My Grandmother, the Artist
She married my grandfather at a very young age, probably 20. They were married for their entire lives until my grandfather died at age 94. My grandmother lived until she was 103, but during the last 15 years, the shroud of Alzheimer's closed off her memory to me and the rest of my family. She died horrifically after being raped by another patient in the nursing home where she had lived for a decade.
The last time I saw her was at my grandfather's funeral. She was the same pleasant woman I remembered from childhood, but her memory was gone. After the funeral, we returned to the home my grandparents built in the mid-1960s. Everything was the same as it had been (around 2005)—the black AT&T rotary dial phone, Sears Robuck kitchen appliances, her instruments (piano, harp, guitar), and the other accouterments accumulated over two lifetimes.
As I sat next to her on the same old couch in the living room since I was a kid, she introduced herself to me and explained that her husband had just died. She thanked me for coming to the funeral and wanted to know why I was there. I explained that I was her oldest grandchild. She apologized for not remembering me and told me that her memory had been a little off lately.
My Grandmother was an Artist
Grandma was a kind woman who raised four children (3 boys and my mother). My grandparents married just before the 1929 stock crash. Grandfather found a job in May of 1929 riding on a commenter train into Pittsburgh to look for a job. He happened to sit next to the managing partner of a CPA firm. That fellow offered him an appointment the next day. My grandfather worked for that firm his entire working life and became its managing partner for the last 20 years of his career.
Somehow amid turmoil, they achieved stability early in their marriage. My grandmother's life became that of a housewife. During the last visit before my grandfather's death, she made his meals, did his laundry, and generally worshipped the man. They loved each other their entire lives.
But grandmother had another side to her personality. I wonder what she may have become if she hadn't married at such a young age. You see, she was a poet and songwriter. After my parents died and my grandparents were long gone, I inherited the one possession I was interested in: my grandmother's writing and songwriting notes.
These notes start in the late 1930s and continue until the late 1990s. Written on envelopes, the backs of coupons, investment statements, and any other scrap of paper. I've even found a poem drafted on a paper plate.
I've only managed to get through a small fraction of the content, mostly handwritten. I've noticed a progression. Grandma would start by writing ideas on scapes of paper. Refine the ideas on better scraps of paper. Type the final drafts using a typewriter, mostly on better sheets of scrap paper, and finally publish her finished work in a local newspaper.
I also found a rejection letter from McCall Magazine dated June 5, 1952, from their headquarters at 230 Park Avenue in New York. They thanked her for the article about a lightkeeper at the Fenwick Island Lighthouse; The lighthouse is still between Sinepuxent Bay and the Atlantic Ocean in Delaware. They rejected the report but apologized because they thought the story had merit but didn't fit their present needs at McCall's.
Included with the rejection letter was her typewritten article (on actual typing paper and four photos). One of the photos consists of the article's subjects, their black dog, and my grandmother.
The official lighting of this lighthouse happened August 1, 1859, so by the time Grandma got there, it was already over 92 years old. The [light house ]is still there. In 2009 it celebrated its 150th Anniversary of its official lighting.
Grandma's story talked about the lighthouse keeper and his wife. At the time, Charles Gray retired in 1940 and was 95 years old. She mentioned his wife only as Mrs. Gray. The couple had started keeping the lighthouse in 1914 without electricity then. The light was powered by oil in 1914.
One interesting fact highlighted in her story was the lighthouse occurred during WWII due to submarine activity. She reported war activity in Ocean City, Maryland (6 miles away). One hundred cargo vessels had been sunk by submarines during the war.
I've included her story at the bottom of this post. This little history is a unique perspective. Being hidden from view for 71 years adds to its allure.
Her Poetry
Grandma wrote about everything that she encountered. Most of her published poetry was typed on better scraps of paper. I have found instances of typed poems that she edited 14 years later by hand. One verse that I enjoy is called, It's a Man.
I found the poem in one of the little handmade booklets she built from typing paper and staples.
Her Legacy
I have four huge boxes of her writing. Some of her writing is in journals. I've found an entry dated April 1, 1959, in which she reported that my father had called to report my birth. I was their first grandchild.
These documents are a treasure trove of history through my grandmother's eyes. I prefer to remember her this way. My grandparents were married for over 75 years. In my future retirement, I plan to document her writing thoroughly. That will likely require at least a year of cataloging, transcribing, and summarization. I can't think of a better way to honor her memory.
Sky Eye by Han Blissman (1952)
