Raymond Stanley Hill was my maternal grandfather and my hero. I idolized this much beloved old fellow Every time my Grandpa entered or left a room I could smell his signature scent. It lingered in the air. It was a odd mix of High Karate cologne, sweat, tobacco, and sawdust. His skin was leather like and rough and his hands were hard and calloused. Grandpa had a firm handshake and his fingers were slightly yellowed from decades of smoking Salem Menthol cigarettes. He was a beekeeper, gardener extraordinaire, farm hand, truck driver, paper mill retiree' and WWII Veteran. Sargent first class, USA, Army all the way. Often times, I'd find my grandpa toiling away the day in his small woodshed that sat off to the side of house that he shared with my Grandmother. I would sit in their for what seemed like hours, just watching him. He'd carefully measure, sand and piece together his beautiful wooden creation's. He took pride and pleasure in making little wooden doll beds and chairs and such for many of his grandchildren.
My grandfather was born in 1918 in Vinton County Ohio and grew up on a farm in the area. He had eight siblings and from his sister's perspective he was, shall we say, a handful?
My Grandfather's older sister Melba Hill Winland recalled by memory some event's regarding her elder brother's precocious antic's. I almost feel sorry for my great aunt as it seems her older brother was a hoot a holler and a handful. Now I know where my own grandchildren get their spunk from.
ALL WET:
We had a big pond down below the barn. We would go wading around the edge. Ralph, Raymond and I decide to go wading. Raymond fell in the pond and got all wet. That ended wading in the pond.
SOAKING WET:
Pop was working away from home, so Mom, Kenneth, and Ham went to the barn to do the work. They left me at the house to watch Raymond and Ralph. Mom had washed that day. She heated the wash water in the boiler. When she had returned from the barn, she took the wash water out on the porch and pushed it back under a table. My brother Raymond came up missing. I found him in the wash water. That scared me, so I ran to the barn to get mom. She came running into the house and found him standing up in wash boiler soaking wet.
BOYS WILL BE BOYS:
One day Pop was doing something in the Kitchen and we were all in there watching him. Ralph and Raymond decided to swing on the table. We had an extra leaf in the table that did not fit tight. The boys were swinging from the table leaf and Ralph decided that he did not want to swing anymore, so he let go. Raymond swung under the table, the table leaf flew up and all of the dishes broke. Raymond got his head cut.
STEAM ENGINE BUST:
One-time Berthy Short came to stay with us for a while. She had a little boy named Jimmy. Jimmy, Raymond, and Ralph were about the same age. One day we could not find the boys. Bertha said she would go up to the barn (to try and find them). Pop had an old steam engine in the barnyard. When she came past that engine, she heard them crying. She discovered where they were. They had opened the door from the outside, crawled in and shut the door. They discovered that the door was latched, and they could not get out. I imagined Bertha dusted them off good.
Thanks, Aunt Melby for the memories.
Thanks, Aunt Melby for the memories.
I look at my grandfather as a survivor. He was born in 1918 during a hard cold Oho winter. According to Ohio Weather History, there was a blizzard that hit Ohio that year and around January 10th the fierce storm blew in. The weather that winter was described as long cold and hardy. by the day of my grandfather's birth on the 28th, there was still 3 feet of snow left on the ground and the temperature was a balmy 37 degrees. I don't recall my grandfather ever being bothered by the weather. Knowing my grandfather and his life story, I think we can appropriately call him a robust survivor of many of life's storms.
My grandfather signed up for a one year tour of duty in the US Army. He entered the service as a naïve, some what innocent but extremely ornery farm boy and left a seasoned combat veteran. Private Hill was 23 when he volunteered for duty. While he was serving out his 365 day stay the government mandated that he extend his tour for another 3 years. WWII was ending and Grandpa separated from his duty, he was a 27 year old married man, Father of a two year old little girl named Barbara Ann, my mother, and a seasoned combat Veteran of WWII. This hardy young man worked his way up to Tech Sargent 4th class. During his tour of duty, he became an Army lineman, laying telephone and telegraph wire. He was a mechanic and driver for his CO and during his last and most difficult year of his tour, he was a gunner in the Pacific Theater running air to ground defense.
