Was your Grandpa cool ?

My paternal grandpa owned a junkyard. He was a pure SOB to people he didn't like....nice and kind to the rest. Had some great times 'building' stuff in his junkyard!

My maternal grandpa was a bank president. Owned an airplane, etc. He would let me take-off and fly, but never land it. Respected by everyone in town.

Caused somewhat of a stir when my folks married.....but that's ok. Cause the way I see it, one was from 'the wrong side of the tracks', the other from the 'good side of the tracks', actually put me 'right on track'. I had the opportunity to experience things from both perspectives.

I never knew my grandparents.

But I did know my paternal grandmother's brother. He lived a good long time.
Apparently their family were Boers in South Africa. The way he put it, they were not particularly nice to their neighbors of African descent. And as a result of being on the losing side of the conflict over whether the English or the Dutch would be calling the shots, they found themselves destitute and friendless. So they went to Chile. That's where my grandmother was born and started childhood. But according to my great-uncle, who put it pretty vehemently, they hadn't learned their lesson and treated the 'natives' there badly as well. When they wore out their welcome there, they came to the USA. So these are relatives who I don't feel a whole lot of pride in. But I don't look down on them too, too much either. I just think of them as a reminder that each and every one of us is capable of being a creep and deluding ourselves into thinking that it's somehow justified. Must be guarded against at all times.

My paternal grandfather grew up in the Netherlands and got no particular education that I'm aware of. But what he did get is a job as a deck-hand on some Dutch freighter. He stuck with that until they put into port in New York. I guess he looked at that city and said, "And they expect me to go back to that rustbucket?".

So, really, he was an illegal alien. But that was before immigration restrictions and it wasn't such a big deal then. He had citizenship within a handful of years. And I think that it was nothing more than a paperwork matter. Plus the oath, I suppose.

I like to think that I'd never be an arrogant and abusive 'colonist' type.

But seeing the greatest city in the world and thinking, "I'm jumping ship and staying here!", that sounds kinda like me.

Both of my grandfathers were interesting fellows. Different as night & day; Dad's father was part Indian, dark skin, jet black hair and whip cord thin. He was never a big talker and wouldn't answer questions but if you could stay quiet until he felt you were ready to listen. He taught me about the natural world in as few words as possible but in simple ways that I've never forgotten.
Mom's father was pure German who grew up on a farm in Frankenmuth MI and worked in the tool room for Eaton. He was born Christmas day in 1898 so he grew up along side of the machine age. That man was a walking knowledge bank about anything mechanical or electrical and everything had a story. He introduced me to Davey's Blue book, micrometers, and a million other goodies.
He was half owner of a Harley at 16 and rode a motor wheel bike to work during WW2.
I think he would feel at home on these pages.

Not really. Of English descent my Dad's father pretty much ignored us kids because they felt that Dad had married beneath him. Mum had been a factory worker and then worked as a porteress on the railways during the war which for some reason made her 'unsuitable'. I never much liked him anyway because he was so cold and distant.

My Mum's Dad was of Irish descent and had fought at the battle of the Somme and Passchendaele and served with a machinegun regiment. He'd been gassed and blown up (artillery shell landing close by) and was certainly a tough old goat because all he had to show for it was a slight limp. In time after WW1 he worked on the railways as an engine driver driving mostly AB Pacifics (NZR general purpose maid of all work) and was known as 'Soldier Bill'.
He never talked about the war, but one story I did get to hear was how he'd been busted down from corporal for letting the transport mules graze in the regimental CO's garden.
I was always a little scared of him as a child and when I was older I found out I had good reason to be because he'd ruled over his family with his fists and Mum'd had her share of punches and slaps aimed her way as she was growing up.

My Dad's father was a big Scotsman and very handsome... something like 6'5" and athletic. He worked as a carpenter as a young fellow and put himself through medical school to become a GP and much later was in charge of St. Luke's hospital in Davenport, Iowa. My first train ride from Ottumwa was to Davenport to be delivered by him. He also delivered my brothers and sister. Since he died when I was five or so I don't remember much about him other than it was a long way up getting a look at him from where I stood. I remember him fixing my broken nose as a four year old... mooshed it back into shape again. He had been a captain in the cavalry in WWI. I used to have a photo of him in his uniform on a big horse and next to him was my father in a wee uniform (private, no doubt) on a Shetland Pony. From what I understand he was well thought of including by himself. His wife was less than five feet tall, so they made an interesting couple.

