John Blagg
Whenever I kissed him, his stiff white whiskers would tickle my chin. He always smelled like Redman and beer, I loved that smell. Grandpa liked to chew and drink, it made him happy. He was my hero. I was 4 years old and he, my great grandpa Blagg was 80. We would sit and watch TV and when some cute lady would appear on some commercial, Grandpa would say, "boy isn't she pretty?" as soon as I would agree, he would say, "ya pretty ugly!" and I'd roll in his arms in laughter! I never tired of his jokes. "Guess what Johnny," he'd say. "What?" I'd ask. "That's what!" He'd snap. I thought he was the funniest man alive!
My mom and dad would drive us up north to go camping and we'd sit in the back seat. I would wait in anticipation, watching Grandpa Blagg close. He would glance at me and smile. He knew what I wanted. He'd pull the wad of chew out of his mouth and put it back into his pouch. Then he would reach into his pocket and pull out a rolled up, red handkerchief. As he unrolled it, his shinny harmonica would drop out into his hand, and I would squeal with excitement. "What would you like to hear Johnny?" He'd ask. "Hard Rock Candy Mountain!" I'd cheer. As he'd play I'd watch his face. His eyes closed as he blew on the harmonica. The music would make me happy. I guess I was always happy when I was with my Grandpa Blagg. After a while he'd take the harmonica from his mouth and begin to sing, "with the buzzin of the bees and the cigarette trees, the soda water fountain. The lemonade springs and the blue bird sings on hard rock candy mountain!" I loved that song, it was about an old bum who goes to bum heaven where the jails are made of tin, and you never have to wear your socks. Grandpa loved that song to, He was a bum once. A proud bum, but a bum just the same. I never really understood it, I just knew Grandpa Blagg had been everywhere and seen everything. He'd been to Hobokin, and to Bowry, from the east coast to the west! He rode the rails all over America. Traveling made Grandpa happy. He would come home just long enough to make a few dollars and then he'd be out on the road again. He had an urge to wander.
I remember later I didn't get to see him as often. When he'd come over to our house, mom would sometimes get mad at him when he'd spill his spit can on the floor. Sometimes when he was done watching TV he would turn the brightness all the way down and go to bed with the sound just blaring. Mom would have to get up and turn the TV off. You see grandpa couldn't hear anymore. He didn't play his harmonica anymore either, but that was OK I still like sitting with him.
Grandpa stubbed his toe in the bath tub one day, he got gangrene and they had to cut his leg off. (I don't know if that's how it really happened but that's how I remember it.) Grandpa like to be called Peg Leg John. I saw even less in those days. He stayed in bed most of the time. That was OK I still like going to see him. I remember the empty beer cans lined up on the night stand next to his bed, and he kept his spit can near by on the floor. I think he cut down on his smoking though. Grandpa liked to smoke Lucky Strikes, it made him happy. He still had a sparkle in his eyes, I can remember it, I remember his eyes. They looked huge behind his thick glasses, Big and blue, and they would still shine.
I remember my dad saying, "I can't believe he'd do that!" I could tell dad was mad, and scared. It seems on that dark, cold night Grandpa got himself out of bed, got his crutch and left. He made his way out of the house and into the woods out back. Grandpa loved the woods, they made him happy. He was gone for over an hour before they found him. They said he almost froze to death. I remember everyone wondering why Grandpa would do that, I knew why, Grandpa liked to wander.
I don't remember much after that, only a few conversations between mom and dad about Grandpa's health, which was never good. I remember going to the hospital to see him and watching mom clip grandpa's toe nails. Mom loved Grandpa Blagg. They would buy me a pop and I would sit next to Grandpa's bed and look out the window. A ways off I could see a small pond, I wished Grandpa and me could go fishing there, He liked to fish.
I remember Grandpa's funeral. Children always remember funerals. In lives that are so routine, so planned, funerals stick out. They are unexpected, and I guess a little exciting. As we sat in the quiet chapel, the smell of sweet flowers was strong. I remember my dad glaring at me with his most serious look after I had loudly crunched on a jaw breaker that some well meaning adult had given me. I remember everyone was so sad. But I knew Grandpa knew Jesus. I knew that and I wasn't sad. Grandpa was finally on Hard Rock Candy Mountain, and that made him happy.