Oh my gosh, so yesterday just got away from me. I agreed to be the support system for my daughter, the younger, while she became festooned with art for the body. Her newest (she has eight tattoos) is a cityscape, from the ’40s, of two New York City hotels. Tres magnifique! I hope you will forgive my absence from the blogosphere.
Well it is Sunday and here we are again at the Church of the Wholey Bizarrely Insane. Another installment of the story of my incredibly crazy family. It seems that around every corner there is some quirky tidbit.
When last we met, Grams had lost her senses and her ability to walk (probably due to a stroke). Life for her became about finding creative ways to do all of the assorted chores she had done before as well as just plain getting around. Mostly she used a chair. Yep, she pushed a chair around in front of her while she cooked, cleaned, and washed the clothes. It would be quite some time before she would use crutches.
As you might imagine, my Grams was a determined lady who came from hardy stock. She was one of nineteen children (OMG!!!), ten of whom lived to adulthood. Her father and his two brothers were handsome Germans who, after being orphaned, were raised by Hispanics. Rumor has it that the parents were killed in an Indian raid but who really knows.
When my Gramps first came sniffing around the family it was with thoughts of riches in his head. But he was disappointed because though Greatgramps was land rich he was pretty much cash poor. So after Gramps and Grams got married, and before Grams lost her senses and her legs, he had other ideas for quick money.
He dabbled in gambling (quick won, even quicker lost) and farming (not quick at all) but, thanks to the Eighteenth Amendment, the real money was in bootlegging! It was Prohibition so he and a small circle of Spaniards began making their own booze and they quickly developed a reputation for having the very best product.
Those Spanish boys were quite innovative and although the revenuers had their suspicions they were never able to catch them with much in the way of incriminating evidence! Gramps and his family lived on a pig farm and whenever there was a hint of revenuers in the area they buried the jugs in the pens! After all, who would choose to look there?! In addition they had created an elaborate system in the basement of the house. A false wall was constructed with a bookcase for a door behind which most of the stash rested. In addition the support columns were hollowed out and with the help of a swivel hinge, gallon jugs could be stored safely.
It was in this very basement that the most amusing story from the period took place. The revenuers had come to the house thinking they had finally caught Gramps with his pants down. They somehow knew about the hollowed out posts but could only come up with one jug. My Grams was sweating bullets because her youngest (my mother), who was just four at the time, knew all of the best hiding places. Grams was just waiting for the wee one to point out the magic bookcase. However, she needn’t have worried because as the government agents prepared to escort Gramps to jail, the youngster picked up a fly swatter and, with her big brown eyes blazing, she began wailing on them. “Leave my daddy alone, leave my daddy alone,” were the only words she uttered at the top of her very tiny lungs each time the fly swatter came down on the men. It just may have been my mother’s proudest moment: the day she beat up the revenuers!
So…Gramps spent a couple of days in jail and paid his fine. Most of southern Colorado continued to get their bootlegged booze from the Spaniards. But alas…Gramps was no Joseph P. Kennedy, Sr., thus the proceeds were not parlayed into great wealth or a political dynasty. And though they did make a very good living during this time all of the funds were managed by my Gramps and eventually it was all gambled away. So sad…
See you next Sunday…
Some People’s Kids: Bootleggers. Irresponsible. No good.