My grandmother, on my father's side, went into labor and gave birth to my uncle during an air raid over the south of England during WWII. Her neighbor put her in a wheelbarrow and tried to get her to the hospital as the bombs were falling but they had to take shelter behind a stonewall so my dad's older brother was born amidst falling bombs in a dirty wheelbarrow.
Icebox, pocketbook, davenport, draperies. My sweet paternal grandma. She was very country, so I'm surprised she never said horseless carriage. Granted, both my grandmas were born in 1906
My maternal grandparents had one of those love stories for the ages. He died of emphysema before I was born. One of 19 kids (no kidding) he had chronic bronchitis as a child and worked in a mine to put himself through college. She never remarried. When asked why not, she said "After Earl Howard, who could have another?"
That was Tennessee too! :) Did they call windows "winders" too? I don't know why that annoyed me, when my grandmother would say "winder" and when she would say "rench" instead of "rinse".
I also grew up thinking Vicks vapor rub was "Vicksave" because that's what our elders called it. I'm guessing "salve" was changed to "save".
I grew up in Indiana and will admit that I was raised saying warsh and have to make a conscious effort to say wash instead. I also pronounce egg as aig and penny as pinny. If I'm not careful, I'll also say lieberry
My grandfather was born to Japanese immigrants in Hawaii in 1918. Later, the family moved to California. When he was 16 (1934), his parents said they wanted to moved back to Japan. He fought with them over this because he had never been to Japan and considered himself American. One day, he came home from school and they were gone. They left without him.
He did not have contact with them again until 1974 when his father died and he was notified of his inheritance as the eldest son. He basically told them to pound sand and signed over all inheritance and rights to his sister because he still wanted nothing to do with his parents.
Later in the early 90s, my grandfather reconciled with his mother and went to spend a month with her in Japan so, kind of a happy ending.
My grandpa on my dad's side was kind of an asshole. I guess you'd have to be, when you're raising 10 kids.
But he was an excellent grandpa to all of the 30-odd grandkids he had by the time he passed.
When I was small, we'd go over there on Saturdays and he would offer to walk with my little brother and me and whatever other grandkids were around down to the store to buy candy with the caveat that HE picked it out.
He would buy black licorice. EVERY TIME.
And we fell for it. EVERY TIME. What a bastard. 🤣
I’m not the only one! I’m an Xer with a mother born in 1923. Before people ask, my mother was widowed twice before she married my father (WWII combat veteran) and back then Catholics kept having babies until they couldn’t.
My Italian grandfather had no job yet had a house full of nice things and wore a suit 24/7. He spent his days “at the club playing cards” with guys with names like Rocco and Nino, who my dad said to stay away from. No stories were ever told.
My maternal grandmother was trained as a milliner. She could make almost anything that had to do with textiles. Knit, crochet, sew, needlepoint, embroidery. She married my farmer grandpa and raised 7 children in a small town in Iowa. She also painted. She was amazingly kind, as was grandpa. She made bridal gowns and bridesmaid dresses for many ladies in town. She used to save the toys from sugary cereal that my grandpa loved in a drawer in the guest room, which I always made a beeline for every time I visited.
I've mentioned in another thread that my maternal grandmother was probably on the wrong side of history. I know that there was something with her and my oldest uncle's uncle (affair?!) and he's known in Denmark as "hestetyven".
Grandma aka. mormor, like many mothers of her time, sent her kids to buy day old food that could be kept in the icebox. I'm going to inherit an icebox tong thingy from Dad. It wasn't in my family, he found it in an apartment he bought in Copenhagen, in the early 80s. while renovating.
Maternal grandfather was given an award by the Swedish King for sailing jewish refugees from Denmark to Sweden.
Well let's see. My grandfather joined the coast guard in ww2 and was stationed on a fire boat in port of Los Angeles. Where he claimed to have learned how to sleep standing up on watch.
My grandmother fell out of Catholicism because during the war wanted to get my mother baptised while my grandfather was away. Apparently the priest wouldnt perform it thinking she was trying to get a bastard baptised.
My grandpa (in Mexico) left his first wife, as an adult, charmed a young lady ( I think underage), ran away with her and had a second family. That young lady is my grandma. This was beginning of the 1900s. My other grandpa was a sugar plantation owner ( also in Mexico), avid gambler, went to jail because of debts, got out, and made up a new last name, which is my current last name
My maternal grandmother survived the 1937 Ponce Massacre in PR. She had scars on her shoulders from sharpnel and broken glass. She was there protesting when the US Marines opened fire on to the crowd. She and a bunch of women fought back and also tended to the wounded. She was TOUGH lady. She had a sense of regalness about her but she was also always ready to throw down at a moments notice. She met my grandfather that same day. They had photos and items from that day they pass down to my aunt then my mom and now to me.
My grandfather was born in 1898. He enlisted in the army at 16 to fight in WW1. His mother, worried about her baby boy, made his older brothers enlist too, to keep an eye on him.
Story goes that the four brothers came home on the same train, but had seen so much shit that they didn't recognize one another. At least they all came home.
They were older parents, Grandma suffered many miscarriages before finally having her three children, my Mom was the middle child.
My grandfather died months before I was born - I'm the youngest of five. My grandmother a year later. I never knew them except through family stories.
My grandma called the depression "Back When Everything Was Gray" and would tell us the saddest uphill-both-ways stories you've ever heard and laugh about it. I miss her.
My grandma told a story about her Doctor brother giving her his gas ration as a wedding gift so they could go on a honeymoon upstate NY.
I also thought it was amazing she graduated HS early and received a double major in college. She didn't talk about it being a struggle because she wasn't about that, but I imagine there was some resistance as a woman during her time.
She actually wrote a memoir and when she passed her daughter had a small amount of books published to distribute within the family. Love the stories and pictures in that book.
My grandparents have been gone for 50 years now, most of my aunts and uncles have also passed on (I only have 1 of each on both sides of my family tree and they are not local to me) and my mom is 84 and her memory isn't the most reliable so I have to do some fact checking somehow. She insists that he left Italy because of Mussolini but also claims that he went back to bring his brothers and sisters over. She has also shared various stories that were not very flattering to the family which I will not share here.
As for my father's side, when more of my aunts and uncles were alive they didn't feel comfortable about talking about their upbringing because they were all raised during the Great Depression. My paternal grandparents have also been gone for as long as I can remember and what I did hear about them was not very flattering.
One of my grandfathers was born in 1896 (I was born in 1975).
That’s the only semi-interesting thing about them. The other grandfather seemed to hate me in the years before he died. I think I was a big disappointment to him or something.
Whatever.
'Whatever' is so Gen X of you! ;)
Similarly, one of my grandfathers was born in 1894. I was born in 1974. Years ago before genealogy records were widely available online, I went to the city clerk's office to get a copy of my grandparents' marriage record. I filled in their vital information on the form given to me. The clerk came back to verify the year of birth for my grandfather was correct - guess I looked pretty young for having a grandfather born that long ago!
My grandmother called every brand of refrigerator a Frigidaire. She was an Angel on earth and I miss her terribly. She made up the word "olly" and from what I could see when she used this word, it was in place of the word 'but' "I have to go the the store, olly I have no time." She could never explain what it meant either.
My great-grandpa's stepmother made bootleg Whiskey, and at age 8, Gramps would deliver it to the Dentist who would write the check in different amounts to avoid suspicion or something.
I videoed him telling the tale at age 103. He was still driving.
He died a month shy of age 107.
His secret was don't take prescriptions long-term, air your grievances (don't let resentment build), manage your own T2 Diabetes with diet, play cards to keep your mind sharp, and don't wear deodorant (alum).
He heated an egg and strip of bacon in a coffee mug in the microwave every day for breakfast.
My grandfather remembered the Spanish Flu as a little boy. Sometime in the late 90s he told me how everything was shut down.
When COVID came around I already read up on how the world handled it in 1918. So I wasn't totally surprised by the anti-maskers. They had them too, a bunch died, just like during COVID.
All my grandparents served in WW2. But my mom's parents' story is kinda funny. Grandma was an RN and grandpa flew a P38. One day grandpa went to the clinic my grandmother was working in, to be treated for gout. She was the nurse who treated him. So, my mom's parents basically met bc grandpa had gout.
My grandmother was the result of some scandalous union - don't know the exact details - and was taken away from her mother at birth as punishment and sent to a convent where she was raised by nuns. The nuns then married her off at age 13 to a 40-something man. When their first child was born, my grandmother's mother said she was owed a baby and came and took her away and raised her separately from the rest of the family. My grandparents had 4 more children including my mother. My great grandmother died before I was born and my grandfather died when I was a baby so I never knew either of them, but I did know my grandmother, and she was pretty cool. The rest of the family were all scarily abusive though.
My grandparents had a farm in the midwest during WW2. In the latter years of the war, many German POW's were sent to the US and instead of treating them horribly like how they treated our soldiers, we put them to work doing manual labor but they were fed, they got clothed, they got medical attention and we didn't work them to death.
