When I first met W.J. Cole, I was one nervous woman. I was pregnant with his oldest grandchild’s baby, but had not yet married his oldest grandchild. I know these are modern times and all, but I also knew that W.J. and his wife, Claytie, were likely to greet me and my baggage with predictable concern.

But Fiancee, Interrupted insisted on taking me to Farmington, New Mexico to meet Dub and Claytie, assuring me all the time that they would love me. Assurances aside, I was queasy, not just with morning sickness, but with cold feet. We arrived at their beautiful home and waited for them to arrive from square dancing.

Arrive they did, and immediately greeted me as long-lost family, swept me into all their love, and have continued to fold me into their family for the next eighteen years.

Dub passed away last week, leaving a family lost and brokenhearted. I was privileged to attend his memorial service, and even more privileged to listen to his oldest grandchild remember his Grandpa for what looked like half of Farmington packed into the First United Methodist Church. Privilege stacks on privilege as Dad, Interrupted permits me to share his memories of Dub with you.

I hope you enjoy reading this half as much as I have enjoyed knowing Dub.

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I remember once Grandpa came to Denver on business.  We were all much younger then and I remember Mom taking us along in the car to pick Grandpa up following his meeting.

It was one of those warm, snowy days where you can stand outside in shirt sleeves and catch large snowflakes on your tongue.  As we pulled into the slush-filled parking lot, Mom warned us that Grandpa was in town on business and that he wouldn’t have time to play with us, so we shouldn’t bother him.

As we pulled up to the building there was a group of men standing out in the snow wearing those narrow black business suits they used to wear back in the 60’s.  They seemed to be visiting about something very important, as men in dark suits always do; but when the car came to a stop a figure suddenly broke loose from the group and came rushing up.

He had darker hair in those days and it’s the only time I remember him wearing a tie; but I’ll always remember how the first thing my Grandpa did was reach into the car and grab us up saying “Give me some Sugar!” followed by a brisk whisker burn and his easy laugh.  Almost immediately the jacket and tie were gone and it was like we were the whole reason for his visit.

Grandpa was always great with kids perhaps because he was himself still a kid at heart.  Mom once shared a story with me about how her father used to take her sledding down an icy mountain road while he followed behind in the car.  I guess when they got to the bottom everyone piled back in to head back up the hill and do it again.  While we understand everyone came back in one piece it’s not hard to see where his tree-swing in the backyard came from.

He always made us feel important and special.  I’m blessed with fond memories of sitting on his lap and steering that big white Lincoln Continental up & down Amsden Drive.  And out on Navajo Reservoir ‘Driving the boat’ was a special treat my brother Greg and I would squabble over.

He got my young son Sam once, then three, spinning a tale about how he was going to take him back to Farmington with him and go fishing.  Naturally Sam was heartbroken when at last we said our farewells and Sam wasn’t in the car with them.  Grandpa was able to make it up to him latter that same summer where out on Navajo he helped Sam bait a hook and catch the biggest, ugliest carp that ever lurked under the marina.  Sam was proud to bring home his prize fish and was barely able to heft it up so everyone could marvel.  While we didn’t exactly feast on boney petroleum laced carp that night, Sam didn’t know that and was just as pleased to think he was sharing that big ole fish with all of us.

If conversation ever faltered you wouldn’t have to sit quiet very long before Grandpa would pull out some novelty he always seemed to have at the ready.  He’d show me some fossil he found and ask me what kind dinosaur it had been; then listen intently to whatever nonsense I came up with and tell me how smart I was.

Grandpa’s collections can be a never ending source of wonder and marvel.  One particular piece he used to keep leaning against the fireplace I’m sure he actually paid good money for.  When asked, he’d tell me it was a boot protector.  It was a curious creation: a stick with a yoke at one end within which a wooden trowel pivoted up and down.  If my description doesn’t quite paint a picture for you, please don’t feel left out.  Actually seeing the device doesn’t make it any clearer.

The whole point of the gizmo was for you to ask Grandpa just what it protects your boots from.  Where upon he would stand up and demonstrate the utility of the device to anyone mature enough to understand the joke.  It took me years to get it; but I get it now.

There’s nothing pretentious about my Grandpa.  He’s just a simple Okie who staked a claim out on himself and made good.  From his simple beginning as the umpteenth son of a share cropper, he went abroad and saw the suffering that tyranny wrought, and then came home again to raise his family in peace and prosperity.  He ran his own paint and drywall business where he acted as both Owner and Operator and introduced my aunts and uncles to the skilled trades.

As a kid I used to love the way he smelled when he came home from work.  I used to ask for his old painter hats so I could carry that aroma back home with me.  This was an accommodation Grandpa was only too pleased to indulge and on at least one occasion he brought one of his old painter hats to Denver just for me.

A few years ago I figured that Grandpa must have seen a lot in his life: the Great Depression, the Dirty Thirties, a World War, the greatest economic expansion in history, television, microwave ovens, and man on the moon.  I asked what had been the most influential change he’d witnessed.

We were sitting outside and he waved all about him and said “All of this.”  He went on to explain that he grew up never expecting to enjoy the kind of success he had: the cars, the homes, the boats, all of it had been beyond his wildest dreams.  He didn’t have to say that what he enjoyed most was sharing all the good times with us.

He had grown up knowing poverty and; but I honestly think Grandpa would have been just as happy living with less so long as he still had us; and he was glad to see us happy.  So he added onto the house on Amsden giving it many spacious rooms, then converted the garage to a game room, and converted the roof of the carport to a sundeck.  All of this to keep us endlessly entertained; and he loved all the activity.  He loved having a family and raised five spirited children who’ve gone on to make their own mark on the world.

Grandpa never went anywhere he didn’t have friends.  He loved people and would strike up easy conversations everywhere and with anyone.   Growing up I thought he knew everybody and that they knew him.  To me he was the biggest man in town.

He welcomed everyone and if he ever had an enemy I never knew it.  He loved his family and friends; and by extension their families and friends.  It seemed everyone was welcome under his roof.  I know Bess is still grateful for the warm welcome Granny and Grandpa afforded her at their first meeting.  The more the merrier.

At family reunions both he and Granny were their most gracious; and I was proud they were my grandparents.  We kids would be running around enjoying the general mayhem, our parents distracted with the company of their own generation, and Granny and Grandpa visiting with everyone, soaking in the joyful sights and sounds of their large and extended family at play.  I hope they’re proud of us; not just for the many accomplishments; but for how we love each other.  See they gave us that; and perhaps it’s the greatest gift they could have given.

In a way Grandpa is still here, in all of us.  And every time we meet, whether just a few – or us all, his generous spirit is with us.

It’s not possible to count all the lives he touched that are better for having known my grandfather; but like a ripple in a pond his spirit continues to reach out – through us.  No greater legacy can a man leave behind.

I’m not here to say goodbye to my grandfather; but I’m grateful for this opportunity to tell you about so great a man that it’s my privilege to have as my Grandpa.  You see I’m looking forward to someday sitting on his lap again, and help him steer that big ole Lincoln through the streets of heaven.

© E. Stocking Evans 2012