Grandpa J.

My grandpa was the town drunk. You could ask anyone who lived in his small Northern Ontario village in the nineteen forties; everyone knew him, and just about everyone liked him too. He was a happy drunk, and, drunk or sober, he could tell stories that would make anyone within hearing distance roar with laughter.

I only saw him for a few weeks every summer when we made our annual trip to the cottage. While there, we often came into town so Mother could visit her parents, and five siblings. I loved visiting at Grandma's because there were always lots of cousins running in and out, and the grown-ups were always so busy talking that they didn't pay much attention to us kids. We had some grand adventures!

If Grandpa tried to sneak away during these visits, Grandma (old hawk-eye that she was) would holler at all of the grandkids around, " Go follow your grandfather and make sure he doesn't go into the hotel!" Then the fun began. Grandpa would totter down the main street, whistling, hands in the pockets of his saggy black pants, pretending he didn't hear the giggling troupe behind him, as we ran from one telephone pole to the next, trying to hide.

After two blocks the hotel came into view. Beside it there was the General Store and next to that, the ice cream parlor. Suddenly Grandpa would halt in his tracks and muse aloud, "I wonder if anyone around here would like an ice cream cone." Of course, he was quickly surrounded by a cluster of grandchildren to whom that sounded like a great idea! Grandpa would pull out a handful of nickels and we'd be off for treats. Of course when we came back, he'd have disappeared. The saloon had won another round. During all the summers we spent up north, the game nor its outcome, never varied. The only one who didn't enjoy it was Grandma.

We used to think that she was mean. We often heard her nagging and scolding him. With the limited understanding of the young, he seemed to be the victim and she his tormentor. He seemed such a harmless, happy old soul and he only wanted to be left alone. We were unquestionably on Grandpa's side of the never-ending struggle against the Demon Whiskey.

Looking back through adult eyes, I think it was probably a classic example of the old situation: " She nagged because he drank, and he drank because she nagged." What a sad life they must have shared for many years. I'm glad I didn't have the maturity to view the reality of their day-to-day existence and their marriage.

As things are, my sister, my cousins and I are left with a priceless legacy of memories of happy summers up north, and humorous anecdotes of visits with Grandma and Grandpa. They make us roar with laughter just as heartily as if Grandpa himself were telling them!