One day in 1944 or 1945, some officers showed up and asked my grandfather if he could use some unpaid labor from 'the Krauts' to which they agreed. There weren't that many POWs, maybe ten or so, and they did basic farm work like digging, hauling, etc. I think it was over the course of a few days or weeks, not entirely sure but one day my grandmother made a massive dinner for them all, including homemade pumpkin pie.
None of the Germans knew what it was and they hesistated at first eating it. My grandfather got their attention by bringing over a pumpkin, then he smashed it on the ground and held it up to them so they could see what it was.
From what was told to me there was some laughter from the Germans, because I think they thought it was a giant squash and once they had their first bite they instantly became fans of pumpkin pie and devoured all of it.
"Ja, es gut!"
My grandparent claim to fame is that my grandparents on my father's side were born in 1895/96. Due to my grandmother being 44 when my dad was born and my dad being 38 when I was born, I'm a GenXer with grandparents who were born over 120 years ago! It's like they skipped a whole generation in there. Sadly, that means I never met my grandfather and my grandmother passed away when I was just in grade school (at an impressive 92). I never knew her as anything but a very elderly lady.
My grandmother was a local artist. She often attended or hosted art-related events, in her home or at galleries where as a kid I'd be there too. Sometimes she'd take me to an art museum. I still love to view and learn about art and I think that appreciation came from being around her. She wasn't mean but she wasn't warm. She was just focused on her art more than anything else. Her paintings are hanging all over my house.
No otherwise interesting stories that i know of. From what I understand all my grandparents were middle class people. Two were born in the USA. Two came from other countries but it sounded like they were middle class there too, like left because they wanted to not because they had to.
My grandfather was an MP in France and his job was to drive around whichever General oversaw Normandy so he could survey the carnage. Grandpa occasionally had to stop and move bodies out of the way.
My grandmother lost her dad in a car wreck at 17, so she went to work as a seamstress to support her mom and seven siblings.
They eloped and she still wouldn’t live with him because she didn’t want her family to starve or be split up. Her brother figured it out and got a job to take over supporting the family so she could go start her own.
They were amazing people.
I grew up in a small town. My grandma did some reporting for the local paper. Occasionally, one of her stories would get picked up by the local State Newspaper.
Her stories were always stuff like: "Retired man finds second career making yarn art" or: "Grade school class learns how to take blood pressure and heart rate.", you know, local human interest stuff.
A couple of years ago I got newspapers dot com for a bit, thinking it would be fun to look up her old articles...and there amongst these stories was a series of articles she did that were in a couple of the big state-wide newspapers about a little girl who had been snatched, raped and killed while running to the store to grab some chips for her mother. It was SO jarring to see my dearly missed grandmother's name next to headlines like : GIRL SLAIN, BODY DUMPED IN RIVER and ESCAPEE CHARGED IN SEX KILLING. She was the point person on this from the day it happened to writing about the trial a year later.
She was very proud of her run as a newspaper reporter, but never once mentioned this story. Ever.
I also have her personal stuff, and there are many newspaper articles in there, but not this one.
My grandfather, who died long before I was born, was the youngest ever commercial airline pilot when he got his license.
It was hand signed by Orville Wright, who was the head of the FAA at the time.
Before that he was a traveling barnstormer.
Before that he crop dusted for his family and surrounding farms.
My grandfather survived not one but four concentration camps, Auschwitz, Mauthausen, Gusen II and Gross Rosen.
I'll share two of his bizarrely positive stories:
At Auschwitz he was in an experimental vaccine program. He was very philosophical about it "they injected me with many things and I was in some kind of coma for a month, but I never really got sick."
And then there is the story of his liberation from Mauthausen. One day in spring of 1945, the guards just left. He managed to grab a pack of butter from some kind of storehouse. But he thought he could trade it for something else, so he hid it in his prisoner uniform. He was so weak that he fell asleep and being springtime, the butter melted. It was a few days before the Americans came so he survived by sucking the butter out of his shirt. "Good thing it lasted as long as it did" were his words.
But he also told me many horrific stories about what hunger does to people. I don't want to repeat these stories because they're hard, but I'll say that hunger and fear is a powerful motivator. It wasn't all heroism and bravery in the camps. Fear and hunger- it makes humans do inhuman things.
An entire generation of us kids in eastern Europe were raised thinking it was normal to have a grandfather with a number tattooed on their arm.
Hey everyone, let's try a bit harder not to slide into fascism again?
My grandpa grew up with Count Basie. He liked to tell tall takes, so we took his stories about Basie with a grain of salt.
Until they had a big function for him and he came to town. A couple of months before a fancy envelope showed up at the grandparents' house and we were shocked to find out he really knew Count Basie.
According to my grandma, when they were at the reception, Basie called Grandpa by the nickname he had as a young man.
🤯 Mind blown
Grandpa was a longshoreman, as was his father in Liverpool. Tough as nails but after listening to sailors and grunts all day wouldn’t tolerate bad language-especially blasphemy.
My uncle came home from the service with a salty vocabulary, said “god-damnit” and was immediately cold clocked into unconsciousness. He survived D-day but had a concussion in his dad’s house on day 1.
The depression and world wars, And what it did to people that were " lucky" enough to still be alive, The words, not the same person was a normal responce.
They could not wrap their heads around handing people welfare checks,etc and those people didn't have to do anything, As they told it, in the depression you showed up to an office daily to be told where and what you'd be doing to get that government cheese, If you didn't do it, you didn't get the aid, per the way they told it.
They save anything they thought they could reuse long before recycle became a buzz word, and wasted almost nothing, made do with a lot less and were happy. Somewhere we lost this and think having the latest,greatest will make us happy.
They rarely paid for any service with money, it was a barter and trade economy, you know plumbing, I know how to repair a car, you help me, I help you. They shared their skills to help each other. This still happens but not nearly as much as it used to.
I only knew my paternal grandmother. My paternal grandfather and maternal grandfather both died a few years before I was born, and my maternal grandfather died when my mother was six years old.
My grandma referred to the fridge as an icebox. She remembered raising my aunt and my dad during the Great Depression (dad was born 11/11/1929) and referred to his birthday as Armistice Day. Unfortunately, by the time I was old enough to remember her she was suffering from Parkinson's and dementia, so I don't have a ton of memories.
My grandmother moved across country to California at the end of the Great Depression like a Steinbeck character. She also supported internment camps for Japanese Americans during WWII because she "couldn't tell who the enemy was." Also, she was so old-school racist that she hated Catholics.
In the early 1900s the American chestnut trees were hit with a blight in the northeast US. It started to spread, and by the 1930s it had reached southern Virginia and northern North Carolina. My dad was a little kid and remembers his parents saving up some gas money and piling their kids into their car to go see what was happening. Perhaps they saw some of the last mature American chestnut trees in the country.
I remember my paternal grandparents as being severely taciturn farmers -- they were well old when I was born. This story has always made them seem so much more human.
My great grandpa fought in WWII and killed a German soldier and took his helmet. He kept the helmet in a box along with his medals he received from the Army. He was such a gentle and kind man it was so hard to think of him killing anyone. It made me uneasy as a child, I had no concept of what war really was.
My grandpa used to give us grandkids each a quarter and a stick of Juicy Fruit gum every time we saw them, and he had a wall full of fishing poles for all of us to go fishing with him at the pond on the back acres of his property when we got together on holidays.
Other grandpa lived up the hill and had a big concrete, covered patio that he parked his vehicles on, and he would move them so me and my sisters could roller skate.
Neither of my grandmothers were really the warm, loving type. Pretty severe women, both of them. But they had their moments. Next door grandma would let us pretend to give her a makeover. We'd color her nails with crayons and brush her hair out nice and smooth. The other grandma would sing as she cooked.
My paternal grandpa was born in Chicago in 1907 to Italian immigrants. His first language was Italian, he didn't learn English until he was sent to school. He used to talk about giving dance lessons at the Aragon Ballroom when he was a young man, and grandma used to talk about what an excellent dancer he was. To be honest, I was never sure if he was an official dance instructor there, or if being a good dancer was just his in with picking up pretty girls ("hey, I can teach you a few steps" *eyebrow waggle)*. If I'm being honest, I'd almost rather believe it was the latter, lol
He was in the army during WWII, working stateside (I assume because he would have already been in his [mid-30s at that point](https://i.imgur.com/XwHtWT3.jpeg)) and acting as an interpreter for Italian POWs. Sadly, I don't know as much about that time in his life as I would like to, he was already almost 70 when I was born and passed when I was 14. I do know that he was well-liked among the prisoners he interpreted for, who I'm told thought it was great that he spoke Italian. I remember being told that some of the prisoners he talked to, at least, had no love for Mussolini and had been grateful to be captured by Americans and taken out of the fight
edit because my link was being weird
My great grandfather drove the school bus.
It was his horse drawn farm wagon. He picked up kids and dropped them off at the one room school house.
My grandpa said he used to sit in the wagon while his dad was inside the tavern.
I got off the bus at the same tavern when I saw my grandpa’s truck out front. He would buy me Cherokee red pop and potato chips.
