Great Vintage Family Stories!

[Foofoogal]

Trying to go with the vintage theme I wondered if anyone have any really great stories passed down to them from family members.
My grandad was born in 1886 and married in 1904.
He passed away in 1972 so I cannot remember all the stories and wish I would of paid attention more but I was a young kid and he was seen as who we got dollars from and always, always gum.
Anyway, he got offered a job in 1927 to go to West Texas to work for an oil company. It was a new frontier then and he basically with a few other people started the town. He said that this was before they put something in the oil to make the gas smell.
Whole families would camp as there was no towns yet but sometimes the gas without the smell would wipe them out. They soon came up with the idea to put or tie donkeys out at an area at night and if the donkeys were alive in the morning then the families could safely build or park there.
I was reminded of this when I saw the ad for the Daniel Day Lewis movie There will be Blood. Has anyone seen it? Would this relate?
These people were hard as steel back then I know.

 

[Big Man]

I've got a lot of old stories ...

Great idea for a thread. Old stories are really interesting, and provide a lot of insight into how life "really was" as opposed to what you see "in the movies".

Here's a funny family story I heard told many times as a child. It took place sometime prior to 1930, as it was before they got electricity at my grandparent's house. The story goes:

My grandparents, along with my dad (who was a baby at the time) and his two older sisters, had been gone somewhere and were returning home after dark. It was in the summer and the windows to the house were open. The windows in the house didn't have window weights like modern windows, but the sash was held up by a "window stick". Well, sometimes while they were gone the family cat jumped up in the window and accidentally knocked the window stick out. BAM ! Down came the window on the poor cat's neck. When the family entered the room and lit the lamp, there was the dead cat "staring" at them with bulged-out eyes. My aunt Sara (probabally about 12 or 14 years old at the time, let out a blood curdling scream.

For as long as I can remember, my aunt was kidded about screaming so when she saw that cat. It was always great fun to joke with her about that, and even today when I pass by that window I always think about that story.

 

[dhermann1]

I have a family "archive" of hundreds of photographs, and literally thousands of photographs dating back to the 1850's. To say the least there are a lot of stories.
My grandparents (see the pic of my granddad fishing with BIG fedora, white shirt and bow tie, on the family photos thread) used to go camping in Quebec in the 1930's. Once they camped in a farmer's orchard, at the bottom of a hill, near a deep brook with a flimsy bridge over it. They woke up to find a whole herd of cows around the tent. This was in the days when cows and bulls were NOT dehorned. My grandfather hopped into their 1930 Franklin and started herding the cows out of the area, while my grandmother cowered in her tent. Suddenly a huge bull, horns and all, stuck his head in her tent. She screamed and the bull ran away. She jumped out of the tent and headed for the brook. When she was half way across the bridge it collapsed, plunging her, in her nightgown, into the stream. After he had chased the cows out of the campground my grandfather fished my very unhappy grandmother out of the drink.
Among the many letters, there is a set written to my great grandmother in Pittsburgh from St Louis during 1861 and 1862, from a young man who died at the age of 20. She kept them her whole life. There are also diaries from the summers of 1915 and 1917, when my grandmother taught at the Grenfell Mission in the farthest reaches of Labrador. If anyone wants to volunteer to be my personal archivist and curator, I'm taking applications.

 

[jayem]

Wonderful thread! I love telling and hearing about family stories.

My Nana was born in 1894 and died in 1998. She grew up in Chicago, and had two twin sisters named Betty and Francis. They would love playing tricks on my Nana. During the day, the girls would love to play Blind Man's Bluff. It's a game where the Blind Man covers his eyes, and the leaders hold his hand and give him directions on where to step, turn, etc. My Nana was the blind man that day. So, Betty and Francis thought it would be hysterical to play a trick on her. Back then in Chicago, there were little to no cars. It was still a majority of horse-drawn wagons and such. If a horse was sick or died in the street, it would be pushed to the side and left there until the owner could come back with a wagon and pick it up. Betty and Francis were leading my Nana around when they told her 'Step to the left'. She Did. 'Step up one foot'. She did. 'Step up the other foot'. She did. 'Guess where you are?'. She didn't know. 'Okay, remove the blindfold!'. Nana was standing atop a dead horse. She screamed and ran all the way home while Betty and Francis nearly died of laughter.

