Grandpa Jumped Into My Story — Uninvited

Casey Jones jumped right into my story. He became a character without even being asked. I hear him chuckle in the background as he asks, “How ‘bout them apples?”

Now, don’t get me wrong. I love my grandpa, with every bit of my soul. It’s just that he’s never been so assertive type, hopping in like that. He’s always been more mellow and easy-going. Maybe being dead for over forty years does that.

It’s probably my own fault for setting the story in a town where my Grandpa grew up. I was working on a short story that centered around two small cookbooks from 1928. I needed characters and a location. I searched for major events in 1928 for inspiration. I discovered that the first loaf of commercially sliced bread was sold July 7, 1928 in Chillicothe, Missouri. Grandpa grew up in Dawn, a small berg near there, and Uncle Bill still lives in Chillicothe. I had my place.

I created two fictional characters. Luella was the one that loved to be in the kitchen and pore over cookbooks. Her friend Amanda was an energetic flapper. And because the Hall Brothers, in Kansas City, changed their company name to Hallmark that year, I gave Luella a boyfriend that worked there, so I could weave this historical tidbit into the story.

I mapped out the storyline over eight major scenes, so I could use the story for a weekly writing group, and I began writing away. The first three scenes were written and ready to post. One Sunday, the day I was posting the third scene, I talked to my mom. I told her about the newest story and how it was set in Grandpa’s old stomping grounds. “But it’s set in 1928, so he was probably just a young child then.”

Mom contradicted my assumption. “No. He was born in 1908, so he would have been twenty.”

“Twenty? So he would have been driving.” My mind began whirling. “He probably would have gone to Chevrolet Days in Chillicothe that June?” It was a large local event that I’d already planned on having the two girls attend.

“Most definitely. He was a Chevy man. Always was. That’s all he ever drove.”

That did it. Grandpa, as a young man, had to enter the tale. Luella already had a boyfriend. But the flapper didn’t. And Grandpa, with his ever constant soft shoe shuffle that I grew up watching my entire life would have been a perfect cohort to a girl that loved to jitterbug. In the current scene, the girls were in the mercantile, so a customer — Casey Jones –entered and made himself known.

I voiced my concerns to my mom about Grandpa having another girlfriend that wasn’t Grandma. “That’s okay. It was before he met your grandma. He didn’t meet her until several years later. He would have been sowing his wild oats back then.”

I hung up and began revising my scene.

This was fun. It wasn’t what I intended, but I enjoyed bringing Grandpa back to life in a small way in the story. He was only going to be a minor, walk on part, but there he was. Invited or not. I apologized out loud to Grandma, explaining why Grandpa was in the story and she wasn’t. I think she seemed all right with it. Or maybe I just imagined it because I wanted her to be.

About two weeks later, on Sunday morning, the day I post my story snippets, I ended up in a texting-fest with my sister and cousin. I can’t recall if we’ve ever been in a group message, the three of us. Maybe once before, but it’s certainly not a common occurrence. We were chit-chatting about a family reunion that was coming up, and my cousin texted a story about Grandpa — not even knowing that I was working on a story with Grandpa in it. He was driving through town with one arm around a girl. The Constable stopped him. “You’ve got to use two hands, Casey.” Grandpa’s reply was a classic that made it through many years of family history. “But I need one hand to drive with!”

Back to the drawing board I went. I had another scene to work in. Another phone call to mom reported on the newest addition. Mom added her own new tidbit. It was about the time he was running moonshine up from Arkansas. An officer stopped him. When he saw all the hay in the trunk (that Grandpa used to hide the moonshine with), he asked, “What’s all the hay for?” Grandpa’s answer is another family legend. “Why, officer. You feed animals with it.”

A few days later, as I finished writing another unexpected scene, I went to my email to send the lady in the writing group my sentence teaser and my link for that week. As I opened my email, four new messages popped up. One was a new blog post and the first line of the post showed. “The road to hell is paved with good intentions.”

I about fell off my chair.

Now to anyone else, that phrase may not mean much. I think many of us have heard those words through the years, although they don’t seem too common lately. But for me, it was a direction message from Grandma Jones.

When we moved to Toledo in 1969, I was 11 years old. We all had autograph books and I remember getting everyone to sign my autograph book. By everyone, I mean possibly the few friends I had, but mostly family members. Out of everyone that signed my book, there’s only one that I remember to this day. Grandma Jones wrote, in her small cramped writing — The road to hell is paved with good intentions. Grandma Jones.

I may as well put my mom on speed-dial. I had to ring her up. As soon as she answered, words flew out of my mouth. “She’s here too! Your mother is coming to visit too. They’re both in town for the reunion.”

Were their spirits drawn back because of the story? Or was it the family reunion coming up the next week, where the five living siblings would be together for the first time since Grandpa’s funeral in 1976? Or, are they always here with us, just never noticed?

I’d like to think it’s a mix of all three possibilities. Whatever the reason, all I know is that no one will ever convince me that Grandpa wasn’t in my office with me, standing behind my shoulder, watching as I told his stories that he boasted about for so many years. And with the timing of that exact sentence that appeared just moments after I’d finished that part of Grandpa’s hay and moonshine bit, I know that Grandma had joined his side and they’re both still here in my life. Still here. Still loved. Just in spirit and not in body any longer.