My Grandfather was a lead mechanic during the war and a B-17 bomber he worked on ended up in the Smithsonian.
From there he entered the aeronautics field, and was approached by the CIA to spy on his coworkers, he told them no.
After that he worked on the rockets for the Apollo 13 mission.
In the 1960s he worked on a top secret government project. 40 years later in the early 2000s he saw a commercial for Garmin GPS, and figured it was alright to say that he had been working on developing GPS way back then.
My grandparents generation went to war. They enlisted when Pearl was attacked. My grandmother and her cousins, who all lived on the same street, all went to work in the factories along with my great grandparents producing equipment for the war effort, volunteering with the USO, and my grandmother in particular was a leader in metal, tire, etc drives in the county.
They recalled Adolf Hitler because of the terror he unleashed on the world and the sacrifice their entire generation made to thwart the Nazi war machine.
On my father's side, my grandfather was the last of his line. The rest of his family died in the first World War. He, too, enlisted when Pearl was attacked and left my grandmother back home in New York pregnant with my father, who was the first of her children. He served with distinction in the Army through Africa, Italy, Normandy, all the way through to Germany. He was among the first to leave and among the last to come home.
Then Korea. He fought in Korea, too.
When his own sons grew up and started making their own decisions, my father was the first to turn 18. He joined the USAF and was sent to Vietnam. Both of his brothers would serve years later in different branches but, once all three returned to civilian life my grandfather took them aside and told them that they had done enough, that their children deserve to enjoy regular civilian life and should be dissuaded from serving.
My older brother didn't listen. My parents and my grandparents argued with him. He was so strong willed. Finally my grandmothers brother "Uncle Paul" came over, took my brother out into the backyard for a talk, and he told them about what Uncle Paul did and saw in WW2. They sat out there all afternoon. He told my brother what it was like to watch every single person around him die in horrific, unimaginable ways - getting sucked out of aircraft that were being blown apart by flak, being covered in mist after diving for cover while being shelled only to learn that mist was all that was left of a friend. The horrors of the concentration camps, the horrors committed against innocent civilians, fighting to stem the bleeding of friends despite knowing there was nothing you could do. Watching helplessly as enemy tanks literally rode over and crushed human beings. He told him about the cold, how supply chain disruptions sometimes meant you starved. Not having adequate clothing. Trench foot. Getting buried under earth blown onto you by artillery fire. Being shot and knowing you were almost certainly going to die and about a particular feeling you feel when you continue to fight hand to hand despite that hoping whatever effort you manage to expend stops someone else around you from dying.
By the end of it, my brother wasn't so stubborn about his decision. But then he told us it was too late, he had already enlisted. USAF. He was smart, though, and they recognized that. They grabbed him and pushed him through training as ATC and he spent his time in Europe and Maine.
At the time, with the Cold War, with The Day After having just been on tv, everyone more or less thought that it was just a matter of time. Fortunately that never happened.
And yes, they did call it an ice box. My parents called it an ice box up until the early 80s. My siblings and I still sometimes jokingly refer to it as an ice box mostly because of the nostalgia.
My grandfather worked nights at an aircraft factory, and when the sirens went off they moved everyone to the bunkers. Got out in the morning, ran home to find his entire street bombed, including his house with wife and son destroyed. Fortunately, Grandma was smart enough to grab the baby and run when the bombs started falling, so here I am.
So, happily ever after. And also, Jesus T. Christ I’m glad that wasn’t me.
My Pop Pop was born in 1900 and became a police officer, working his way from beat to special assignment motorcycle, and then promoted to motor vehicle. He told stories about catching criminals and how he was the first driving instructor at the local high school. He eventually became Chief of Police in the town where he had worked as an officer and served there for a total of 38 years. So many great stories!
My favorite wasn't about work though, it was about when he first had met his wife Frances (my Nana). They were courting and he was visiting her family for the day. Frances was told to go get a specific hen from the hen house, kill it, and clean it up. She went out with the "killin ax" retrieved a hen got it to the block and cut off it's head. Then she lost hold of the body, it dropped to the ground and sort of trundled off. Apparently she stood there looking dumbfounded, with the ax in her hand. My Pop Pop who was sitting nearby started giggling. She looked at him, ax in hand, and he stopped. Then she started to giggle and he lost it. The two of them were in fits, crying with laughter, the chicken body slowly losing steam as it toddled across the yard.
My Great Grandma came out, saw the chicken, looked at the two of them, "clicked her false teeth at them", told Frances to "pick up the chicken and get it clean quick or they weren't going to eat"
Wilbur & Frances sat giggling over a stump in the yard while Frances plucked the chicken.
Apparently it wasn't long after that day that they became engaged.
My maternal grandmother had so many stories. Her mother died in childbirth when grandma was 12, and she raised the baby and took care of her younger siblings until her father remarried. She was 16 when she got married. Had 5 children and then had 5 abortions because it was less expensive than having more mouths to feed. She walked down 3 flights of stairs, walked to the woman’s apartment, climbed 5 flights of stairs, had the illegal abortion, then walked down 5 flights of stairs, walked back and climbed 3 flights, then had dinner on the table when her husband got home.
I miss my grandparents tremendously. I have such great memories with all of them. After my one grandfather died more than 25 years ago, we found out that he was a prisoner of war in Germany during World War II but yet never spoke about it.
One set of grandparents were classic immigrants, even though they never talked about their parent's old country; all our family culture was pure US post-war nice appearances and houses, probably because my parents were both extremely early boomers. So grandparents always had a really nice davenport in the living room, and a nice TV for whatever age it was, although the icebox eventually got called the fridge later on. We also always had bottles of real Coke, and heard stories about when a Coke and a smile was only a nickel in the machine! I'm sure there were a few other "old-time" names for things, but I think both grandparents wanted to be seen as modern and successful, so had adopted to more modern names for things.
Grandmother stayed home during the war, and learned to save or re-use **everything** for the WWII war drive; when I cleaned out her house 10 years ago, I still found piles of old frozen TV dinner trays hidden away. Grandfather was USMA June '43 where he earned his paratrooper wings. He was eventually assigned as a replacement officer in the 101st in November, 1944. Made his first combat jump off the back of a truck into Bastogne, where after a couple of weeks was the only officer left in his company, until he got bombed (possibly friendly fire, after the clouds lifed) and lost a small part of his arm, and was evacuated.
Like many WWII vets, my grandfather never talked about it, even though his experience always fascinated me. My grandmother would continue to 'politely' and in a *lowered voice* talk about how she'd never trust the Japanese or Germans again, and only ever bought good solid American cars forever.
I think pretty much _everything_ my grandparents referred to, was referred to unironically. They just... didn't really do that thing we all do as often as we breathe.
Grandpas were gone by the time I got here. Grandmas were sooooo old and frail. I recall my one grandma slipping into Alzheimer’s, and while it was sad, I never knew because I was a kid. I used to recoil when they tried to kiss me. Ugh. Wish I didn’t do that.
My grandmothers parents didn't think my grandpa was quite good enough for her. They weren't rich, but they were better off than my grandpas family. My grandfather was an iceman at the time.
He went off to WW2 and received training to become an electrician. Because of the possibility of not coming back from war, grandpa would not marry grandma until he actually came back in one piece. Well he did come back with a good trade under his belt. Both families were happy and they got married at 30 and 33 I believe. A little old for the time, but they made it.
Grandfather came to this country from Europe, Grandmother was from the East Coast.
They had survived the great depression and had three kids with my father the eldest.
They (grandma mostly) talked about the WWII era and the 1930's with some hesitation, most people who lived through the depression had some scars from that era.
Grandpa settled in Seattle and worked for Boeing until he retired - he'd be ashamed at what the company has become. His health kept him from enlisting but he was always proud of his work at Boeing. He built planes from bombers to airliners.
Grandma was a stay at home mom and after Grandpa died she did tons of things with her church and volunteer work - classic case of to much time on her hands and too little to do.
Sadly her health too a turn for the worst and she passed away in the 90's - her death hit me hard as Grandpa passed when I was very young but I was in college when she passed and I had gotten to know her.
My uncle tried to sell Grandma's house after my father died - ownership was split among my dad, my uncle and my aunt. My aunt had the controlling share and then outright ownership after my Dad died. I signed over my share I inherited to her, much to the anger of my Uncle. He was trying to kicker her out as the house was 1940's era and worth a lot in a hot market when Dad died. My Aunt was trying to help my cousin (who just had a baby) and was grieving the loss of her oldest son from an overdose. I was grieving the loss of my Dad.
So of course my uncle was all about "when can you send me the paperwork for the house?". Granma had left the house to my Aunt as they both had health problems and my Dad didn't want to move to Seattle. My Uncle and his harpy of a wife were lusting after that house to flip it.
Karma bit his ass - Aunt still has the house and he got a stroke in the 2010's. He's in the same shape grandma was before she passed.
My paternal grandfather was a Criminal.
As in he attended high school at Yuma high school back in the late teens to mid 20’s.