 

[LizzieMaine]

My grandfather led a small dance band in the early thirties -- a six-piece group that played dance halls and the like around Northern New England and Atlantic Canada. Whenever they'd go north of the border, of course, they'd be sure to pick up a supply of the forbidden beverage -- and after a while they came up with a foolproof system for bringing it back without being detected: they'd take along six hot water bottles, and each man would fill one with fine Canadian whiskey, and slip it under his clothes. Once they had their coats buttoned, they just looked a typical group of pot-bellied Americans, and no one was the wiser.

Until the one time when one of the men lost a button off his coat and used a safety pin to replace it -- only to have it pop loose at the worst possible moment, piercing the hot water bottle and sending a very obvious stream of contraband down his leg and onto the floor.

Tales were also told about a cousin with a glass eye. She worked for a while as a practical nurse at the State Prison, and whenever one of the boys would start cutting up rough, she'd sneer at them. "You think yer tough? I'll show ya tough." She'd then pop the eye out of its socket, toss it up in the air, and stick it back in, glaring at them all the while with her good eye. That settled the cons down every time.

 

[Atticus Finch]

Hi Folks,

I can't recall if I've told y'all this story before. Please stop me if I have....

My grandfather, my father and my uncle were in business together during the decade following WWII. In the early fifties, they hired a fellow named Lucious who eventually became so close to our family that I considered him a relative. "Loose", as I called him, was a WWI veteran who had been gassed at some point during the war, leaving him partially disabled. But he was as happy and cheerfull of a person as I have ever met. He loved to sing, and I've always suspected that he is the reason that I love blues as much as I do.

Anyhow, shortly after television came to Eastern North Carolina, my uncle gave Loose a TV. A few weeks later, Dad and Uncle Jule had occasion to drive over to Loose's house late one Saturday evening. When they arrived, there sat Loose, dressed in a sports coat and tie, watching his new television. Dad said, "Lucious, its eleven-thirty. Did you just come back from a party?" "Nope," Loose responded, "I've been here all night." Dad was puzzled. "Then why are you so dressed up?" Loose looked up at Dad and, with a serious expression, said, "Well, Mr. Glenn, its 'cause I want to look decent for all those nice folks on TV."

Untill the day he died, Loose always believed that the people on his television set could see him just as clearly as he could see them.

Atticus

 

[Mojito]

So many family stories! I was close to my Nana, so we have a store of them. Many of them from her days on the big family station in the Blue Mountains, and life in the homestead that developed into a rambling Victorian house.

One cherished family legend goes back to c.1879/1880, when my great grandfather was working in the bush down in Victoria, the North-East corner. He had worked as a shearer before - don't know if that's what he was doing down there. One night a group of three or four bushmen came into his camp and asked to enjoy the fire, camping with him over night.

It was the Kelly Gang.

On the paternal side, I had a great aunt and uncle who were NSW State Charleston Champions in the 20s. My paternal grandfather owned a barbershop in Randwick, and was an SP bookie. He was a mate of all the legends - owners, jockeys etc. When the movie Phar Lap came out, my father recognised many of the characters from his childhood in the 30s/40s. (Phar Lap, for anyone not familiar with the Australian icon, had a story rather similar to that of Seabiscuit, and had a similar effect on the Depression era Australian public). He remembers a ritual he'd go through with Jimmy Pike, the famous jockey who rode Phar Lap to victory in the Melbourne Cup, when Jimmy was getting his hair cut. "What was the greatest horse you ever rode, Jimmy?" Dad would ask. "Well..." Jimmy would say, then reel off a list of greats. It always concluded with "But of course, the greatest horse of all was Phar Lap!" Jimmy liked to claim he was pulling the big red horse up as he was crossing the finish line.

