I am officially over the hill... My grandfather passed at age 93. If you look at pictures of him at 48, we could be twins. I considered 47 to be my half way point, now I am hoping I outlast my Grandpa. He was my favorite person in the world for a long time. I miss him.

The requirements:

Share one funny story from your Grandpa or a great piece of advice he gave you. I will pick the winner.

My Grandma passed about 7 years before my Grandpa. About 3 years after she passed, I told him he needed to go down to the senior center and find himself a girlfriend. He looked at me, smiled and said, "If I am going to find a girlfriend, I am heading to the college campus, not the senior center."

Drawing for the Challenge Coin is September 2nd - My Grandpa's birthday.

I'll take the number one slot lol

My Great Grandpa Sherman was a hoot. He would tell us stories about how he hasn't taken a shower or been in a tub since he was 18. (He took a sponge bath everyday) It always made folks cringe then laugh when he would tell them the whole story.

Grandpa Sherman passed when I was 19, he was 98. I learned a lot from him. He went through the dust bowl, great depression, two World Wars and lived in poverty his whole live. You would have never known otherwise by how generous he was and how positive he was. Always said, he was alive and all of his children were alive and "fat". That was all he ever wanted in life.

His first job was playing piano for silent movies, then took over the farm when his father passed. He played that piano in the grain elevator everyday until he passed.

Back home in Kansas, the local news has a special called Hatteberg's People where they air once a week. Long after Grandpa passed, his special was aired. Later on, it was uploaded to YouTube. I watch this at least one or twice a month and always get a wet handkerchief and a laugh. I love telling this story.

The world needs a few more Fred Shermans in it.

My grandpa retired from working in the furniture factory and found a job running the local convenience store. It was a little store, two guys in the community owned it and there were always shenanigans afoot.
One of the owners came in and asked my grandpa to give him such and such's phone number. My grandpa just flipped open the phone book and gave the guy a random number.
When the phone was answered, the owner started in on the guy, "Jack, you old son of a bitch, get your ass out of bed!......Ma'am, I'm sorry, I've got the wrong number!! I'm so sorry."
Quite the show for the crowd gathered in the store eating their lunch.

And a bonus: My grandpa and his best friend made a little liquor over the years. Made some of the best I ever had. But they decided to branch out and grow some pot. (They were both in their 60's when they did this) They planted it around a corn field and as luck would have it, my grandpa was working the corn one day when the helicopter came over looking for pot growers.
Grandpa took off through the woods to our house and had Dad go get the tractor a couple hours later.

My grandpa Clata was a character in the truest sense of the word. I miss him so much, and I can't help but feel sorry for the boys in the family that came along after he was gone.

I'd like a chance. Unfortunately, I never knew my paternal or maternal grandparents, so I don't have any amusing memories to relate.

(Please do not include me, I received a coin already.)

Two bits of information

From my Grandpa: "Learn how to work on and maintain your own vehicle and you can one worth 33% more than you afford"

From my Grandma: "Without death life would have no meaning. For if I lived forever, I would've accomplished anything. Death gives my life meaning so; do not cry when I am gone, just have a party to celebrate my accomplishments."

I never knew 3 of my grandparents, only my maternal grandfather. He was the son of German immigrants who came to the U.S. from Lower Saxony. Born in 1885, he was the 3rd oldest of 10 children and oldest of 5 boys. He lost his first wife and a son to tuberculosis in 1911. He married my grandmother with whom he had 8 children plus a surviving daughter from his first marriage.

He was raised a farmer but had various jobs including as a theater manager in Chicago. Upon returning home, he purchased a bar and turned it into a family restaurant that was known throughout the area for its turtle soup.

He lived to be 96 despite suffering a near fatal heart attack in his late 50s. He loved limburger cheese and onion sandwiches on rye bread, Black Label Beer, and JTS Brown Bourbon. My mom did not drink and dad drank beer exclusively, but we always had a bottle of JTS Brown atop the refrigerator for grandpa. When grandpa would come over, mom would say "How about a nip, Pop?". He would always say "Nah, it's too early." But a few minutes later, he'd say "O.K., but just a little one."

Below is an undated picture with him and some forgotten relatives. He's the dapper gent on the left with the double barrel shotgun and pipe (#73)

My birthday today also. I’ve got 46 years on the odometer.