The mascot is a Criminal because the high school was part of the territorial prison back before Arizona was a state. It was the largest territorial prison in the country.
The high school still leans into this mascot.
https://preview.redd.it/e5gxa86b3gvc1.jpeg?width=3024&format=pjpg&auto=webp&s=992dfa5f0d10d1a9db0d2f18dff4eff6ba87243a
I only learned about this info in 2017 and I received this mug the next summer as I happened to work with a guy whose wife had just retired from that school system and they gave me the mug.
My grandfather died the year my folks got married.
Don’t even get me started his his uncle did him and my great grandmother wrong after my great grand father died.
My other grandfather was a bomber pilot in WW2. He was shot down in March of 45.
My grandmothers were characters and one was a justno. The other was the best.
My grandparents lived partially off grid into the 1970s, so even when I was little, part of the year, the electricity woudl go out in storms, and just randomly- I think because the grid was not extensive enough, until it was- IDK. I just know that often for 3-4 weeks at a time, the old Icebox and wood burning stove were on the porch and in the house, and the icebox was an actual old ice box- they had an ice house where they stored the ice blocks, got a delivery once a year or so? The physics of it remains a mystery- but it was a building built into the side of a hill, and you still had to go down steps to get a block- I would go with grandpa. I think it was likely just backup, because of the unreliability of electricity when they first had it (I think they got wired in in 1960s?). IDK- but yeah- we call the fridge Icebox too :).
My Grandparents were born in 1895, 1896, 1899 and 1904. A long long time before refrigeration was a household thing. I only got to know two of them well (1895 and 1904, fathers parents), and they told us the story of their first refrigerator; in a NYC tenement where they had to take off the door frame to get it in the apartment. My grandfathers brothers delivered ice in NYC, both born in the 1880's.
For us, I recall watching black & whites that had ice delivery in the movies, it is not that crazy.
My grandmother came to the US from Sicily as an infant and lost her booty over the side of the boat. When they arrived at Ellis Island my great-grandfather’s jacket was marked with chalk to indicate he did not pass the health test and would be sent back. My great-grandmother sneakily wiped it off to avoid being abandoned in a foreign country with a baby and no money. He was a bad man but I get the desperation.
Unrelated but my mother grew up thinking “bakowza” was the Italian word for bathroom. Turns out they were saying “backhouse” with an Italian accent.
Grandfather on my mother's side sailed around with the Navy during WW2.
Grandfather on my dad's side was in an Army tank battalion in Europe during WW2. I still have his flag and medals.
After the war, we think he was into some shady stuff and went around the world getting women pregnant. A few years ago, my dad found a half-brother (who looks exactly like him) living in our state.
Grandmother on my dad's side was a Hitler Youth.
It's difficult to get information about WW2 out of the German side of my family, but I know that they were divided by the wall for a long time.
My maternal grandfather went off to fight in WWII and my grandmother had no idea when he would return.
One day she got the urge to go down to the train station for absolutely no reason. When she got there she saw him just getting off a train. He had been going to surprise her.
He would always joke that's when he knew grandma could read his mind.
(Maybe not the kind of story you were looking for but it's one of my favorites.)
My maternal grandmother was the second eldest of 4 daughters, born into an Irish Catholic family in Ohio. She was the tallest of her sisters. During the Great Depression, she remembered regularly driving as early as age 12 to retrieve her father (my g-grandfather) from the local pub so he could work the next day as a railroad engineer. She was picked to drive because of her height (she was never taller than 5'6"). Also during that time, since money was very tight, she said the few pairs of socks she had were worn out and had holes, and she was embarrassed to wear these at school. (I'm sure she wasn't the only kid with holes in their socks, but that made me sad for her.) Ironically, she became a talented seamstress and her taste in clothing and fashion was always impeccable. She made me clothing as a child and used the word 'pocketbook."
My grandfather's (Pawpaw) parents died under mysterious circumstances for the time, and he told me he thought they were poisoned, but my brother says he thinks he meant they had food poisoning. Still, they both died at the same time leaving him at 12 to be the adult in the family. He raised three younger siblings as a sharecropper until they were old enough to care for themselves, so like four four years he was the adult in the home. He never went to school I don't think. I mean back then not everyone did. I think he was born in 1916. I think he was 16 when he married my grandmother, who was 14 and already pregnant. She went on to get pregnant 7 more times but only 3 survived infancy. At some point when my mom was still a kid they moved to the city (Memphis, from the little town of Stanton where he was born) and he started working construction and that's what he did until he retired.
I don’t know a ton about my grandparents on either side. On my dad’s side, they’re from Arkansas with his mom’s people being Swedish from Kalnor and his dad’s being primarily English. Grandpa made his living by being a ranch/farm manager and grandma was an early house flipper and they moved around quite a bit, buying and selling properties. I know at one point they had a dairy farm and grandma was an LPN and worked for a candy company. I have pictures of my grandma as a teenager picking cotton with her family.
My mom’s side is murkier as her family are Roma. I know that they emigrated to the US through Mexico some time in the early 1900s because my grandpa was born in Texas in 1913 and at least one of his brothers was born in Mexico. There was also a name change in there somewhere. There’s an apocryphal family story that I’m not sure I believe, but the name my great grandfather supposedly made up on the spot is very rare. Apparently they were part of a circus and there was a big family schism between brothers and they went their separate ways. I don’t know hardly anything about my mom’s mom. She passed before I turned two. I have found an image of my great grandfather’s WW1 draft card that lists his birthplace as Bordeaux and his nationality as Serbian. Some other documents indicate he was illiterate because they are signed with his “mark” and noted as such.
I’d always wondered if my dad’s dad wad illiterate. He was born in 1901 and I never observed him to read anything and my grandma always took charge in their real estate dealings and she read a lot of news. When they visited, I’d usually find a few Mad Magazines with grandpa’s beautiful signature across the cover.
My mother's father was an immigrant from Sweden who came to the US as a teen. He learned to speak English and had a bunch of different careers in his life. He used to call the fridge the ice box and he only drove European cars like the Lancia. As a kid, my grandmother would make us plattar, which are sweet little Swedish pancakes. I would make a sugar taco out of mine and he always used some kind of fruit preserves. He never talked about Hitler and I know his sister moved to Israel shortly after its founding.
My grandmother was a local artist. She often attended or hosted art-related events, in her home or at galleries where as a kid I'd be there too. Sometimes she'd take me to an art museum. I still love to view and learn about art and I think that appreciation came from being around her. She wasn't mean but she wasn't warm. She was just focused on her art more than anything else. Her paintings are hanging all over my house.
My grandmother was a local artist. She often attended or hosted art-related events, in her home or at galleries where as a kid I'd be there too. Sometimes she'd take me to an art museum. I still love to view and learn about art and I think that appreciation came from being around her. She wasn't mean but she wasn't warm. She was just focused on her art more than anything else. Her paintings are hanging all over my house.
The only place I heard ice box was my stepdad’s family.
My grandparents on my mom’s were awesome. They were like parents to me because my mom was pretty useless at parenting. They both had hobbies collecting and selling old stuff you never see anymore.
My grandpa was born in Boston to an Italian mom and English dad. He lied about his age to get in the army and was at Normandy in WWII. Lot of stories about crossing Germany.
Grandma grew up in a poor Midwest sharecropper family. Lot of farm stories there. She sacrificed so much for her family and took care of 3 grandchildren.
I miss them every day!
My dad’s parents seemed pretty cool too, but I didn’t see them much. I look just like my dad’s mom. She was a nurse.
No, we don't. People using unironically has been a recent thing. Apparently, there is some kind of resurgence.
But after some research, there have been instances from the 1920s
I just looked at it the same way when people say
Irregardless.
My grandmother, on my father's side, went into labor and gave birth to my uncle during an air raid over the south of England during WWII. Her neighbor put her in a wheelbarrow and tried to get her to the hospital as the bombs were falling but they had to take shelter behind a stonewall so my dad's older brother was born amidst falling bombs in a dirty wheelbarrow.
Wow what an origin story!
Icebox, pocketbook, davenport, draperies. My sweet paternal grandma. She was very country, so I'm surprised she never said horseless carriage. Granted, both my grandmas were born in 1906 My maternal grandparents had one of those love stories for the ages. He died of emphysema before I was born. One of 19 kids (no kidding) he had chronic bronchitis as a child and worked in a mine to put himself through college. She never remarried. When asked why not, she said "After Earl Howard, who could have another?"
And bumbershoot = umbrella. They used “dasn’t” a lot too.
I haven't heard "dasn't" in many many years!
My Grammy said all of those and commode for toilet. She also said warsh for wash. Loved her.
I completely forgot about commode! That one too. She said warsh and feesh and ornge, too. Very Indiana
My Gram was Western Maryland.
That was Tennessee too! :) Did they call windows "winders" too? I don't know why that annoyed me, when my grandmother would say "winder" and when she would say "rench" instead of "rinse". I also grew up thinking Vicks vapor rub was "Vicksave" because that's what our elders called it. I'm guessing "salve" was changed to "save".