Dad had some great stories from his days in the UK and Oz as a journalist in the 50s and 60s. One story of vintage origin concerned a night in the 50s when he was doing his shift as night editor of one of the major Sydney papers. A bloke walked in - quite pleasant and soft spoken - but Dad was busy. A priest had just been shot, and the papers were on the trail of the story. He was inclined to brush off the man who walked in, until he mentioned the shooting. "Do you have information on it?" asked Dad skeptically. "Yeah...I shot him with this!" the man declared, producing a gun, casually pointing it in Dad's direction. Dad talked to him calmly and he handed the weapon over - it had been his intention to surrender to the paper. Talking to him as they waited for the police to arrive, it turned out he was quite a gentle man, but he had a monomania about Catholic priests, and whenever the conversation turned towards them he'd become very agitated.

 

[Big Man]

... In the early fifties, they hired a fellow named Lucious who eventually became so close to our family that I considered him a relative. ...

The name "Lucious" is not a very common name. One of my aunts dated a boy named Lucious for a while (this was in the late 1950's and early 1960's). I wonder if there could be a relation to the Lucious you knew (possibly a son)?

Any way, not really a "golden era" story, but one that ties in to the Lucious my aunt dated.

My mother's family (Dobson's) had a family reunion about 1963 or so. My aunt Barbara was dating a boy named Lucious at the time and he came to the reunion with her (I believe they were engaged at the time). One of my uncles was a missionary in Africa at the time, and (obviously) not able to be at the reunion and (obviously) was not in the family picture that was made that day.

Well, not too long after that, aunt Barbara and Lucious broke off their engagement, and she ended up marrying another man. My grandfather took the family picture from the reunion and cut out Lucious' head and glued in a picture of my uncle Mac (the one not present for the reunion). He then made copies of the "altered" picture and sent to all the children, asking that they destroy the picture with Lucious.

 

[Atticus Finch]

The name "Lucious" is not a very common name. One of my aunts dated a boy named Lucious for a while (this was in the late 1950's and early 1960's). I wonder if there could be a relation to the Lucious you knew (possibly a son)?

Hi Big Man,

I sort of doubt it. "Loose" was an African-American man who was born at the turn of the last century and grew up in Beaufort. Except for his war-time service in 1917-1918, I don't think that he ever left Carteret County for any extended time. He may have had a child, but if so, Loose never mentioned him---at least not to me or my family.

Atticus

 

[Big Man]

Hi Big Man,

I sort of doubt it. "Loose" was an African-American man ...

Atticus

Not that it would make any difference today, but in 1963 if my aunt were dating an African-American - well, let's just say they wouldn't have been at the family reunion.

Still, the name "Lucious" is not that common (your mention of it is the only one I ever heard outside of my aunt's boyfriend). So, who knows? Maybe old Loose had a child HE didn't want to talk about ...

Just wait till I tell this story to my aunt Barbara.

 

[dhermann1]

It was the Kelly Gang.

You're gonna have to explain who the Kelly Gang was to us Northern Hemispherians. I assume the name was synonymous with Dillinger or Bonnie and Clyde?

 

[dhermann1]

Speaking of thoroughbreds

My grandfathjer was a jockey in the 1910's and 1920's. When my mom was 4 years old, in 1924, he took her into the barns at Belmont Park, in New York, and put her up on the back of Zev, the 1923 Kentucky Derby winner. He told her "Well, daught (short for daughter), now you can always say you've ridden a Derby winner!"

 

[Fletch]

You're gonna have to explain who the Kelly Gang was to us Northern Hemispherians. I assume the name was synonymous with Dillinger or Bonnie and Clyde?

Closer to the James gang - 1880s horse-mounted bandits. Ned Kelly is famous for meeting his end in a homemade suit of armor.

 

[Josephine]

I only really have stories about my dad, and that was in the late 40's, early 50's. The gang would build a fire, thrust an iron pipe vertically in it, then drop empty aerosol cans down the pipe ...