My grandfather was a Marine in the South Pacific during WW2. He was always a joker, even in the middle of the island hopping campaign hell. They were stuck on Fiji for several weeks because of Japanese sub activity in the area. Bored Marines are a force of nature. Grandfather was small and thanks to malnutrition and yellow skin from malaria medicine the guys told him he was a Jap. One day in a very poorly thought out joke he put on a Japanese soldier’s uniform and scared the hell out of his CO. He’s lucky he wasn’t shot or beaten to death for that one. He laughed his ass off about it even in the late 80s. Some things never change.

Please count me in...

My Nono came to this country from Italy in the 30's and when WW2 broke out he tried in vain to get his wife and two kids brought over from Italy but wasn't successful as you can imagine.

Someone told him that if he enlisted he stood a better chance of getting his family brought to the US. So off to basic he goes. The family story is that at the end of basic he was brought into the Commanding Officers office and asked what he would do if he went over to Europe and he supposedly said he would go get his family....

He spent the war as a cook at Ft. Bragg..

When the war was over his family was given priority and brought to the US in one of the Liberty ships...

Happy Birthday!

Wish I could share a story but sadly my maternal grandfather passed when I was but 3. My only memory of him is his taking me for a short walk to get an ice cream cone.

He was a Sergeant in WWI.



My paternal grandparents weren't really in my life, so no story there either....

This message has been edited. Last edited by: bald1,

Both my grandfatheres told me to work hard and be employed. They both worked hard their entire lives. Nothing proverbial or fancy just that. But I still remember their examples.

Happy Birthday!

No need to enter me, I have Ag and Cu ones.

My granddad or "PawPaw" as we used to call him, was active in WW2, but he was behind the lines, a communications officer of some sort.

He was the first one who taught me how to shoot, well sort of...

See, the army let him keep his service pistol. It was a 45 something, I could have SWORN it was a revolver, but I think the standard was a 1911.

The man could SHOOT! Like he had marksmen awards and all. Not sure why they didn't put him on the front lines, maybe his skills with communications equipment outweighed his shooting skills. Must have been because he went to RedStone with NASA in Huntsville after the war.

Anyway, back to the story.

I'm about 6 I think, and he, myself and my dad go out to a pond/lake close by to shoot. He's of course much taller than me. He pulls me over and places me directly underneath him. He pulls out the gun (again, I could have sworn it was a revolver), places it straight forward and says to me "just reach up and hold it with both hands... there you go..." (he's still holding the gun)... "now, just pull the trigger"...

I hear BBBBBBBBAAAAAAAAAA

Notice I didn't say BAM! Because I didn't hear BAM, I heard BBBBBAAAAA then ringing because the damn thing sounded like a cannon and all I could hear was ringing in my ear.

Of course, who knew that hearing protection should be worn back then LOL.

Continuing, he looked down and said "blaa, blah diba blah thab blah". I'm pretty sure he said "see, that didn't hurt that much" but I had to read his lips, because I couldn't hear.

The rest of the morning, I watched as he blew up burnt-out Christmas tree bulbs that he would throw into the pond.

His son, my uncle, got the gun when he passed, I certainly wish I could find out what it was.

I have a picture of him in his uniform in WW2, looks like "a kid", I always wondered if he fudged his age to get in.

James

Grandpa was a retired Nickel Plate engineer.

Me and a childhood buddy were visiting from Chicago and staying with him for a few days during the summer. We were in a movie theater watching a movie when all of a sudden we were both pulled out of our seats and led out of the theater by our ears. I guess we were gone too long or late for dinner.

I have no idea how he knew where we were or how he got in there.

And yes, I did get to drive the train.

Sorry. Although I knew all 4 of my grandparents, I saw them very seldom and they did not pass on any gems of wisdom to me.

flashguy

I don’t have any stories of my grand parents. They were all dead before I was old enough to know them.

Congrats to all you guys that had a chance.

Bob

My Dads Dads came from Germany as a teenager. I've always been impressed with the courage it took for him, as well as many other folks, to leave their family, put whatever they could into a small trunk, and leave knowing they would never get back. Oh, and they could not speak the language! And he had all of a fifth grade education.