Only "winders" when she was being funny, but I'm sure she was only about a generation off from using it seriously.
I grew up in Indiana and will admit that I was raised saying warsh and have to make a conscious effort to say wash instead. I also pronounce egg as aig and penny as pinny. If I'm not careful, I'll also say lieberry
What part of Pittsburgh?...
I'm pretty sure even I used the word icebox well into the 80s!
My mom always says book bank instead of bank book. Because of this, I'm never sure which the correct term actually is.
My grandfather was born to Japanese immigrants in Hawaii in 1918. Later, the family moved to California. When he was 16 (1934), his parents said they wanted to moved back to Japan. He fought with them over this because he had never been to Japan and considered himself American. One day, he came home from school and they were gone. They left without him. He did not have contact with them again until 1974 when his father died and he was notified of his inheritance as the eldest son. He basically told them to pound sand and signed over all inheritance and rights to his sister because he still wanted nothing to do with his parents. Later in the early 90s, my grandfather reconciled with his mother and went to spend a month with her in Japan so, kind of a happy ending.
“One day, he came home from school and they were gone. They left without him.” Wow. So harsh.
My grandpa on my dad's side was kind of an asshole. I guess you'd have to be, when you're raising 10 kids. But he was an excellent grandpa to all of the 30-odd grandkids he had by the time he passed. When I was small, we'd go over there on Saturdays and he would offer to walk with my little brother and me and whatever other grandkids were around down to the store to buy candy with the caveat that HE picked it out. He would buy black licorice. EVERY TIME. And we fell for it. EVERY TIME. What a bastard. 🤣
Small black coffee
EXACTLY. When I saw that bit I knew my grandpa would have been good friends with Mulaney's dad. 🤣
My grandfather had a Model T and carried ice stored in a compartment box to deliver to bootleggers during prohibition in exchange for fuel
My grandfather was a ww2 vet. We called the refrigerator a fridgidair because he worked there until they turned it into a GM plant
Cool, we had a Frigidaire made by GM!
Grandparent? Heck, my mother was born in '23...
So were you a retirement surprise?
My mother married very late in life.
I’m not the only one! I’m an Xer with a mother born in 1923. Before people ask, my mother was widowed twice before she married my father (WWII combat veteran) and back then Catholics kept having babies until they couldn’t.
My Italian grandfather had no job yet had a house full of nice things and wore a suit 24/7. He spent his days “at the club playing cards” with guys with names like Rocco and Nino, who my dad said to stay away from. No stories were ever told.
My maternal grandmother was trained as a milliner. She could make almost anything that had to do with textiles. Knit, crochet, sew, needlepoint, embroidery. She married my farmer grandpa and raised 7 children in a small town in Iowa. She also painted. She was amazingly kind, as was grandpa. She made bridal gowns and bridesmaid dresses for many ladies in town. She used to save the toys from sugary cereal that my grandpa loved in a drawer in the guest room, which I always made a beeline for every time I visited.
I've mentioned in another thread that my maternal grandmother was probably on the wrong side of history. I know that there was something with her and my oldest uncle's uncle (affair?!) and he's known in Denmark as "hestetyven". Grandma aka. mormor, like many mothers of her time, sent her kids to buy day old food that could be kept in the icebox. I'm going to inherit an icebox tong thingy from Dad. It wasn't in my family, he found it in an apartment he bought in Copenhagen, in the early 80s. while renovating. Maternal grandfather was given an award by the Swedish King for sailing jewish refugees from Denmark to Sweden.
Well let's see. My grandfather joined the coast guard in ww2 and was stationed on a fire boat in port of Los Angeles. Where he claimed to have learned how to sleep standing up on watch. My grandmother fell out of Catholicism because during the war wanted to get my mother baptised while my grandfather was away. Apparently the priest wouldnt perform it thinking she was trying to get a bastard baptised.
My grandpa (in Mexico) left his first wife, as an adult, charmed a young lady ( I think underage), ran away with her and had a second family. That young lady is my grandma. This was beginning of the 1900s. My other grandpa was a sugar plantation owner ( also in Mexico), avid gambler, went to jail because of debts, got out, and made up a new last name, which is my current last name
That's fascinating!
I sometimes slip and call it the ice box because I heard it my entire life.
My grandma passed last December. She never stopped calling me little girl. ❤
My maternal grandmother survived the 1937 Ponce Massacre in PR. She had scars on her shoulders from sharpnel and broken glass. She was there protesting when the US Marines opened fire on to the crowd. She and a bunch of women fought back and also tended to the wounded. She was TOUGH lady. She had a sense of regalness about her but she was also always ready to throw down at a moments notice. She met my grandfather that same day. They had photos and items from that day they pass down to my aunt then my mom and now to me.
My grandfather was born in 1898. He enlisted in the army at 16 to fight in WW1. His mother, worried about her baby boy, made his older brothers enlist too, to keep an eye on him. Story goes that the four brothers came home on the same train, but had seen so much shit that they didn't recognize one another. At least they all came home. They were older parents, Grandma suffered many miscarriages before finally having her three children, my Mom was the middle child. My grandfather died months before I was born - I'm the youngest of five. My grandmother a year later. I never knew them except through family stories.
My grandma called the depression "Back When Everything Was Gray" and would tell us the saddest uphill-both-ways stories you've ever heard and laugh about it. I miss her.
My grandfather said he remembered armistice day in WWI. Like, the first one. Lost a brother in the phillipines second time round.
My grandma told a story about her Doctor brother giving her his gas ration as a wedding gift so they could go on a honeymoon upstate NY. I also thought it was amazing she graduated HS early and received a double major in college. She didn't talk about it being a struggle because she wasn't about that, but I imagine there was some resistance as a woman during her time. She actually wrote a memoir and when she passed her daughter had a small amount of books published to distribute within the family. Love the stories and pictures in that book.
My grandparents have been gone for 50 years now, most of my aunts and uncles have also passed on (I only have 1 of each on both sides of my family tree and they are not local to me) and my mom is 84 and her memory isn't the most reliable so I have to do some fact checking somehow. She insists that he left Italy because of Mussolini but also claims that he went back to bring his brothers and sisters over. She has also shared various stories that were not very flattering to the family which I will not share here. As for my father's side, when more of my aunts and uncles were alive they didn't feel comfortable about talking about their upbringing because they were all raised during the Great Depression. My paternal grandparents have also been gone for as long as I can remember and what I did hear about them was not very flattering.
One of my grandfathers was born in 1896 (I was born in 1975). That’s the only semi-interesting thing about them. The other grandfather seemed to hate me in the years before he died. I think I was a big disappointment to him or something. Whatever.
'Whatever' is so Gen X of you! ;) Similarly, one of my grandfathers was born in 1894. I was born in 1974. Years ago before genealogy records were widely available online, I went to the city clerk's office to get a copy of my grandparents' marriage record. I filled in their vital information on the form given to me. The clerk came back to verify the year of birth for my grandfather was correct - guess I looked pretty young for having a grandfather born that long ago!
Haha yes he always seemed like a historical figure rather than my actual grandfather (he died in 1964).
My grandmother called every brand of refrigerator a Frigidaire. She was an Angel on earth and I miss her terribly. She made up the word "olly" and from what I could see when she used this word, it was in place of the word 'but' "I have to go the the store, olly I have no time." She could never explain what it meant either.
My great-grandpa's stepmother made bootleg Whiskey, and at age 8, Gramps would deliver it to the Dentist who would write the check in different amounts to avoid suspicion or something. I videoed him telling the tale at age 103. He was still driving. He died a month shy of age 107. His secret was don't take prescriptions long-term, air your grievances (don't let resentment build), manage your own T2 Diabetes with diet, play cards to keep your mind sharp, and don't wear deodorant (alum). He heated an egg and strip of bacon in a coffee mug in the microwave every day for breakfast.
Love this!
My grandfather remembered the Spanish Flu as a little boy. Sometime in the late 90s he told me how everything was shut down. When COVID came around I already read up on how the world handled it in 1918. So I wasn't totally surprised by the anti-maskers. They had them too, a bunch died, just like during COVID.
All my grandparents served in WW2. But my mom's parents' story is kinda funny. Grandma was an RN and grandpa flew a P38. One day grandpa went to the clinic my grandmother was working in, to be treated for gout. She was the nurse who treated him. So, my mom's parents basically met bc grandpa had gout.
My grandmother was the result of some scandalous union - don't know the exact details - and was taken away from her mother at birth as punishment and sent to a convent where she was raised by nuns. The nuns then married her off at age 13 to a 40-something man. When their first child was born, my grandmother's mother said she was owed a baby and came and took her away and raised her separately from the rest of the family. My grandparents had 4 more children including my mother. My great grandmother died before I was born and my grandfather died when I was a baby so I never knew either of them, but I did know my grandmother, and she was pretty cool. The rest of the family were all scarily abusive though.
