My Grandpa, William E. Reid Jr.

https://armerfuneralhome.com/william-e-reid-jr

My Grandfather died last Friday. He was a great man to his little community as fire chief and plant manager of Stewart’s Dairy. I have some childish memories of his retirement party in 1988–the backyard, the laughter, the big cake, his friends. He loved to tell his stories, and I grew up hearing about his early days in Fort Plain, NY and his life as a young man—how he was called up to go to Korea with the Army but evaded the draft by joining the Air Force instead. He was a shrewd man. He told us about the ship with its cramped quarters, about getting to Japan, and about coming home again under the Golden Gate Bridge. He told us about going to Cornell on the G.I. Bill and about meeting Grandma.

But I knew him as a Grandpa. He loved being a Grandpa. He had little rituals like saying “oogly oogly!” and “Number 1 granddaughter!” (That one was entirely because I was the first granddaughter. He had to stop that when there were more of us!) He would show us his foot with only four toes, and when I stayed overnight, he would let me watch him “take out his teeth.” I remember how he would grip his dentures and pretend to pull and strain, and suddenly—pop! He would give me a big snaggly smile and smack his lips, and then drop his teeth into the fizz. 

I remember following Grandpa around the yard to do little jobs like feeding the ducks and watering the garden. He had extensive gardens and it was all very ordered. He also knew how to relax—holidays were always special. Grandpa would carve up whatever Grandma had roasted and give us children little nibbles ahead of time. I can see him dancing in the kitchen with a goofy little smirk on his face and a twinkle in his eye. But regular dinners at Grandma and Grandpa’s were special, too. We would eat around the kitchen table with cigarette smoke and milky tea. I never minded the smell of cigarettes because it reminded me of Grandpa. 

He quit smoking around 1990 and we were very thankful. It was probably a hard thing to do, but like most things in life, Grandpa could do whatever he put his mind to. November of 1997 would mark he and Grandma’s fortieth wedding anniversary, and Aunt Melanie convinced everyone that we should celebrate big.  You never know if you’re going to make it to 50, especially when you’ve been a smoker for so many years. We had a big surprise party in the hall of the Catholic church just down the road from their house, with dinner and dancing and my first taste of champagne. Mom ordered engraved invitations with Grandma and Grandpa’s wedding picture on it. There were fresh flower centerpieces and personalized favors. Grandma’s wedding dress was on display and their original cake topper was on the cake. It was a night to remember. 

I was 13 at that fortieth anniversary party. A couple of years later, when I was getting close to driving age, Grandpa decided to take me out in the woods on his four-wheeler to practice. This is one of my favorite memories of Grandpa!  For some people, learning to drive comes naturally; I was not one of those people. We started out in the backyard with me in front of the controls and Grandpa sitting behind me. In order to get to trails in the woods, you have to drive up a fairly steep hill. I was approaching this hill timidly and slowing as we started the ascent, so Grandpa urged me to “Give it some gas!” Oh, ok! I pressed the gas button all the way down, and with that sudden application of torque, the vehicle immediately began to flip. In that moment, it felt like slow-motion as I held on to the handle of the four-wheeler and managed to land beside it instead of underneath it. I looked back and Grandpa was on his back-end in the dry leaves with a huge shocked smile on his face. Thankfully he didn’t give up on me in that moment, and we mounted back up. I think of this story every time I drive the hills of San Francisco—steady gas!

There are many good stories to tell, like when he took me out a few months later to practice driving on his truck and I scared him silly again. We grandchildren each have our own special memories and we have sweet shared memories, too, like the Christmases we were together. Christmas was always so big and happy. Grandma and Grandpa were very thoughtful and very generous. 

Grandpa was also generous with his advice. He had a whole document put together consisting of his thoughts about life. It was stuff like “There’s no such thing as a free lunch” and “Get a B.S. degree because B.A. degrees are worthless.” He taught us to be proud that we were Reids.

In the Lord’s kindness, Grandma and Grandpa DID make it to their fiftieth wedding anniversary, and we celebrated with a family picnic and a replica of their wedding cake in the backyard. They made it to all their grandchildren’s high school graduations, and later to many of their their college graduations, driving eight hours to Pennsylvania to watch me receive my B.S. degree. Graduations gave way to weddings and soon we were placing baby after baby on his lap to meet their great-grandpa. There are 14 great-grandchildren now, and Grandpa loved giggling with them all.

Grandma and Grandpa even made it to their sixtieth wedding anniversary. We gathered at the Chez Pierre three years ago to celebrate together. Yes, they had 63 years of marriage altogether. His later years were not without difficulties and some serious health scares; he recovered from a fall off the carport and even came through an aortic aneurysm just fine. It was COVID pneumonia that he couldn’t beat. 

We mourn him and we will miss him. I’m not jealous for more time with him as much as I am overwhelmed with thankfulness for all the time we were given. For me, the real tragedy is that he never wanted anything to do with his Maker. Life was always about him. “Life is what you make it.” “I did it my way.”

We do not know how the Spirit may have ministered to his soul in his last days; perhaps the words of truth which my dad and others tried so desperately to bring to him, shouted through PPE to his half-awake mind, may have germinated into real faith in his dying hours. We cannot know. If we see Grandpa in heaven, it will be all grace, all grace from a God Grandpa didn’t care for. Then again, the only way any of us will get there is through that same grace. Wouldn’t an eleventh hour conversion glorify Christ? We trust that the Maker will do right. He who has defined right will always do it.