Oh, my Grandmama was the first woman on the moon.

ok, not really, but some of the stories she liked to tell about herself were almost on par with that!

 

[LizzieMaine]

I only really have stories about my dad, and that was in the late 40's, early 50's. The gang would build a fire, thrust an iron pipe vertically in it, then drop empty aerosol cans down the pipe ...

Your dad would have got along swell with my uncle, who used to bring home odd rolls of nitrate movie film from the theatre where he worked, and use them to light the stove. Apparently pyromania was a common thing in the Golden Era!

 

[Josephine]

Your dad would have got along swell with my uncle, who used to bring home odd rolls of nitrate movie film from the theatre where he worked, and use them to light the stove. Apparently pyromania was a common thing in the Golden Era!

I think so! Another tale was that he was kicking around a gas can one day when it exploded! My uncle was there/close by, and was able to tackle my dad and put the flames out. But a bit above each ankle the skin was burned so badly that the hair follicles were irrevocably damaged, and he had a bare ring of skin there for the rest of his life. You'd never guess this from seeing him when he was older, a respected Naval officer, pilot, and hard ass dad:

 

[Big Man]

*** Bump ***

This looks like a thread that needs reviving.

I remember a story my Dad told often. When he was a boy in the 1930's, he had a much older cousin who ran a place called "Lakeside" on the shores of Lake James in Nebo. The place had several little cabins and a larger building where you could get a meal as did so many of the "tourist courts" or "motels" of the day. Downstairs in the big building was a "dance hall".

My Dad said that his cousin would let him drive his car to go get supplies for the business. My Dad, who loved to drive, took full advantage of this opportunity and drove for his cousin as much as possible. This was, of course, before my Dad was old enough to have a driver's license (he was about 13 or 14 at the time), so that made it all the more fun.

The most interesting part of this story, however, was when my Dad realized a number of years later that his cousin was really running a bootleg joint, and that he had my Dad making illegal liquor runs for him. Dad said he lived a "sheltered life" and that, at the time, it never dawned on him that there was anything going on. I'm not really sure I believe that part of his story ...

 

[kyda]

I spent a great deal of time with my paternal grandparents and the one story I always remember is, my Pop and a mate of his were making home brew in a shanty shed and they had been doing this for about a year, and well on this one occasion they must have done something wrong and blew the shed apart.

This one is one my grandfather told me ( this is the only time he ever mentioned the war, and I would not even be able to guess where he was). He was in a POW camp and it was run by the Japanese and they had a guy there that was good with radio's who had smuggled in a camera. Well they managed to con a Japanese solider into giving them radio parts for what little rations they had, this one day a animal had wandered into the camp and managed to get stuck underneath the hut and well they somehow got photo's of this Japanese solider getting the animal out and trading it ( the animal was deceased at this point) for radio parts.

 

[dhermann1]

This is a next door neighbor story, I hope that's OK.
I grew up in Chautauqua NY, home of the famous Chautauqua Institution. In the summer of 1924 Chautauqua had as a guest for most of the summer the great George Gershwin. He was artist in residence (I think he was 26 at the time), and he spent most of the summer composing his great Concerto in F. The concerto is less well known than Rhapsody in Blue, but I like it better.
Anyhow, my old next door neighbor was just 16 that summer. She told me how he would spend hours and hours in the parlor of his boarding house, playing the piano for whatever kids happened to show up at the time. He did this at parties as well. Anyhow, my old neighbor spent a summer standing next to the old parlor piano while Gershwin pounded away.

 

[Big Man]

Growing up, I heard this story told many times:

My great uncle, Briscoe Brown, lived in California. When the Lewis/Schmelling re-match took place in 1938, my great uncle traveled across country just to watch the fight. As the story was told, my great uncle said that he got up from his seat just before the fight began to go to the bathroom, and when he returned the fight was over (Lewis knocked out Schmelling in just over a minute into the fight).

My great uncle must have been a good sport about this, as it was said he told the story on himself often. I don't know if I would have been that way. Just think about traveling all the way across the country and then missing the fight because you were in the bathroom.