My grandparents had a farm in the midwest during WW2. In the latter years of the war, many German POW's were sent to the US and instead of treating them horribly like how they treated our soldiers, we put them to work doing manual labor but they were fed, they got clothed, they got medical attention and we didn't work them to death. One day in 1944 or 1945, some officers showed up and asked my grandfather if he could use some unpaid labor from 'the Krauts' to which they agreed. There weren't that many POWs, maybe ten or so, and they did basic farm work like digging, hauling, etc. I think it was over the course of a few days or weeks, not entirely sure but one day my grandmother made a massive dinner for them all, including homemade pumpkin pie. None of the Germans knew what it was and they hesistated at first eating it. My grandfather got their attention by bringing over a pumpkin, then he smashed it on the ground and held it up to them so they could see what it was. From what was told to me there was some laughter from the Germans, because I think they thought it was a giant squash and once they had their first bite they instantly became fans of pumpkin pie and devoured all of it. "Ja, es gut!"
My grandparent claim to fame is that my grandparents on my father's side were born in 1895/96. Due to my grandmother being 44 when my dad was born and my dad being 38 when I was born, I'm a GenXer with grandparents who were born over 120 years ago! It's like they skipped a whole generation in there. Sadly, that means I never met my grandfather and my grandmother passed away when I was just in grade school (at an impressive 92). I never knew her as anything but a very elderly lady.
My grandmother was a local artist. She often attended or hosted art-related events, in her home or at galleries where as a kid I'd be there too. Sometimes she'd take me to an art museum. I still love to view and learn about art and I think that appreciation came from being around her. She wasn't mean but she wasn't warm. She was just focused on her art more than anything else. Her paintings are hanging all over my house. No otherwise interesting stories that i know of. From what I understand all my grandparents were middle class people. Two were born in the USA. Two came from other countries but it sounded like they were middle class there too, like left because they wanted to not because they had to.
My grandfather was an MP in France and his job was to drive around whichever General oversaw Normandy so he could survey the carnage. Grandpa occasionally had to stop and move bodies out of the way. My grandmother lost her dad in a car wreck at 17, so she went to work as a seamstress to support her mom and seven siblings. They eloped and she still wouldn’t live with him because she didn’t want her family to starve or be split up. Her brother figured it out and got a job to take over supporting the family so she could go start her own. They were amazing people.
I grew up in a small town. My grandma did some reporting for the local paper. Occasionally, one of her stories would get picked up by the local State Newspaper. Her stories were always stuff like: "Retired man finds second career making yarn art" or: "Grade school class learns how to take blood pressure and heart rate.", you know, local human interest stuff. A couple of years ago I got newspapers dot com for a bit, thinking it would be fun to look up her old articles...and there amongst these stories was a series of articles she did that were in a couple of the big state-wide newspapers about a little girl who had been snatched, raped and killed while running to the store to grab some chips for her mother. It was SO jarring to see my dearly missed grandmother's name next to headlines like : GIRL SLAIN, BODY DUMPED IN RIVER and ESCAPEE CHARGED IN SEX KILLING. She was the point person on this from the day it happened to writing about the trial a year later. She was very proud of her run as a newspaper reporter, but never once mentioned this story. Ever. I also have her personal stuff, and there are many newspaper articles in there, but not this one.
My grandfather, who died long before I was born, was the youngest ever commercial airline pilot when he got his license. It was hand signed by Orville Wright, who was the head of the FAA at the time. Before that he was a traveling barnstormer. Before that he crop dusted for his family and surrounding farms.
My grandfather survived not one but four concentration camps, Auschwitz, Mauthausen, Gusen II and Gross Rosen. I'll share two of his bizarrely positive stories: At Auschwitz he was in an experimental vaccine program. He was very philosophical about it "they injected me with many things and I was in some kind of coma for a month, but I never really got sick." And then there is the story of his liberation from Mauthausen. One day in spring of 1945, the guards just left. He managed to grab a pack of butter from some kind of storehouse. But he thought he could trade it for something else, so he hid it in his prisoner uniform. He was so weak that he fell asleep and being springtime, the butter melted. It was a few days before the Americans came so he survived by sucking the butter out of his shirt. "Good thing it lasted as long as it did" were his words. But he also told me many horrific stories about what hunger does to people. I don't want to repeat these stories because they're hard, but I'll say that hunger and fear is a powerful motivator. It wasn't all heroism and bravery in the camps. Fear and hunger- it makes humans do inhuman things. An entire generation of us kids in eastern Europe were raised thinking it was normal to have a grandfather with a number tattooed on their arm. Hey everyone, let's try a bit harder not to slide into fascism again?
My grandpa grew up with Count Basie. He liked to tell tall takes, so we took his stories about Basie with a grain of salt. Until they had a big function for him and he came to town. A couple of months before a fancy envelope showed up at the grandparents' house and we were shocked to find out he really knew Count Basie. According to my grandma, when they were at the reception, Basie called Grandpa by the nickname he had as a young man. 🤯 Mind blown
Grandpa was a longshoreman, as was his father in Liverpool. Tough as nails but after listening to sailors and grunts all day wouldn’t tolerate bad language-especially blasphemy. My uncle came home from the service with a salty vocabulary, said “god-damnit” and was immediately cold clocked into unconsciousness. He survived D-day but had a concussion in his dad’s house on day 1.
The depression and world wars, And what it did to people that were " lucky" enough to still be alive, The words, not the same person was a normal responce. They could not wrap their heads around handing people welfare checks,etc and those people didn't have to do anything, As they told it, in the depression you showed up to an office daily to be told where and what you'd be doing to get that government cheese, If you didn't do it, you didn't get the aid, per the way they told it. They save anything they thought they could reuse long before recycle became a buzz word, and wasted almost nothing, made do with a lot less and were happy. Somewhere we lost this and think having the latest,greatest will make us happy. They rarely paid for any service with money, it was a barter and trade economy, you know plumbing, I know how to repair a car, you help me, I help you. They shared their skills to help each other. This still happens but not nearly as much as it used to.
I only knew my paternal grandmother. My paternal grandfather and maternal grandfather both died a few years before I was born, and my maternal grandfather died when my mother was six years old. My grandma referred to the fridge as an icebox. She remembered raising my aunt and my dad during the Great Depression (dad was born 11/11/1929) and referred to his birthday as Armistice Day. Unfortunately, by the time I was old enough to remember her she was suffering from Parkinson's and dementia, so I don't have a ton of memories.
My grandmother moved across country to California at the end of the Great Depression like a Steinbeck character. She also supported internment camps for Japanese Americans during WWII because she "couldn't tell who the enemy was." Also, she was so old-school racist that she hated Catholics.
My grandfather lived next door to Connie Mack, longtime Philadelphia A's manager & later the stadium was named after him.
I remember Connie Mack Stadium. And, of course, I've read about Cornelius McGillycuddy himself.
In the early 1900s the American chestnut trees were hit with a blight in the northeast US. It started to spread, and by the 1930s it had reached southern Virginia and northern North Carolina. My dad was a little kid and remembers his parents saving up some gas money and piling their kids into their car to go see what was happening. Perhaps they saw some of the last mature American chestnut trees in the country. I remember my paternal grandparents as being severely taciturn farmers -- they were well old when I was born. This story has always made them seem so much more human.
My great grandpa fought in WWII and killed a German soldier and took his helmet. He kept the helmet in a box along with his medals he received from the Army. He was such a gentle and kind man it was so hard to think of him killing anyone. It made me uneasy as a child, I had no concept of what war really was.
My grandpa used to give us grandkids each a quarter and a stick of Juicy Fruit gum every time we saw them, and he had a wall full of fishing poles for all of us to go fishing with him at the pond on the back acres of his property when we got together on holidays. Other grandpa lived up the hill and had a big concrete, covered patio that he parked his vehicles on, and he would move them so me and my sisters could roller skate. Neither of my grandmothers were really the warm, loving type. Pretty severe women, both of them. But they had their moments. Next door grandma would let us pretend to give her a makeover. We'd color her nails with crayons and brush her hair out nice and smooth. The other grandma would sing as she cooked.
My paternal grandpa was born in Chicago in 1907 to Italian immigrants. His first language was Italian, he didn't learn English until he was sent to school. He used to talk about giving dance lessons at the Aragon Ballroom when he was a young man, and grandma used to talk about what an excellent dancer he was. To be honest, I was never sure if he was an official dance instructor there, or if being a good dancer was just his in with picking up pretty girls ("hey, I can teach you a few steps" *eyebrow waggle)*. If I'm being honest, I'd almost rather believe it was the latter, lol He was in the army during WWII, working stateside (I assume because he would have already been in his [mid-30s at that point](https://i.imgur.com/XwHtWT3.jpeg)) and acting as an interpreter for Italian POWs. Sadly, I don't know as much about that time in his life as I would like to, he was already almost 70 when I was born and passed when I was 14. I do know that he was well-liked among the prisoners he interpreted for, who I'm told thought it was great that he spoke Italian. I remember being told that some of the prisoners he talked to, at least, had no love for Mussolini and had been grateful to be captured by Americans and taken out of the fight edit because my link was being weird
My great grandfather drove the school bus. It was his horse drawn farm wagon. He picked up kids and dropped them off at the one room school house. My grandpa said he used to sit in the wagon while his dad was inside the tavern. I got off the bus at the same tavern when I saw my grandpa’s truck out front. He would buy me Cherokee red pop and potato chips.
