Daddy’s little girl. That’s what my maternal grandfather, Henry, called my mother when she was a child and into her adulthood. They had a very special bond as father and daughter. It is no surprise that her daughter, me, would be treated with similar love and affection. At the end of his work day, a city laborer, he would almost always stop by our house to visit my mother and her brood. I remember many of those visits and loved sitting on his lap while they caught up on the day’s events.
Sadly, Grandpa Henry died on New Year’s Eve the year I turned 5-years old. I distinctly remember the image of my mother sobbing in my father’s arms in the living room as I stood in the dining room watching, not understanding what was going on. Grandpa Henry was only 57-years old and succumbed to pancreatic cancer. His quiet demeanor and stoic persona would be no more. No more lap sitting or fixing of the panes of glass in the hallway french doors (broken by my brothers in their various rough and tumble activities and always completed before my dad got home from work!) or tending the backyard garden. Daddy’s little girls missed him terribly.
Grandpa Henry’s lineage is incredible! His mother arrived with her family from Preuben, Germany in the 1880’s. On his father’s father side, his grandmother was a pure-blood Lenni Lanape Native American, which explains his high cheekbones and shock of straight black hair. Her husband and his relatives fought in the American Revolution and pioneered the outposts of New York State soon after. There isn’t enough room on this page to even begin listing the string of who’s-who on his father’s mother’s side. Among this genetic pool are early Boston colonists and Harvard founders, old royalty of England and Europe, and even some Russian Cossacks for good measure! Henry’s native looks are apparent in his wedding portrait close-up from September 1934.
Avi 