Amnesia about my Grandma Dorothy

When I knew her, my grandma Dorothy Genevieve Nelson was a truly remarkable story-teller. She had lived a challenging and interesting life, been the wife of an admirable but trying man(an architect by trade,) and been the mother of 3 sons... only one of which had achieved much in worldly terms. Like most woman of her culture and day, she had not had the opportunity or expectation to fulfill her potential in some ways; She had been an upper middle-class housewife.

In some ways, an unhappiness with this came out in her old age: she became rather critical and harsh toward my grandpa after a long and devoted marriage(and repented of it after his passing.) There were other signs of depression.

But she was a strong person, and was determined to be a good grandmother. When I visited, she made every effort to be hospitable, kind, and to teach me about life.

She also, for my parents or me, would tell stories about her life, mostly about depression-era Chicago. She'd been very observant, and she was a diverse and brilliant story-teller. Generally upbeat and occasionally moralistic, she nonetheless would reveal to me the very depths of her soul, especially in one story. Though her mother later married a wealthy man, her father had been a laborer and he just couldn't find enough work(it being the depression) to support his family. He took to drinking too much and sometimes beat her younger brother Ray; At the age of 26, he hung himself and Ray just a child had to discover him in the garage. He was deeply shaken. Though Ray worked as a successful bricklayer he never married and remained very close to my grandma until his death. His simple virtue deeply impressed my grandma.

Now regarding my great-grandpa, I'm not speaking disrespectfully of him; I know enough of this world and poverty to not judge him in the least. Neither, though she resented his beating Ray, did my grandma speak viciously of him. A picture survives showing a handsome and pleasant looking man.

Now I must admit that though my grandma had dozens of detailed stories and would always tell them, I can barely remember any. My father bought a tape-recorder and meant to record her but, working hard for us and society, he never got around to it. He's often expressed regret- which I feel for not remembering. Her tales showed bright intelligence and a great optimism.

But, at the time, I was a rather lazy and stubborn boy(though not without redeeming traits like gentleness,) and though I loved to listen at times, I didn't take careful note of her stories.

And in the 8 years since she died my life has seen brilliance and folly, hard work and various accomplishments, women art and pleasure, and a lot of suffering(much of it linked to vice.) Honestly, what's remarkable is that I remember as much as I do about my grandma: my memory on some points is very good and resilient.

I remember her telling me about my grandpa(a withdrawn though friendly old man,) and how he'd volunteered for the navy in WW2, served on a mine-sweeper and once his ship was struck and he found himself underneath it. He kept his head and thus averted drowning. Later, as a retired architect on a motorcyle trip in California, he found a stray dog and tied it onto the back of his Harley and rode hundreds of miles home with it. These stories I heard only from my grandma; When my grandpa died I told this last again to the crowd.

I remember my grandma had a relative she called Uncle Hammer, another Swede, who was bullied as a young man. But he ate lots of vegetables and, having nothing else, he took to lifting canned food as weights. He became a very strong man and no-one dared bully him anymore; He always stressed the importance of eating raw fruits and vegetables. This was not among her more elaborate tales but it had a message: I didn't always fit in well socially and was sometimes bullied, by my older half-brother as well. So she was showing compassion and offering advice; She also taught me to take a daily multi-vitamin, something I've usually done and without which I doubt I'd be alive.

She told me occasionally about her step-father, Henry Lenard, who was a famous light-weight boxer, became friends with certain mafiosos, and eventually became a state senator and prominent government official. The way she told it Al Capone liked to watch him box and thus bought him his first tuxedo and introduced him into mafia society; He was not, though, to my knowledge a mafioso or crimminal, just a political leader in a Chicago where the lines had become very blurred(his close associate Richard Daley was mayor of Chicago.) He was never charged with any crime.

I also remember Grandma telling me that after her father's death, there was a brief period of going from relative to relative, being grateful but afraid. And then the fortunate marriage and a complete change in economic circumstances, and a rather gracious lifestyle. She told me of a depression that was the best and worst of times: when people pulled together, worked hard had good family values, but also a time when people had to look sharp not to go hungry, "by hook or crook" as she liked to say. To do something by hook or crook meant that when a job really has to get done, one had to be resourceful and maybe bend ethics a bit.

I tell you one last thing: my grandma Dorothy was a lady in the real sense. She barely drank and she didn't swear but more importantly the content of what she said was never mean-spirited or vile. She passed along no racism or anger toward blacks, Jews, arabs: no-one. And she was of a generation that was raised to think of blacks and Mexicans as lesser people; She was remarkable in never being that way, in anger or humor.

She often spoke of people who were greedy or destructive but not very angrily or judgementally; You could see in her eyes a certain wistfulness, a desire that the world might be a better place, a willingness to start with herself.

Perhaps, I remember her as well and as fondly as I do because she had certain virtues and courage to which I have often fallen short. Though she was a better story-teller than I, she was so humble that she never recorded herself or presumed to publish.

But like all great people, however common or simple they may be(and many are,) she left behind much inspiration and good-will, love and light that will long survive her and her tales.