Grandpa's Ditties

1. And the Band Played On by The Mellomen

2. By the Light of the Silvery Moon by Doris Day

3. Lida Rose by the Buffalo Bills

4. Five Foot Two, Eyes of Blue by The Viscounts

5. Carolina in the Morning by Al Jolson

6. Let Me Call You Sweetheart by The Mellomen

7. Beautiful Dreamer by The Buffalo Bills

8. Yes, We Have No Bananas by The Mellomen

9. Jeepers Creepers by Louis Armstrong

10. Tea For Two by The Buffalo Bills

11. Ain't We Got Fun by Rosemary Clooney and Bing Crosby

12. Bicycle Built for Two by Elm City Four

Perhaps you've noticed that these songs aren't the usual Pop/Rock selections I post. However, they are the songs which I associate with today's topic - my Grandpa Alspaugh, Charles Ephraim Alspaugh. He was only alive the first eight years of my life yet I have always felt a profound connection to this man. Today I'd like to share some of these remembrances.

At young ages you are influenced by impressions. My take on those impressions are that grandpa was a bit of a rascal! He liked to tease and cause mischief! And, given his many, many years of smoking, he had a raspy, raucous laughter that made it impossible for you not to giggle along. One thing I can say for the Alspaugh family is that there was always laughter - be it good times or not - something was always found to laugh about.

Grandpa was also musical and I believe he either performed on Vaudeville or in some sort of musical shows back around the 1920's. I remember him doing the old soft shoe dance around our house on Main Street in Clarendon. It was so easy to picture him in an old straw hat and carrying a dancing cane - maybe he actually wore those - who knows? Maybe my little girl mind filled them in. All I know is that he always had a ditty he was singing. I believe he also played the organ.

I know he and grandma lived in Scandia, PA - that's where my dad spent his teen years, but I don't remember a house associated with them. My dad drove me by it in later years but it sparked no recollections at all. Grandpa and Grandma moved away when I was young but I remember him walking me to school one day when I was in kindergarten. The school was almost directly across the street from us. It wasn't a long walk at all, but he was adamant that he walk his little granddaughter to school. The street I had to cross was a busy one so it was probably smart to have someone with me. I remember reaching up and taking his hand which was covered in raised, bumpy veins. There were callouses and his skin was dry, just like my daddy's. His hand swallowed mine and I felt safe with him. We walked along the sidewalk and as we walked he whistled or quietly sang little nonsense songs, looking down to give me a wink and a smile. As we got to the cross walk he bent over and gave me a little hug and pat on the head and watched as I crossed to the other side. I turned and gave him a little wave and then he was gone. I don't have any other memories of him until our trip to Baker, Oregon in 1968.

I had mentioned before that I had become ill while my grandparents were tending us kids while my parents were away on a business trip. It must have been a bad flu of some sort but I was vomiting and, to this day, remember it being one of the worse bouts of flu in my life. My grandparents kept me in a little room just off of their kitchen. I lay in that little bed and drifted in and out between fits of nausea and would stare out the window to the saw mill next door. I would watch the logs go up and into the mill. There were piles of sawdust everywhere and the smell of fresh cut lumber filled the air. It rained all the time, it seemed, and you could always feel the moisture around you. The sounds of the mill were oddly soothing to me and the activity gave me something else to focus on other than this horrible flu.

Grandma was always busy in the kitchen and I remember pots a-bubbling and steaming on the stovetop. It was August so I'm thinking she was probably bottling fruits or blanching vegetables. She was an industrious sort of woman - a tiny-framed woman with reddish hair who was always busy, busy, busy. She had a small, raspy voice and a wonderful sense of humor. She could give back as good as she got!

One of those pots on the stove was brewing up some venison stock, I know, because grandpa had gone out and talked to grandma about how he felt that that was what my little body needed. Some of you may think, EW!, but I had grown up on venison - the sweet meat of deer that grazed on lush, thick, green foliage - not dried up sagebrush.

As I lay in that bed, drifting in and out, my grandfather kept vigil beside me. He wasn't bothersome and didn't try to make me talk a lot. He just sat there in a chair, looking out the same window as I, deep in thought, and softly singing about Casey waltzing with a strawberry blonde (I always pictured my grandma in this role) or about a bicycle or about calling someone sweetheart. His legs were crossed and his foot that was suspended in the air would tap out the beat. He had a great profile - a rather strong nose in a strong face. We had been told he was part American Indian and you could see it in the high cheek bones and large forehead. We had also been told of Jewish ancestry in his family and those could also be features of those ancestors. His face was remarkable by all standards - aging only made his strong features stand out more, not soften like many people's do. He wore heavy rimmed glasses, too, and his hair was thick and white against his crackled, olive skin.

Occasionally I would wake and he would lean over and give me a smile and pat my hand. I wouldn't say I knew him well before or after this, really, but I felt one very important thing - and that is that he loved me. He wanted me to remember him. He thought I was special. Just like my daddy made me feel like I was special.

As my nausea passed, grandpa brought in cups of the venison broth and spoon fed this hearty liquid to me. It was delicious and I soon was my old self again - scrambling out to find out what the cousins and my siblings had been up to all those days while I was sick in bed.

Now, let me remind you of how, when my parents returned from their trip, my grandfather began pestering my dad about going home through Idaho Falls so they could be sealed together in the temple. He was unrelenting until he got his way - then passed away almost as soon as they exited the temple. Had he felt some prompting whilst he sat by me, staring out that window? I have always wondered. I can still see his face - so intent yet so at peace. I will ask him one day.

These songs are all fun songs. I wish I could know all the songs he sang. He always had jokes, too, and I am thinking that some of them might have been a little risque by my grandma's fussing at him sometimes. She'd call out, "Now, Charlie . . . . . !"

Eight years is all . . . . yet he has had such an influence on me! I have felt him close by me many, many times. Looks, gestures, almost a silent movie is he in my recollection but so powerfully present. I look forward to seeing him again and doing the old soft shoe together. He will put his head back and laugh and I will giggle and perhaps it will be as if time had stood still . . .