Welcome to My Blog! A Toast to My Granddaddy Grant on St. Patrick's Day!

John V. Grant

My "Granddaddy Grant"

I'm a retired English teacher who loves books, literature, cinema, and art of all forms and those who create it, express it, and cherish it. I'm starting this blog today to connect with others and share some of my experiences, thoughts, feelings, concerns, and dreams. 

After a long career of teaching others to express themselves in writing, I want to use what time I have left to express myself in writing, directly as well as creatively in literary formats. 

Since today is St. Patrick's Day, I'm reminded of my Irish roots. On my mother's side of the family, I come from Scotch-Irish folks who immigrated and settled in western Virginia near Big Stone Gap. My grandmother's maiden name was Thompson; she married a Bailey, and their first child would be my mother, Ruth Imogene, and they had four others including a son that died very young. 

Bailey was a produce salesman, and they relocated to what was then Elizabeth City County near Hampton in southeast Virginia. After they divorced, she married a short, slender man of Irish descent from Pennsylvania, John Vincent Grant. 

I never knew Bailey, but as a child I loved my "Granddaddy Grant," who had served in the Army in World War II in the infantry in Italy, wounded three times and awarded three Purple Hearts, returning home suffering from shell shock and alcoholism. I was not allowed to use caps in my cap guns because loud bangs upset him. 

He taught me card tricks and enjoyed having me watch "Perry Mason" with him as we tried to guess who the murderer would turn out to be. He always guessed the guilty one right before Mason had the man or woman confess at the end; my guess was always wrong until I got wise until to pick someone who seemed least likely. On weekends we would watch the baseball "Game of the Week" on TV, usually featuring the New York Yankees versus some other team that they would usually beat. 

Granddaddy had a gruesome, secret memento of the war that he kept in the icebox, wrapped in tin foil, and no one was allowed to touch it. He once took it out and showed it to me, despite angry protestations from Grandmother not to. It was a book printed in German that had been bound with human skin. He carefully put it away and tried to explain its history and significance. I never asked to see it again, and the day after his funeral, I saw Grandmother put it in the trash outside.

Granddaddy finished out his service days with a desk job in the Air Force and was stationed at Langley Air Force Base, not far from where they lived. He never rose in rank above sergeant because he was forever getting "busted" down to "buck private," losing most of his stripes because of his drinking. He loved drinking beer at bars and Four Roses mixed with Coke at home. I would have a root beer and drink along with him. 

He was known at all the local bars in Hampton as "Sergeant Grant" or simply "Sarge," even if he had been temporarily demoted. He could beat anyone in town at pool, no matter how drunk he got. I know this because he often took me with him to the bars. I once saw him so drunk that he could hardly stand up without falling over and yet somehow he managed to run the table three consecutive times. I said, "Granddaddy, that's not fair. You never gave them even a single shot." 

He once explained that anyone can make a pool shot. The trick is to make the cue ball correctly line up afterwards for the next shot. He picked up the cue ball and pointed out to me the nine different areas he might hit with the tip of his cue stick, each creating a different result. "The pros know 12 or 16," he said, "but I'm not that good." 

He often wrecked his car while driving home from a bar. That's why Grandmother would only allow him to take me with him if we walked there and back, which we often did, the closest bar being only a couple of blocks away. 

I've attached a link to a YouTube recording of Granddaddy's favorite song, "Shut Up and Drink Your Beer" by Merle Travis. He would play it over and over on the bar jukeboxes and likewise at home and would have me sing it along with him. 

I love and remember Granddaddy Grant, the only man in our household when I was a young kid living at Grandmother's. Today on St. Patrick's day I salute him and give his favorite song one more spin, "Shut Up and Drink Your Beer" by Merle Travis