Men of Influence, Part 4: My Grandfathers

I am back at work on the blog. Having just spent a few days in the hospital, I had plenty of time to think about this post. As I stated in an earlier post, I am trying to approach this project from a chronological basis. So today, I am in my early teenage years and during this period, both of my grandfathers had passed away, but they both left a stamp on my life. They were really different men and I think this difference really broadened my perspective on life and living.

I will first write about my Grandad Baskin. We called him Grandad to distinguish him from our Grandpa Watkins. We would simply refer to Grandad or Grandpa and everyone knew who we were talking about. I cannot remember my Grandad ever working for a company. I had heard my dad and others talk about him working for a trucking company but I think this was a short lived career. What I can remember is that he always had a farm. This was a small farm by today's standards. He and my grandmother hand milked a few cows and I can remember the dairy picking up a few cans of milk each morning. He also had four or five small chicken houses. These were not automated at all. When we visited the farm we were able to help hand feed the chickens from wheel barrows and hand water via jugs. Later I can remember automatic waterers, only because they would stick and flood the house and we would clean up the mess afterward. Grandad might have an old horse and plenty of yard dogs and cats. I have no idea if he ever made any money in the farming venture. I have my doubts that it was profitable.

Some of the things I remember about Grandad are that he was a hard shell baptist deacon. He would not allow the girls to swim in anything less than jeans and a full blouse. He was always a member of the same church while I was growing up. He must have been held in high esteem as the district missionary would drop by the house just to say hi. His name was Doctor Best. I don't know if he had a doctorate but this is how people referred to him. One day I remember in particular, Duane (Granddad's youngest son) and my brother Steve and I were playing cards around the kitchen table. The game was probably war and was not harmful, morally or otherwise. I heard my grandmother scream at the top of her lungs to get rid of the cards as Doctor Best was pulling in the drive. We did not know what to do so we simply threw the cards in the air and they landed behind the old radio (a huge upright model) and luckily they all fell in behind the radio and out of sight. I always wondered what Doctor Best might have done had he seen the cards? I could imagine him bringing us ten and eleven year old boys before the church for punishment. It was our good fortune not to find out about his wrath.

One of the things we really loved about visiting granddad's house was that on a hot Saturday afternoon, he would load all the kids up and take us to the Blue Hole, our favorite swimming hole. As I write this I can't help but remember the smell of that water. It was clean as I know we swallowed large mouthfuls and I can't recall any of us being sick from the water. After swimming we sometimes dropped by Claude and Zell's grocery store in Tontitown, Arkansas and Grandad would pick up a pound of Dog (Bologna) and Grandmother would normally have a pot of pinto beans ready when we arrived home. That was a great meal and still is today, though I am sure it is enjoyed by few. My kids would run from a pinto bean while I still love them today.

Another thing I really enjoyed was fishing with Grandad in the various creeks and rivers in the area. We fished the Osage, the Illinois River and many other streams or small ponds or lakes. He was not a great angler but gosh we had fun. He would bang on a pipe driven in the ground and up came the earthworms, or we would catch big yellow grasshoppers for bait. Later when I was probably eighteen, I had the pleasure of taking Grandad fishing in my boat and I'll never forget he and I getting caught in a bad storm on the lake. I drove us back through blinding rain and he looked like death warmed over. I don't recall him ever asking me to take him back fishing, though we did catch a really nice string of Crappie that day.

Grandad died of Pancreatic Cancer while in his sixties. I was a teenager and now as I face my own battle with Cancer, I can't help but remember his battle. He was a tough man but at the same time a gentle man. I don't remember him ever showing anyone a lot of affection but you knew he loved you. His generation just did not let anyone know how they felt. I know that He is looking down on me today and his hand is probably extended ready to help me on my journey home when my time on this earth is over. I look forward to seeing Grandad and having a time to remember our time on earth together. I think he gave me some of my backbone that I now use to full advantage in this battle I wage against Cancer. Thanks Grandad, I'll see you in a little while. My next post will be about my Grandpa Watkins. I think you will really enjoy it.