my grandfather. My grandfather died shortly after that but he was old; he was 88. And the doctor went in to see him and he come out and the tears were in his eyes. He said, “I can’t do anything for the poor old man. You know,” he said, “it’s an awful thing to have to say.” And I told that to different people and they said, “Many’s the time we seen him do that in the same circumstances.” He’d just cry because he couldn’t help a person.

And when he died, there was thousands of dollars owed to him on his books and his daughter just threw everything right in the stove; she destroyed everything right away. She didn’t try to collect. But he was that kind he’d go night and day, travel anywhere.

All He’d Want

My grandfather could sing any part; he could sing the tenor or the bass...or anything at all ’cause he could read the notes you know. He could sing high tenor when he was 85 years old. But he didn’t smoke as many cigarettes as I did. He smoked a pipe, yeah, and he chewed. I remember the last year he was living, the teeth weren’t good — if he had any left —but he took a little tiny bit of black twist in his cheek and then he’d lay back there quite contented. That’d be all he’d want.

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