Grandfather Paul

http://www.4shared.com/file/37861921/8b9dc22b/14_feb_2008.html


I once asked Dad to tell me what my Grandfather Paul was like. He described him as a rather stern man, but fair in all of his dealings. I had talked with Mother about her father from time to time over the years, but I had the distinct impression that she and her sisters had placed him on a pedestal, and she described him in rather lofty terms, so I never learned what the man was really like as a person. She told me of his holding church services in Nebish when she was young and how she and her brother and sisters went along to provide the music. Her other descriptions seemed to me to be descriptions of someone who was ready for sainthood, and although it was good that she thought so highly of her father, I don't believe that these descriptions quite portrayed the man.


I have only one memory of my grandfather Paul. I remember seeing him in a bed in a darkened room with a light on near the bed, so I could see his face in the light. I remember his face, which seems to me to have been rather sharp in features. This may have been because he was ill, quite thin, and near death at the time. I remember that he wore gold rimmed glasses and his hair was grey. I remember that he smiled at me and reached out to touch my face.


A couple of years before Mother died, I asked her about this memory of mine. I was convinced that I was remembering a dream and not an actual event. She told me that this really happened. About five or six years ago I asked Dad about the same event. He told me that when my Grandfather was in the hospital in St. Paul, he had asked to see me, his granddaughter. At that time, children were not allowed as visitors in hospitals, so Dad had sneaked me up the back stairs to Grandfather's hospital room. Dad carried me into my Grandfather's room, and Grandfather Paul's face lit up with a smile when he saw me. Dad said that Grandfather had reached out and caressed my face. I was only 16 months old at the time. He died two or three days later on October 14, 1947. I have since thanked God for giving me this one clear memory of my Grandfather Paul.


While researching my Paul ancestors, I have found family stories and letters that indicate that Andrew Paul was a good and honest man, that he had a deep love of family, and that he also possessed a pretty good sense of humor. He had written some accounts of family doings that showed his humorous take on what was happening at the time. These I will share later. He seems to have kept his sense of humor even when terribly ill with a heart condition that caused him to be hospitalized and eventually caused his death. The following poem was written while he was in the hospital. Keep in mind that the year was 1945, before political correctness, and before the end of WWII.


I wish I had known him.

A Day in the Hospital

Doctor, doctor, here am I
Full of aches and pains that cry.
Surgeons Order N.P.B.A.
Local doctor John McKay.

Punch my side and count my pulse
Take my tempo and nothing else.
Room three and 12, bed number one,
Third floor east and the fun's begun.

Five o'clock and a grim faced man,
Slops the water in an ice-cold can.
Shakes the bed and stubs his toe,
Slams the door and makes me sore.

Gentle nurse with cloth and dish
Wash my face and make a wish.
"Soon this sap will be much stronger,
Then I'll have this job no longer."

Six o'clock and all is well
Morning papers with news from hell,
So many Germans and so many Nips
Bite the dust and cease their kicks.

Sorrowing homes and solemn faces
Speak of death and vacant places.
Can the price more precious be
To set a world of mankind free.

Seven AM and here's your tray,
Breakfast served in bed today.
No coffee, no tea and no salt for me,
Light diets are easy for cooks it must be.

Eight o'clock with morning bath;
Roll to this side then to that,
Right foot up and left foot down,
"Turn on the light when you are done."

Turn the mattress and change the sheet,
Toss the pillows and let me sleep.
Weary hours make up the day,
This old bed is my only stay.

Pills and hypos pass the time
Til the clock says "It is nine."
White coats come with solemn tread,
Gaze upon this cuss in bed.

"How are you today" they ask.
Shake your head and say "Alas"
"Good," "Better," "Worse," "Yes," or "No."
It matters not -- on they go.

By many pills and physic fed,
Better than soap and water in bed.
Rest and sleep without a worry
Only to wake and jump in a hurry.

"Orderly Ernest bring the pan,
Shut the door and start the fan."
Poisonous gasses fill the room,
Makes me faint, makes me swoon.

Here's my doctor; he is late,
In a hurry cannot wait.
"How's your ticker, let me see,
Out of here you soon will be."

Eleven o'clock brings Barber Joe,
"Shave Mister, shave Mister, shave Mister so?
Four bits a whisker and may Hitler blister."
And this is the Jew for you.

Twelve o'clock comes none too soon,
Dinner for the common Bob, lunch for the snob,
Looks much the same when served by a dame
On a tin platter with great noise and clatter.

Silently solemnly sadly they wend,
To the door that is marked for MEN.
One shower and three toilets in a row,
The one in the corner is for me I know.

Caution, caution, watch your step.
Don't you know you've lost your pep?
Bath tub may your coffin be
If you slip on soap or knee.

One and couples triple fours,
Come the callers at each door.
"Hi there Johnnie, Hello Jack."
Shake the arm and slap the back.

"Some wise guy you I'll say,
Spending winter in the hay.
What's the trouble with you all?
Haven't seen you since last fall."

Three o'clock and evening papers,
White House scandals and Eleanor's capers.
W.P.B. and O.P.A.
Busy boys indeed are they.

I hear the "grub wagon" down the hall.
Five o'clock and supper for all.
Scraps from the kitchen arranged with tact,
Just to see my stomach react.

Good night nurse and watch with care,
Stoop and hear my evening prayer.
If I am wakeful in the night
Use the hypo, that is right.

Day is done and I'm all in,
My old carcass not worth a pin.
Give me an easier job I pray,
Chopping wood or making hay.

--N.P.B.A. Hospital, Jan. 1945
Andrew J. Paul