A Family History

My maternal grandfather was a chicken thief. That sort of summed up both sides of my family and the cousins I grew up with. While I know there is some truth to what I know, it can’t all be true as remembered. There are special places for people who claim that.

Searching your family history can be fun. It can also lead to some interesting discoveries. Some people have found that they are related to famous people in history. Some have discovered that they are related to infamous people being hanged although that is never talked about. Most of the discoveries are only of interest to the family or friends, if any.

I discovered from a cousin that we have been misspelling our name for three generations. I said it might just be his claim, Then he showed an old document, a document without the “e”. Why? Did someone back then need an AKA? Wait, he had a marriage certificate with no “e”. Did that mean he wasn't legally married? Our great-great-great-grandfather was a dummy. He didn’t know how to spell the name in English though it was the as same in German and took the immigration guy’s word for how to spell it. The immigration guy didn’t like the original spelling. He added an e. A couple of his kids changed it back.

Found out, too, that we aren’t German. Always thought we were but, no, that’s another sucky lie. Turns out my grandfather was born in Austria. That’s what it was then. Later it was Poland, then Germany, Czech again, then German again, and then Czech Maybe he left because they couldn’t pick a name and stick to it although they always got the spelling correct.

I had one great-grandfather who served for a while in the Civil War. He joined the Pennsylvania militia when Lee came North. At Gettysburg, he lost a hand trying to catch a cannonball. The cannonball took the hand and kept on going. He was known as “lefty” and “stupid.” He attended the 50th reunion of the Gettysburg battle. He was still pissed about the hand and damn near restated the whole fight back up again.

“How did guys this stupid beat us ?”, one of the rebels said.

“You were stupider.”

I have an uncle who died in an outhouse accident or so they said. My aunt was cleaning his rifle. She decided to test it and picked the outhouse door as her target. The coroner says he was reaching for the corn cobs when he got hit. No one thought the shooting was deliberate and, as the local DA said,” Even if it was, I’d feel foolish talking to a jury about shooting a man in the outhouse.

I have another uncle who used to dig his own coal out. He’d go down to the basement and dig out what he needed. He used to laugh at people who kept their homes a little on the cool side to save money, which was hard to come by during the Depression. That went along fine for years. It went along fine right up to the day the house collapsed. The insurance refused to pay but they did see the humor in it. They still didn’t pay. The law couldn't figure out what crime he committed and went away. He knew my grandfather was a thief but could never get the goods on him.”

Aunt Rose was a scary but “special lady.” No one liked her. She was the ugliest woman ever born. Her ugly went all the way to her core. Her sister, my grandmother, called her a “despicable, miserable excuse for a human being.” Even at one that, Granny was being polite. Aunt Rose liked to gather all the little ones in the family and throw candy on the floor. While the kids were gathering up the sweets, she’d try to wack them with a broom. She was fast but they were faster. Aunt Rose was the original broom lady. She did get married later to a blind and idiotic goofball. Fortunately, they never had kids.

Uncle Dick was a very fussy person. Everything had to be just so. His sandwiches had to have the crust cut off. His eggs had to be fried so that the yolk could be dipped but the whites would be solid. His pants had to have a perfect crease. He had to be awakened at exactly 5:45, no sooner and no later. No woman, except my grandmother, could stand him. He didn’t leave home until he was 50. That’s because my grandmother died and the other kids sold the house out from under him. One of them took him in for a while, Then she gave him the boot. She wasn’t going to make his lunch much less cut the crust off.

I hated going to the Military Police with no clue. I was pretty quick on my feet but it was always useful to know what they had on me. The old man came home right at four, scowled and pointed his thumb at the car. He always thought we were guilty, no matter what. That was reasonable but not fair. He didn't speak to us or anything like that. He never said anything to us. If we upset him he would say to Mom, “You better do something about those boys.” He was more worried about this than we were.

Six months before WWII broke out Roosevelt called up the National Guard. All my male relatives went. At first, they were all stationed at the same place. My father was an officer and the rest weren’t. One day a couple of my uncles were walking along and passed my father. They said hello and kept on going. My father had them put on report for “failing to salute an officer.” The base commander, while admitting my father was right, also thought it was a bit much. He slapped my uncles on the wrist. After the war, my uncles slapped my father around a good one. All of them, besides my father, served in combat. My Uncle John was shot in the head in the first wave in Sicily. He didn’t die but he was never the same. That was considered a good thing.

World War Two was crappy for most people, including my uncles. Later, they saw the benefits given to them. Now, they could join the American Legion and drink on the cheap. Jeez, this was the life. Booze at cost. They ran the local post since there were so many of them. They wanted to make this post the biggest success going. That way, they assured themselves of a source of cheap booze. They covered their bets by joining the Veterans of Foreign Wars and American Veterans. They’d have joined the French Foreign Legion if that would have helped.

My Uncle John was shot in the head in the first wave at Normandy. He lived, They put a metal plate in his head to alleviate the soft skull where the bullet hit. My Uncle Gene had a metal plate in his head too. He wasn’t shot. He never talked about it. We did know it happened at the TB farm. (He gave my older brother and me a case of TB. That generation is dead now. They had their day in the sun and produced a new generation- mine. We’ve been hard put to keep up with their reputations but have made the effort. Some of us have used several names; some of us have used several marriages (although none of us has killed their mate...yet).

Outhouses were still common in rural areas and small towns. The cities didn’t have them but the smell was the same. My Uncle Jim had one until the day he fell in. He used his neighbor’s until he dug a new one. The neighbor was very nice since he and my aunt had 9 unruly kids. He dug a new one and added a septic tank. It drained into the neighbor’s yard. The neighbor came back to find his backyard full of shit.

Don’t ask where “Boots” came from. He never owned any until the War. “Boots” lived in a house the owners tore down and planted a small garden. It amazed my mother the house was that small. It had eight rooms plus four rooms in the cellar.

My Uncle Tom was a real dick. He joined the Navy instead of the Army. Huh! His ship sank. He started his married life in a 6x20 trailer next to my grandparent's house. He started his family there. You had to take turns going to any place in it.

You can't pick your family