As I record the facts and details of my ancestors' lives, I can't help but think about how these long-gone individuals were loved and remembered in their lifetimes by their children and grandchildren. They were real, living, breathing, thinking, feeling people who passed their DNA - and their character - to me through succeeding generations.
I had the great fortune to know my father's grandparents and to be close to a large extended family of aunts, uncles, and cousins. My father's family were/are born storytellers... family gatherings tend to be filled with laughter as we repeat stories of our most eccentric or wayward family members. As a child, I loved them all and thought of all of these characters quite fondly. It wasn't until I was older that I was aware of the darker side of some of these stories.
I would like to leave a sense of certain ones for posterity, in no particular order...
Jacqueline Delmar Abbott Zaun (paternal grandmother)
My Mamaw.... She clung to family, her lifeline. She loved her Richmond family and stayed close to them to the end, even though she lived all her adult life in Virginia Beach near her children and grandchildren. She was lots of fun to be around, and had no trouble relating to her grandchildren and their friends. She was close to her great-grandchildren as well. She was the classic redhead, a little spitfire, spunky, sassy, and a flirt with men of all ages... but she was always classy. She kept up her appearance faithfully. She got up early every single morning, made her bed, dressed up, donned her stockings and jewelry, and was ready for whatever the day would bring. She had a simple life, with few material possessions, but elegant taste in decor and furnishings. She read voraciously, and that was the way that she became educated - her formal education only went through the 9th grade. After her husband Ernie died tragically at the age of 47, she went to work at the lingerie counter at Ames & Brownley Department store. She had some troubles with suitors in pursuit of her husband's insurance money. My father had to throw one fellow out of the house by the scruff of his neck. She eventually became an alcoholic and caused a lot of trouble for her adult children. At her lowest point, she decided to turn that around. She gave up drinking, and never went back to it. But she never got over Ernie's death. They had adored each other, and she never remarried. She lived with her daughter in a converted attic apartment for a time, and then moved to The Mayflower apartments at the Virginia Beach oceanfront. She was a library assistant, a fixture at the front desk of the 22nd Street Library for 19 years. She was an avid game player, especially Bingo and Scrabble. I visited her at least weekly to play Scrabble or take a stroll on the Boardwalk. We have many stories about her - like the time she pulled up her shirt at the Thanksgiving dinner table, her ruthless Scrabble playing (I don't have much - I'll just play this "itty bitty" word - and it would be like 77 points), and the "damn dishes" (She was a shameless Indian-giver). She adored her son Bev - he could do no wrong - but was more demanding and critical of her daughter, Gail. When Bev died, she followed six months later....died in her sleep at age 87, looking beautiful and peaceful after a lifetime of drinking, smoking, and general naughtiness. Sure she was flawed, but there are many ways I want to be like her.
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| Ernie and Jack Zaun off to a New Year's Party |
Horace Calvin Crofford (maternal grandfather)
Baba (pronounced
buh-bah)... he was a big man, but there could be no gentler soul. He deeply loved his family and was devoted to his wife, Teresa. They were never financially affluent, but their needs were few. I remember walking hand in hand with him around the block at their 35th Street home in Norfolk, ending up at the corner drugstore to get a nickel ice cream cone. He always had Lifesavers for me in church. He loved to talk about his younger days in the Black Hills of Wyoming. He tapped his feet as he sang songs of The Old West, and played his mouth harp or harmonica. He loved maps - he had a drawer full of fold-up maps which he would pull out and talk about the places in the stories he told. He loved rocks and fossils - he told about Barnum Brown, the famous paleontologist who discovered T-Rex bones on or near his father's ranch. He especially loved to talk about horses (as I wrote about in a previous post). He once brought me a rusty bridle bit that he found on one of his trips to see his Wyoming family. (My dad sanded and spray painted it silver and I still treasure it). I remember him having a jar of "hoarhound" candy on the sideboard which I thought was the most disgusting flavor on earth. After Teresa died, he moved in with our family for a time, sleeping on a fold out bed in our family room. He moved to a dingy apartment in Ingleside where he lived only a brief time before he died in his sleep of a heart attack.