Wa, my mother's father was born poor into a family of 16 children. His father was a blacksmith by trade and drunkard by inclination and a poor provider. Wa (Walter) had a paper route as a little boy and then quit school in the third grade to go to work hand rolling cigars in a factory in Ottumwa, Iowa. As a teen he got a job as a street car conductor, still helping to support his family and as a young man became a machinist for Hartzog Wonder Drill In Ottumwa. Eventually he got his boiler maker's certification and became the shop foreman. I used to have his patent papers for a hydraulic valve he invented for use in a jack hammer for breaking up concrete. I felt so proud of him when I saw those patent papers with perfect handwriting like calligraphy and draftsman layout drawings. They must have taught third graders a lot more then than they do now. He married an Indian woman who became the love of my young life. I called her Da. I'm glad I got to know my grandpa even if I was always a little scared of him. If my brothers or I got out of line he would point to his razor strop and say, "if you were my boy..." I suspect he got knocked around by his drunken father and no doubt knew what a strop was all about. I lived with them for a year when I was pretty little and still remember watching him shave... sharpening up that straight edge razor on his leather strop , lathering up with a brush and some kind of soap he worked up with water and the brush... dabbing it on and then ... I could hardly watch and also couldn't look away... expecting to see blood in great quantity at any moment. But he had a machinist's hands and was precise about everything he did. No blood. I was sixteen and off getting straightened out in a military academy when I got a letter saying he had died. A great sadness that was. He left me his Masonic sword and I later learned how he had been a high official in the state's masonic order.
Pretty good for a barefoot paper boy to come all that way in life. Have a lump in my throat and sprung a leak in my eye as I write. A good man, my grandpa was.
SB

my Grandfather was in WWI at the end of the war his squad attacked a German freighter in that same week the war ended so they used the ship to get back to the states the bad thing about it every thing was in German A hand full of Immigrants from America where running around the ship translating stuff.

One of my Grandpas was a high school principal; a definite no. Another was a lineman with the power company. That's cool. My dad's brothers are both railroad men, so they are the coolest.

Both my Grandpas died before I was born. My Moms Dad was by all accounts a very sharp dude mechanically. He was one of the engineers on the Panama Canal and later in life played with street rods in the early days and would attend dry lakes and Bonneville races along with the early days of the Ascot raceway.

My Dad hung out with him a lot in his youth because of the cool cars an vast knowledge he had, along with the fact that my Mom was always there too, my Mom and Dad were both born on the same day, month and year and went to school together all the way from kindergarten to high school.

My Dads Dad owned one of the only two grocery stores in town and they lived in the back half of the store. Dad never really talked about him, in fact nobody in the family really does and what little I heard was that he was a mean one to put it nicely.

I never met either one but I love them just the same, I hope someday I will get to meet them both.

My Grandpa was one of those misfit spoiled rich kids that wound up with nothing. He was a womanizer, gambler, fought dogs and fighting cocks. Raced horses and dogs nearly all his life. Would beat a man near death if he thought you looked at him wrong.

When I met the man he was just grandpa and he treated me like his grandkid. I didn't know of his past then and I remember him taking me to the general store and kicking back at a local garage passing time. He always talked to me not at me and I really loved the old guy.

Years had passed and I had been overseas for a bit and when I mentioned to my father (another real piece of work) that I was going to visit grandpa when I got stateside he said, sorry your grandpa passed away two years ago.

Sad memory.

Dan.

I didn't know my grandfathers, but family history throws up a great grandfather, who was a musician and died after falling out of a train when drunk.

I take a degree of pride in that.

My dad's dad died way before I was born, but my mom's dad lived on a small Missouri farm, raised 13 kids, tilled with a team, never drove or owned a car, and often walked to town (5 miles one way) for the weeks groceries. He hand dug a well in his 60's and was a wonderful man. His given name was Pleasant, and he was. He passed when I was 20.

One grandfather I had known had been working on steam ship ferry that competed with another. They raced the Delaware River as a way of trying to attracted away passengers from the other. I thought that was neat!

MT

leftywoody said:

My Grandpa on my mom's side was a message courier in WW1 . He rode a cycle and even jumped trenches with it . He was a great fellow but I only knew him from brief visits to are home .He died young at 65 from liver cancer . If only he had gotten his gall bladder removed when it got infected he would have lived much longer . He was a drafting engineer for most of his adult life . Pic is of an army cycle used for courier service .

Click to expand...

Under the cover, do you know if it was other than pulley or gear reduction, meaning a torque converter for the Harley?

On WWI, my Grandfather had served and after volunteered in the VA Hospital for probably over 100,000 hrs. He also worked on steam ship ferrys and at a beer brewery.

MT

The primary reduction on that Harley was a duplex chain going to a dry clutch.
It had a 3 speed transmission.
No torque converter.

Edit: Here's a link I found, you might find it interesting:
http://www.harley-davidson.com/en_US/Content/Pages/Veterans/military-history.html