Ours is a family dominated by women. Yes, your grandsons fought in the great war and yes they paid dearly for that sacrifice. Still, in all my memories, I’ve so few of the men of my family. My Grandfather Ferry, my dad’s dad, only came home from Arizona to die and I don’t remember any conversation with him. Your husband, Henry, my dad’s grandfather died long before I was born.
But my dad remembered him. Called him Grampy Blaine.
So, I asked, what was he like?
Grampy was a short little fellow, a hard-working carpenter, dad answered.
More, I begged.
I know he fell off the roof when he was fixing it, and that he got struck by lightning when standing near a sink.
Is this him? I showed him a grainy photo and pointed to the little fellow second from the right.
Nah, he’d never wear a suit. Too poor for that.
I took the photo back and did some digging… and found, it had to be him.
Here’s Frankie and Billie – Grampy’s sons. See, and here he is with your Grampy. Has to be him. And the suit? The man to his left is most likely Grampy’s brother, Newell, getting married to Lizzie Shambo. Pull all the threads together and you get… Grampy Blaine.
Dad never knew his gramp was originally Blair. Never heard why he changed his name.
Guess that’s just how it was back then. Didn’t like your name, so you changed it.