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| Baba and Me |
Herman Lukhard (paternal great-uncle)
Uncle Herman was not related to me by blood, but he was a powerful and influential man, truly a figurehead in every sense of the word. He has been gone for years, but his influence in the family remains. He was a Character with a capital C! I especially see glimpses of him in my cousin David now and then. I wrote about him in a previous post, but will include some personal memories of him here. I remember him as a highly energetic, driven man, with a quick wit and ability to see humor in most any situation. We'd do almost anything to make him laugh, but we feared his ire. He was controlling and impatient. If things didn't go the way he thought they should,
everyone was sorry. We'd say we're sorry, and he would agree, "yes, you're the sorriest thing I ever saw!" One time, when I was sixteen, my cousins and I wanted to go to 7-11 (by miles of narrow, winding country road) in a car that he bought for his daughter Teeny. We trudged across the wide field up to the main house to ask Uncle Herman's permission for me to drive the car. He made us go all the way back to get my driver's license and show it to him. Once, Robin and I rode with him ahead of everyone else to the "rivah" house. She and I were shooting pool in the sunroom and listening to my new Ray Stevens album (
Everything is Beautiful), while he was busy in the kitchen, running in and out of the house getting stuff from the car. Robin and I heard what sounded like a waterfall. Curious, we went to the kitchen and found it flooded, with an waterfall gushing down the stairs into the garage. Uncle Herman had put a mess of green beans in the sink, turned the water on to rinse them, and forgot about it. When he saw the flood, it was not a pretty scene. We helped him clean it up without talking much. A short time later, we heard the sound again. We ran to the kitchen and it was flooded again! This time, he had put frozen chicken in the sink to thaw. The water was still running and flowed down the steps into the garage. This time, we were frantic to clean it up before he came back in, but it wasn't easy as we were doubled over with laughter. We told Aunt Miriam about it later, but he was not amused. Robin knew, but I didn't know, that Herman had a problem with alcohol and things like that happened with him. There were those moments, but he was a beloved Adult Class Sunday School teacher for many years. I remember visiting his class at the church in Richmond when I was in college, and I thought he was such a commanding presence in front of that large class. People were in awe of him and entertained by his humor. In the midst of a heated discussion, I raised my hand timidly- he ordered everyone else to be quiet and "let the youth speak!" Most of all Uncle Herman loved the land, owning homes and property all over the state. He loved boats - at the "rivah" house, he had a yacht, a pontoon boat, and several row boats. Boat rides out on the Potomac and the Rappahannock are some of my fondest memories from childhood. Uncle Herman had a running battle with his horse, a huge pinto Tennessee Walker named Champ. Champ was as controlling and stubborn as his owner and they just rubbed each other the wrong way. Uncle Herman never went into the barn without a broom to fend off attacks and we could hear him yelling from a distance. Things were NEVER dull around Uncle Herman, that's for sure.
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| Teeny, Herman, and Miriam on a visit to Va. Beach |
George Wright Abbott (paternal great-grandfather)
Gramp... he died when I was only five, but I do have an impression of a man who was unconditionally loving and maybe a little frumpy (?). He was adored by his three daughters, and they were devastated when he died. I think my dad would have been a lot like him if he had lived longer.
