Grandpa Art

Whitney and I took off last Thursday for Idaho to attend the memorial service for Grandpa Art, my dad's dad. He passed away somewhat suddenly (but not really unexpectedly) on February 9th. He was 88.



Grandpa was born in Oklahoma and lived the first decade or so of his life on his family's farm, until the Depression and the dust bowl forced his family to look elsewhere for, probably, everything. Apparently they made it as far as Oregon, picking hops, before returning back to the Oklahoma panhandle. I'm not sure how long they were traveling, and Grandpa didn't talk about it much. But having read Steinbeck and hearing Grandma's response to questions about it ("You kids have no idea what hard times are..."), I can imagine it was an extraordinarily trying time. But I think it also led to one of his defining characteristics - I always remember him being in a good mood. I think he knew what to be thankful for.

He met my grandma in high school when he moved back to Oklahoma, and they got married at a pretty young age (what a crazy idea...) He spent a few years in the Army and then an entire career at Northwest Pipeline. Grandma, Grandpa, my dad and his four siblings moved every couple years along the pipeline from Wyoming to Washington. My aunt Lori still works for the company Grandpa worked for, and she was able to talk with a few of his former co-workers when he died. It was great for me to hear that my idea of who Grandpa was was exactly who he was to everyone - fair, good-natured, independent, generous, and many other positive things. That's not an easy thing to do, but he did it.

Grandpa made me a toy plane with a working propeller from scrap wood in his garage on one visit. We then drove around in his El Camino with the window down so I could pretend that it was flying. He had a thing for Pendleton plaid wool shirts, polyester dress pants, and Tony Lama cowboy boots. He and Grandma square-danced and bowled together. He even bought a Nintendo - the original, 8-bit one - and had the bowling game for it. His hearing aids whistled when you covered them up, which always gave him a start, and mystified me at a young age. Actually, I still don't know why that happens.

He was always a pleasure to be around. He is dearly missed.

Grandpa with my dad (in the cowboy hat).