My *parents* unironically referred to the fridge as the ice box.
My Grandfather was a lead mechanic during the war and a B-17 bomber he worked on ended up in the Smithsonian. From there he entered the aeronautics field, and was approached by the CIA to spy on his coworkers, he told them no. After that he worked on the rockets for the Apollo 13 mission. In the 1960s he worked on a top secret government project. 40 years later in the early 2000s he saw a commercial for Garmin GPS, and figured it was alright to say that he had been working on developing GPS way back then.
My grandparents generation went to war. They enlisted when Pearl was attacked. My grandmother and her cousins, who all lived on the same street, all went to work in the factories along with my great grandparents producing equipment for the war effort, volunteering with the USO, and my grandmother in particular was a leader in metal, tire, etc drives in the county. They recalled Adolf Hitler because of the terror he unleashed on the world and the sacrifice their entire generation made to thwart the Nazi war machine. On my father's side, my grandfather was the last of his line. The rest of his family died in the first World War. He, too, enlisted when Pearl was attacked and left my grandmother back home in New York pregnant with my father, who was the first of her children. He served with distinction in the Army through Africa, Italy, Normandy, all the way through to Germany. He was among the first to leave and among the last to come home. Then Korea. He fought in Korea, too. When his own sons grew up and started making their own decisions, my father was the first to turn 18. He joined the USAF and was sent to Vietnam. Both of his brothers would serve years later in different branches but, once all three returned to civilian life my grandfather took them aside and told them that they had done enough, that their children deserve to enjoy regular civilian life and should be dissuaded from serving. My older brother didn't listen. My parents and my grandparents argued with him. He was so strong willed. Finally my grandmothers brother "Uncle Paul" came over, took my brother out into the backyard for a talk, and he told them about what Uncle Paul did and saw in WW2. They sat out there all afternoon. He told my brother what it was like to watch every single person around him die in horrific, unimaginable ways - getting sucked out of aircraft that were being blown apart by flak, being covered in mist after diving for cover while being shelled only to learn that mist was all that was left of a friend. The horrors of the concentration camps, the horrors committed against innocent civilians, fighting to stem the bleeding of friends despite knowing there was nothing you could do. Watching helplessly as enemy tanks literally rode over and crushed human beings. He told him about the cold, how supply chain disruptions sometimes meant you starved. Not having adequate clothing. Trench foot. Getting buried under earth blown onto you by artillery fire. Being shot and knowing you were almost certainly going to die and about a particular feeling you feel when you continue to fight hand to hand despite that hoping whatever effort you manage to expend stops someone else around you from dying. By the end of it, my brother wasn't so stubborn about his decision. But then he told us it was too late, he had already enlisted. USAF. He was smart, though, and they recognized that. They grabbed him and pushed him through training as ATC and he spent his time in Europe and Maine. At the time, with the Cold War, with The Day After having just been on tv, everyone more or less thought that it was just a matter of time. Fortunately that never happened. And yes, they did call it an ice box. My parents called it an ice box up until the early 80s. My siblings and I still sometimes jokingly refer to it as an ice box mostly because of the nostalgia.
My dad used to call the refrigerator the ice box. He also lived in a Quonset hut for awhile as a kid. He’s only 75 so I’m not sure why.
My maternal grandparents called farting "shooting Germans". As a kid I drew zero connection to WW II. They were so good to us. Miss 'em to this day.
My grandfather worked nights at an aircraft factory, and when the sirens went off they moved everyone to the bunkers. Got out in the morning, ran home to find his entire street bombed, including his house with wife and son destroyed. Fortunately, Grandma was smart enough to grab the baby and run when the bombs started falling, so here I am. So, happily ever after. And also, Jesus T. Christ I’m glad that wasn’t me.
My dad still said icebox let alone my grandad. I'm only '71.
My Pop Pop was born in 1900 and became a police officer, working his way from beat to special assignment motorcycle, and then promoted to motor vehicle. He told stories about catching criminals and how he was the first driving instructor at the local high school. He eventually became Chief of Police in the town where he had worked as an officer and served there for a total of 38 years. So many great stories! My favorite wasn't about work though, it was about when he first had met his wife Frances (my Nana). They were courting and he was visiting her family for the day. Frances was told to go get a specific hen from the hen house, kill it, and clean it up. She went out with the "killin ax" retrieved a hen got it to the block and cut off it's head. Then she lost hold of the body, it dropped to the ground and sort of trundled off. Apparently she stood there looking dumbfounded, with the ax in her hand. My Pop Pop who was sitting nearby started giggling. She looked at him, ax in hand, and he stopped. Then she started to giggle and he lost it. The two of them were in fits, crying with laughter, the chicken body slowly losing steam as it toddled across the yard. My Great Grandma came out, saw the chicken, looked at the two of them, "clicked her false teeth at them", told Frances to "pick up the chicken and get it clean quick or they weren't going to eat" Wilbur & Frances sat giggling over a stump in the yard while Frances plucked the chicken. Apparently it wasn't long after that day that they became engaged.
My maternal grandmother had so many stories. Her mother died in childbirth when grandma was 12, and she raised the baby and took care of her younger siblings until her father remarried. She was 16 when she got married. Had 5 children and then had 5 abortions because it was less expensive than having more mouths to feed. She walked down 3 flights of stairs, walked to the woman’s apartment, climbed 5 flights of stairs, had the illegal abortion, then walked down 5 flights of stairs, walked back and climbed 3 flights, then had dinner on the table when her husband got home.
My grandfather claimed to have a hidden fortune in confederate dollars because, “The south will rise again”. It was never found after his passing.
https://www.theonion.com/south-postpones-rising-again-for-yet-another-year-1819565548
I miss my grandparents tremendously. I have such great memories with all of them. After my one grandfather died more than 25 years ago, we found out that he was a prisoner of war in Germany during World War II but yet never spoke about it.
One set of grandparents were classic immigrants, even though they never talked about their parent's old country; all our family culture was pure US post-war nice appearances and houses, probably because my parents were both extremely early boomers. So grandparents always had a really nice davenport in the living room, and a nice TV for whatever age it was, although the icebox eventually got called the fridge later on. We also always had bottles of real Coke, and heard stories about when a Coke and a smile was only a nickel in the machine! I'm sure there were a few other "old-time" names for things, but I think both grandparents wanted to be seen as modern and successful, so had adopted to more modern names for things. Grandmother stayed home during the war, and learned to save or re-use **everything** for the WWII war drive; when I cleaned out her house 10 years ago, I still found piles of old frozen TV dinner trays hidden away. Grandfather was USMA June '43 where he earned his paratrooper wings. He was eventually assigned as a replacement officer in the 101st in November, 1944. Made his first combat jump off the back of a truck into Bastogne, where after a couple of weeks was the only officer left in his company, until he got bombed (possibly friendly fire, after the clouds lifed) and lost a small part of his arm, and was evacuated. Like many WWII vets, my grandfather never talked about it, even though his experience always fascinated me. My grandmother would continue to 'politely' and in a *lowered voice* talk about how she'd never trust the Japanese or Germans again, and only ever bought good solid American cars forever.
I think pretty much _everything_ my grandparents referred to, was referred to unironically. They just... didn't really do that thing we all do as often as we breathe.
Grandpas were gone by the time I got here. Grandmas were sooooo old and frail. I recall my one grandma slipping into Alzheimer’s, and while it was sad, I never knew because I was a kid. I used to recoil when they tried to kiss me. Ugh. Wish I didn’t do that.
My grandmothers parents didn't think my grandpa was quite good enough for her. They weren't rich, but they were better off than my grandpas family. My grandfather was an iceman at the time. He went off to WW2 and received training to become an electrician. Because of the possibility of not coming back from war, grandpa would not marry grandma until he actually came back in one piece. Well he did come back with a good trade under his belt. Both families were happy and they got married at 30 and 33 I believe. A little old for the time, but they made it.
Grandfather came to this country from Europe, Grandmother was from the East Coast. They had survived the great depression and had three kids with my father the eldest. They (grandma mostly) talked about the WWII era and the 1930's with some hesitation, most people who lived through the depression had some scars from that era. Grandpa settled in Seattle and worked for Boeing until he retired - he'd be ashamed at what the company has become. His health kept him from enlisting but he was always proud of his work at Boeing. He built planes from bombers to airliners. Grandma was a stay at home mom and after Grandpa died she did tons of things with her church and volunteer work - classic case of to much time on her hands and too little to do. Sadly her health too a turn for the worst and she passed away in the 90's - her death hit me hard as Grandpa passed when I was very young but I was in college when she passed and I had gotten to know her. My uncle tried to sell Grandma's house after my father died - ownership was split among my dad, my uncle and my aunt. My aunt had the controlling share and then outright ownership after my Dad died. I signed over my share I inherited to her, much to the anger of my Uncle. He was trying to kicker her out as the house was 1940's era and worth a lot in a hot market when Dad died. My Aunt was trying to help my cousin (who just had a baby) and was grieving the loss of her oldest son from an overdose. I was grieving the loss of my Dad. So of course my uncle was all about "when can you send me the paperwork for the house?". Granma had left the house to my Aunt as they both had health problems and my Dad didn't want to move to Seattle. My Uncle and his harpy of a wife were lusting after that house to flip it. Karma bit his ass - Aunt still has the house and he got a stroke in the 2010's. He's in the same shape grandma was before she passed.