When I was about eight we were at his cottage, he decided to take me fishing. I'm sure we looked like Andy and Opie walking down the dirt road. Anyway, I caught a monster perch(4 inches). The line got wrapped around some brush in the water. He went out to get it. As he got there the fish got off the hook! When he came back to shore he sat in his chair and the chair broke. I was too scared to laugh.

Before and after this event he had never heard him swair. This time I heard but it was all in German! I miss him and he is one of the first people I want to see when the time comes.

Back in 2010 I was searching the Ellis Island website and was able to find the date he came over. In 2013, in honor of the 100year date, all of his grandkids had a party in his honor.

Jim

My paternal grandfather came to the US in 1913. An Aromanian born in Albania, he left the region after fighting in the 1st Balkan War as a guerilla against the Ottomans.

His advice was to "bring enough gun to fight but not too much." He and his comrades preferred the Montenegrin Gasser revolvers and the Mannlicher-Schoenauer Carbines.

Every summer my brother and I would would go up to northern Minnesota to help my Grandparents on the farm milking cows, picking rocks, bailing hay I was 13 my brother was 11. Gus short for August would tell stories of his younger days while we milked cows. He would pull out a can from his shirt pocket, tapped on his can of Copenhagen opened it up and always offered a pinch to both my brother and I, I always refused but one day my brother stepped up and grab a huge pinch tucked it in his lip mimicking our Grandpa. My brother feeling brave and rubbing it in my face that I was a chicken shit. He would spit here or there once in a while

The story began, my grandpa worked for Armor Meats in South St Paul. He said that he had a co-worker that day in and day out would bum a pinch from him. One day while on break he was at the urinal trough which was a long horizontal porcelain urinal and his co worker came and stood next to him. Gus pulled out his Copenhagen opened it up and shook in the last couple drops closed the can, and said, “it was getting too dry”. Coworker wide eyed as my Grandpa left the bathroom without another word. The coworker never bummed another pinch, and when offered a pinch refused...about this time my brother was starting to look green, and made a mad dash to the out house......we did not see my brother the entire time. While milking I was thinking as I smiled he didn’t like the story....nope I later found out that my brother did not spit the entire juice out, he swallowed some.....I still tease my brother I may have been a chicken shit, but your a swallower!

Another story, my brother and I always went to the farm and feed store with my Grandparents. My Grandma bought both of us Blue striped engineer hats. Same size same look. One day my brother was complaining I had his hat and he just went on I told him I didn’t. After a few moments my Granpa asked my brother go to the 9n and grab that can of spray paintoutvof the tool box. My brother went out got a can of fluorescent orange paint, handed it to my Grandpa. Grandpa put the can on the table. Asked my brother to identify his hat, my brother looked at the hats and picked out his hat. Let me see your hat he told my brother my brother handed him the hat. My Granda grab the fluorescent paint and sprayed a 3 inch dot on the back of my brothers hat and said “there now we know this is your hat”...all summer we never had an issue on hat ownership, and I could pick my brother out of a group 150 yds away.

My Grandpa fought and was wounded in WW1 on the losing side. He was decorated for carrying his CO from the front lines where they'd been blown out of their foxhole, back to an aid station.
After the war ended, he emigrated to the US, settled in Chicago, and spent 35 years working as a master carpenter. In the mid 50's he retired and moved to northern Wisconsin where he and my Grandma worked a small dairy farm.
As a kid I remember spending holidays and summers on the farm with them. Gramps was a crusty old guy; the textbook definition of a grumpy old man. I'm guessing he was at that point dealing with constant pain from his war wounds and a career spent banging around construction sites, and little things would set him off. Lots of yelling and cursing (in German) at times. However, as his one and only grandson I was mostly spared from his wrath. Only once do I recall being disciplined by him... I was playing with the thermostat on the wall; fascinated by the blue spark the blob of mercury made in the glass tube. One smack on the butt with the handle of his cane brought that to a sudden and painful halt.
He taught me how to shoot a rifle and a shotgun; how to field dress a deer, how to fish, and how to drive. First on an old Allison tractor, and then in an older Ford pickup. My mom was horrified to learn that at age 8 I had become Grandpas driver whenever we needed to go to town for parts or for groceries.
He passed in his 80's while I was on active duty. Still miss him.

Happy birthday!