of this happening now with my own six-year-old granddaughters......I smile.  Will they enjoy placing their own thoughts down on paper one day for the world to read?  Who am I kidding?  They've already begun.

Pot-Licker: During the potato famine, the Irish people would lick their cooking pots clean to get every last morsel of food.

Gratefully, my Grandfather has been vindicated of a portion of my haunted childhood beliefs.  However, his racial slur still leaves me a bit angry and confused considering his own Irish heritage coupled with my love and understanding of the Irish people today.   In retrospect, I am certain that Grandpa believed there was 'no harm-no foul' if insulting his own people at a time of their most dire despair.  I must be satisfied with this explanation considering how much worse it could have been....especially on young, tender ears such as my own. 

Do you hold onto any distant childhood memories that still haunt you today?

My Childhood Memories.....Open To Interpretation