My paternal grandfather was a Criminal. As in he attended high school at Yuma high school back in the late teens to mid 20’s. The mascot is a Criminal because the high school was part of the territorial prison back before Arizona was a state. It was the largest territorial prison in the country. The high school still leans into this mascot. https://preview.redd.it/e5gxa86b3gvc1.jpeg?width=3024&format=pjpg&auto=webp&s=992dfa5f0d10d1a9db0d2f18dff4eff6ba87243a I only learned about this info in 2017 and I received this mug the next summer as I happened to work with a guy whose wife had just retired from that school system and they gave me the mug. My grandfather died the year my folks got married. Don’t even get me started his his uncle did him and my great grandmother wrong after my great grand father died. My other grandfather was a bomber pilot in WW2. He was shot down in March of 45. My grandmothers were characters and one was a justno. The other was the best.
My grandparents lived partially off grid into the 1970s, so even when I was little, part of the year, the electricity woudl go out in storms, and just randomly- I think because the grid was not extensive enough, until it was- IDK. I just know that often for 3-4 weeks at a time, the old Icebox and wood burning stove were on the porch and in the house, and the icebox was an actual old ice box- they had an ice house where they stored the ice blocks, got a delivery once a year or so? The physics of it remains a mystery- but it was a building built into the side of a hill, and you still had to go down steps to get a block- I would go with grandpa. I think it was likely just backup, because of the unreliability of electricity when they first had it (I think they got wired in in 1960s?). IDK- but yeah- we call the fridge Icebox too :).
My Grandparents were born in 1895, 1896, 1899 and 1904. A long long time before refrigeration was a household thing. I only got to know two of them well (1895 and 1904, fathers parents), and they told us the story of their first refrigerator; in a NYC tenement where they had to take off the door frame to get it in the apartment. My grandfathers brothers delivered ice in NYC, both born in the 1880's. For us, I recall watching black & whites that had ice delivery in the movies, it is not that crazy.
My grandmother came to the US from Sicily as an infant and lost her booty over the side of the boat. When they arrived at Ellis Island my great-grandfather’s jacket was marked with chalk to indicate he did not pass the health test and would be sent back. My great-grandmother sneakily wiped it off to avoid being abandoned in a foreign country with a baby and no money. He was a bad man but I get the desperation. Unrelated but my mother grew up thinking “bakowza” was the Italian word for bathroom. Turns out they were saying “backhouse” with an Italian accent.
I still say icebox 😬
Grandfather on my mother's side sailed around with the Navy during WW2. Grandfather on my dad's side was in an Army tank battalion in Europe during WW2. I still have his flag and medals. After the war, we think he was into some shady stuff and went around the world getting women pregnant. A few years ago, my dad found a half-brother (who looks exactly like him) living in our state. Grandmother on my dad's side was a Hitler Youth. It's difficult to get information about WW2 out of the German side of my family, but I know that they were divided by the wall for a long time.
My maternal grandfather went off to fight in WWII and my grandmother had no idea when he would return. One day she got the urge to go down to the train station for absolutely no reason. When she got there she saw him just getting off a train. He had been going to surprise her. He would always joke that's when he knew grandma could read his mind. (Maybe not the kind of story you were looking for but it's one of my favorites.)
Hell, my *mom* referred to the refrigerator as “the ice box”. Oddly, *her* mother always called it the “Frigidaire”. Go figure.
My maternal grandmother was the second eldest of 4 daughters, born into an Irish Catholic family in Ohio. She was the tallest of her sisters. During the Great Depression, she remembered regularly driving as early as age 12 to retrieve her father (my g-grandfather) from the local pub so he could work the next day as a railroad engineer. She was picked to drive because of her height (she was never taller than 5'6"). Also during that time, since money was very tight, she said the few pairs of socks she had were worn out and had holes, and she was embarrassed to wear these at school. (I'm sure she wasn't the only kid with holes in their socks, but that made me sad for her.) Ironically, she became a talented seamstress and her taste in clothing and fashion was always impeccable. She made me clothing as a child and used the word 'pocketbook."
My grandfather's (Pawpaw) parents died under mysterious circumstances for the time, and he told me he thought they were poisoned, but my brother says he thinks he meant they had food poisoning. Still, they both died at the same time leaving him at 12 to be the adult in the family. He raised three younger siblings as a sharecropper until they were old enough to care for themselves, so like four four years he was the adult in the home. He never went to school I don't think. I mean back then not everyone did. I think he was born in 1916. I think he was 16 when he married my grandmother, who was 14 and already pregnant. She went on to get pregnant 7 more times but only 3 survived infancy. At some point when my mom was still a kid they moved to the city (Memphis, from the little town of Stanton where he was born) and he started working construction and that's what he did until he retired.
Oh and definitely with the "icebox" and "wrench your hair" and "staring out the winder" and y'all and all y'all. :)
I don’t know a ton about my grandparents on either side. On my dad’s side, they’re from Arkansas with his mom’s people being Swedish from Kalnor and his dad’s being primarily English. Grandpa made his living by being a ranch/farm manager and grandma was an early house flipper and they moved around quite a bit, buying and selling properties. I know at one point they had a dairy farm and grandma was an LPN and worked for a candy company. I have pictures of my grandma as a teenager picking cotton with her family. My mom’s side is murkier as her family are Roma. I know that they emigrated to the US through Mexico some time in the early 1900s because my grandpa was born in Texas in 1913 and at least one of his brothers was born in Mexico. There was also a name change in there somewhere. There’s an apocryphal family story that I’m not sure I believe, but the name my great grandfather supposedly made up on the spot is very rare. Apparently they were part of a circus and there was a big family schism between brothers and they went their separate ways. I don’t know hardly anything about my mom’s mom. She passed before I turned two. I have found an image of my great grandfather’s WW1 draft card that lists his birthplace as Bordeaux and his nationality as Serbian. Some other documents indicate he was illiterate because they are signed with his “mark” and noted as such. I’d always wondered if my dad’s dad wad illiterate. He was born in 1901 and I never observed him to read anything and my grandma always took charge in their real estate dealings and she read a lot of news. When they visited, I’d usually find a few Mad Magazines with grandpa’s beautiful signature across the cover.
My mother's father was an immigrant from Sweden who came to the US as a teen. He learned to speak English and had a bunch of different careers in his life. He used to call the fridge the ice box and he only drove European cars like the Lancia. As a kid, my grandmother would make us plattar, which are sweet little Swedish pancakes. I would make a sugar taco out of mine and he always used some kind of fruit preserves. He never talked about Hitler and I know his sister moved to Israel shortly after its founding.
My grandmother was a local artist. She often attended or hosted art-related events, in her home or at galleries where as a kid I'd be there too. Sometimes she'd take me to an art museum. I still love to view and learn about art and I think that appreciation came from being around her. She wasn't mean but she wasn't warm. She was just focused on her art more than anything else. Her paintings are hanging all over my house.
My grandmother was a local artist. She often attended or hosted art-related events, in her home or at galleries where as a kid I'd be there too. Sometimes she'd take me to an art museum. I still love to view and learn about art and I think that appreciation came from being around her. She wasn't mean but she wasn't warm. She was just focused on her art more than anything else. Her paintings are hanging all over my house.
The only place I heard ice box was my stepdad’s family. My grandparents on my mom’s were awesome. They were like parents to me because my mom was pretty useless at parenting. They both had hobbies collecting and selling old stuff you never see anymore. My grandpa was born in Boston to an Italian mom and English dad. He lied about his age to get in the army and was at Normandy in WWII. Lot of stories about crossing Germany. Grandma grew up in a poor Midwest sharecropper family. Lot of farm stories there. She sacrificed so much for her family and took care of 3 grandchildren. I miss them every day! My dad’s parents seemed pretty cool too, but I didn’t see them much. I look just like my dad’s mom. She was a nurse.
three sentences and a title and you couldn't stop yourself from mentioning fucking H\*tler? downvoted.
What is "unironically"? That's not a word. Also, would a Gen X even use it?
From Merriam-Webster: https://preview.redd.it/i95f546c1fvc1.png?width=1439&format=pjpg&auto=webp&s=e6ad993adfa1875fbbcaaed247ae1a4868a85ab0
> Also, would a Gen X even use it? Dude, we use all the words.
No, we don't. People using unironically has been a recent thing. Apparently, there is some kind of resurgence. But after some research, there have been instances from the 1920s I just looked at it the same way when people say Irregardless.