I’m not sure what’s to be gleaned from the observations I have about my grandfathers’ skill sets 40 and 50 years plus after they passed but while I was debating whether or not to polish a WWII necklace my father’s father made for my grandmother from old coins, it struck me how different this necklace was from my mother’s father’s offering. Does it mean anything in comparison. Not really but it might be indictive of who they were as people, as men in war, I thought I would explore the idea a bit.
It’s funny the things you learn about your parents and grandparents that show up in unexpected ways. I well remember my grandparents although we lived out of town from them for the majority of my childhood.
My mother’s father liked to smoke cigarettes and pipes and read in his easy chair. I still really love the smell of pipe smoke to this day because he always comes to mind. He was a shoe salesman (Yes, that was a real job back in the day) and never seemed very motivated to do more with his life. I really don’t think his attitude was related to his experiences in WWII, I think that was just his nature. He had a really rough time in the war. He was drafted in his early thirties with two small children at home and no experience in much of anything. Can you imagine that today? He was what we used to call a “foot soldier” in France. He was a low-key, charming type of person but he was forced to shoot people, lost his best friend from bootcamp, and almost lost his feet due to trench foot. I read his war diary that talked about how swampy and wet France was and how much he hated it but this is only color commentary. Reality was certainly much more horrifying.
My father’s father always seemed a bit more complicated as a person. He actually graduated high school, not as common then, and played basketball…albeit poorly according to the team record in his high school yearbook, a copy of which I scored off of eBay after much patient searching. He was an insurance adjustor of some sort, the sort that collected bad debts by, at one time, confiscating unpaid for purchases from people’s homes! My father talked about how he was made to sit in the car while my grandfather knocked on people’s doors. He hated it and it scared him terribly. My grandfather and father were often at odds and apparently even came to blows. Complicated. That said, Grampa was immensely supportive of me, not just by how I looked which was the stock and trade of females at the time, but because he told me I was smart…and he said it a lot. Strangely, he and my father both were the most supportive of my intellect. It is a very fond memory. It was out of step with the times and it meant a lot.
Like my other grandfather, my father’s father, was drafted into the army in about 1942, in his mid-30s with two young children at home. It’s so hard to imagine that as I sit here. For better or worse, he was in the Signal Corp, sent to New Zealand and didn’t see combat. I remember a conversation my parents had talking about making sure we kids didn’t see the lack of combat as negative in comparison. I’m not sure I’d have ever thought about it like that but it was a kind of projection of that day and age.
Anyway, I have “artifacts” from this time frame. GIs with little to do can be pretty problematic so one of the things the military did was set up areas where the soldiers could make things for their significant others, an arts and crafts area if you will. Both my grandfathers on totally different ends of the Earth sat down and made things mostly for the women in the family and as the person who has been tasked with remembering and keeping these kinds of family items, I have the cherished pieces that have survived.
Both Joe and Irv made jewelry and the differences in skill sets are fascinating. Until I put together both sets of items, I don’t think anyone would have noticed this. Joe was precise, had an artist’s eye and used the tools at hand in an almost professional manner. Irv not as much. His pieces were simple and didn’t require a lot of work, I doubt his offerings were much inspired by his options which included drilling holes in old, out of date coins and stringing them together with jump rings. That said, his talents came through loud and clear in other ways. He wrote compelling letters home and a lovely, lightly illustrated poem for my mother’s birthday. His diary, including his illustrations, is fascinating.
I have no conclusions to draw.
I have Irv’s birthday poem cards framed and hung in my house and I wear several of the pieces of jewelry Joe made for my grandmother. I sure hope one of my kids or nieces and nephew, or my grandsons want these things eventually, maybe they will have other insights into their great grandparents’ gifts.
I think this is why I keep this blog.
Khatzkel Did It 