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| Ar Newport Avenue in Norfolk for Gail's wedding |
Teresa Allen Crofford (maternal grandmother)
Nanno... she died of breast cancer when I was only 12. I remember her as an endlessly patient grandmother, playing dominoes with me on a card table in her living room, and even playing "pretend" with a set of plastic horses and cowboys. She always had a fresh-baked lemon pound cake on a small table at the entrance to her kitchen. She also always had a jar of lemon drop candy. She would make the most amazing cinnamon and butter toast for breakfast. Her home and her clothes had a distinct smell, which lingers clearly in my memory to this day. I would spend the night with her, along with my cousin Ronney, or my sister and cousin Cindy would spend the night with her. For safety, because of the steep wooden stairs, she would lock our bedroom door from the outside at night, but she would leave two jars on the windowsill, one for drinking and one for peeing. We always feared we would mix them up. I spent a lot of time in church with her, at Tidewater Central Church of the Nazarene. She was a respected Bible teacher and compassionate "do-gooder." During church services, she would get caught up in the spirit and cry out, waving her hands in the air and sometimes running up the aisle. That was just normal to me. I remember her cleaning up my plate after a steak dinner, eating all the fat that I cut off my meat. I remember her saving aluminum foil to use again, and saving bread bags. She wasted nothing. The Depression did that to people.
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Anniversary party at 37th Street in Norfolk.
The doorjamb visible behind her in the picture is the one
where our height was marked every year. |
Helen Shelton (paternal great aunt)
"Aunt" Helen... she was my father's aunt, but the relationship has proven to be complicated from what I have learned in my research. She stayed with my dad's family in their tiny apartment in Norfolk as a teenager due to an unhappy home life (i.e. stepmother), sharing a bed with my dad who was still a young child. She and my dad remained very close. After Helen married, she lived in Richmond with her beloved "Dickie" but visited us often. She was beautiful inside and out. She resembled Elizabeth Taylor in looks, exuding sweetness, humility, and love. I remember her with much affection. It was quite a shock to find out that her father Earl was born 3 years before his (supposed) father married his mother. As I said, it's complicated.
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I am sitting on Aunt Helen's lap at the house on Witchduck Road
with Mamaw and my dad. |
John Adam Zaun (paternal great grandfather)
Poppoo.... my oldest son is his namesake. We made the pilgrimage to Richmond a couple of times a year to visit my great grandparents in their tiny house on Penick Road (see previous post "Our Women"). He died when I was 15, so I did not have a deep relationship with him, but I remember him fondly. He was always sitting in his big easy chair puffing on his pipe, his gnarled fingers caressing the wooden lid of his tobacco jar. I loved the smell, and I absolutely cherish the possession of his tobacco jar with the worn-smooth lid and the smaller jar for his matches. It still smells of his tobacco.
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| In the yard at Penick Road. |
Ernest Earl Zaun (paternal grandfather)
Pampaw. This man is remembered as a wonderful man by everyone who knew him. He died of complications from a botched gall bladder surgery at age 47 - I was only 4 1/2. But I have distinct memories of him. I recall sitting in his lap in the big green recliner in the den of his Witchduck Road house. He would put a bandage on one finger of each hand and do the "Fly Away Jack, Fly Away Jill" trick that would have me completely mystified. I remember walking around the yard holding his hand as he explained about every plant and tree in the yard. He was one who told me that crabapples were not actually good to eat. I can almost hear his words in my head. I recall clearly the brand of peanut butter I had at their house when I was little, and I remember the flavor of their toothpaste. The sheets that are on my bed right now remind me of the pattern of his pajamas - it's the reason I bought them. Strong associations! I remember him telling me a story about tying a string to his big toe while he slept so that he could rock my father's cradle without getting up. He was a football coach and Boy Scout leader to countless boys - now old men who still talk about him reverently. He was a bookkeeper at Dalton and Bundy Lumberyard in Norfolk. I still have his leather covered measuring tape. I have never heard a negative word spoken about him.
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| Mom sitting in Pampaw's recliner in the den at Witchduck Road. |
Georgia Powell Zaun (paternal great grandmother)
Nannie... I have already written quite a bit about her so I will be brief here. She is the one who got me started on my family tree. From her bed, she told me everything about her family that she could remember and I wrote it all down. I was barely in my teens! So happy I did that. She was a quiet, but loving person. I know her best through the letters she wrote to me and to my dad when he was little.
This is probably not a finished post.... check back later! And to repeat myself, I covet your comments on any of these posts. If you have a story to add to what I have written, please share it in the comments below!