In his final year of service to Uncle Sam, my grandfather experienced the reality of war and it changed him. To quote a favorite line from the TV show M.A.S.H. , Hawkeye Pierce says "War isn't Hell, War is War and Hell is Hell and of the two war is a lot worse.: Hawkeye goes on to say that their are no innocent bystanders in Hell, War is chocked full of them" Every time I watch that episode of M.A.S.H. and hear Alan Alda's character utter these words, I cringe and I weep. I weep for the pain and suffering that combat veteran's face on a daily basis. I weep for my Grandfather because, I believe war changed him. The man that was young and naive never spoke about his time of service to our country. He refused to discuss anything related to his time in The Pacific Theater or WWII with his children
I had one conversation with with my grandfather regarding The American Flag. . I was walking hand in hand with my grandfather in downtown Lancaster, Ohio. We were searching for a place to watch the local 4th of July parade. The parade was held on a typical Midwestern Ohio day. It was hot, humid . The eastern sun was ascending it's position high in the sky. We soon found our spot. Just under a shade tree, The tree gave us a few brief minutes of respite from the heat and a great vantage point to watch the oncoming festivities. I remember my grandfather hoisted me upon his shoulder's so that I could see the oncoming parade. During the parade, a group of men passed by. Marching along with precision in their steps. Military volunteers, Veterna's much like my grandfather. . Each of the men held a flag that represented an individual branch of the service. One man was carrying The American Flag. . I remember my grandpa placing his hand upon his heart as the flag bearer passed us by.
I cautiously asked him why he placed his hand on his heart. His Answer was this "The American Flag stand's for freedom. Men went to war to protect our country so that you can be free and safe to live your life. Never disrespect the flag. It was during that parade that I saw someone drop their little American Flag and step one it. I became really angry about that. I respected my elder grandfather and if he said to respect something, he meant it. My grandfather gently reminded me that when men sign up for the service they did so knowing that everyone would have a right to an opinion. Even those folks who choose to disrespect our flag. It's called freedom. My Grandfather never again spoke about his time away from home.
The kind and loving man that went away to serve his country, came home hard, cold and distant. While he never officially received a diagnosis of Post traumatic stress disorder, hindsight tells me different.. It was really hard to grow up as Raymond's child. Extremely rough. Sometimes I would watch my grandfather interact with his children, He could be cold and distant. Extremely combative, argumentative and harsh. He hated anything to do with religion and he expected you to tow the line. He forbade any talk about any war. My grandfather expected his children to tow the line and If they didn't they truly felt his wrath.
I often wonder, if he had not entered the war, would that have made a difference in the way he chose to parent his children? By the time his children's children came along he had mellowed a little and to me, he was kind, gentle and ornery. I could see flashes of that young precocious farm hand that climbed into steam engines and fell into farm pond's.
I looked forward to spending weekend's with my grandparents. On Friday nights my grandpa would drive from Baltimore, Ohio where he worked, crossing many a country mile, to my home in the countryside of Carroll, Ohio He would still be in his work clothes, dirty and sweaty from a hard grinding shift at the local paper mill. He'd scoop me up and grab my suitcase and off we'd go. He'd place me in his truck and we would drive to New Salem, Ohio, where He lived with my Grandmother. Along the way we would stop at a little country store just inside of New Salem and he'd by 1/2 a gallon of chocolate chip ice cream for him and a 1/2 a gallon of mint chocolate chip ice-cream for me. Then we'd sneak our treat into the house and hide it in the freezer. My grandmother was a diabetic so we had to keep it on "down low". After Grandma went up to bed my grandpa and I would scoop up a delicious bowl of ice cream and pig out to our hearts content. Not really saying anything to each other but instead just hanging out. My happy place was wherever that man was. was one of the few safe, warm and comfortable places imaginable.
My grandfather signed up for a one year tour of duty in the US Army. He entered the service as a naïve, some what innocent but extremely ornery farm boy and left a seasoned combat veteran. Private Hill was 23 when he volunteered for duty. While he was serving out his 365 day stay the government mandated that he extend his tour for another 3 years. WWII was ending and Grandpa separated from his duty, he was a 27 year old married man, Father of a two year old little girl named Barbara Ann, my mother, and a seasoned combat Veteran of WWII. This hardy young man worked his way up to Tech Sargent 4th class. During his tour of duty, he became an Army lineman, laying telephone and telegraph wire. He was a mechanic and driver for his CO and during his last and most difficult year of his tour, he was a gunner in the Pacific Theater running air to ground defense.
In his final year of service to Uncle Sam, my grandfather experienced the reality of war and it changed him. To quote a favorite line from the TV show M.A.S.H. , Hawkeye Pierce says "War isn't Hell, War is War and Hell is Hell and of the two war is a lot worse.: Hawkeye goes on to say that their are no innocent bystanders in Hell, War is chocked full of them" Every time I watch that episode of M.A.S.H. and hear Alan Alda's character utter these words, I cringe and I weep. I weep for the pain and suffering that combat veteran's face on a daily basis. I weep for my Grandfather because, I believe war changed him. The man that was young and naive never spoke about his time of service to our country. He refused to discuss anything related to his time in The Pacific Theater or WWII with his children
I had one conversation with with my grandfather regarding The American Flag. . I was walking hand in hand with my grandfather in downtown Lancaster, Ohio. We were searching for a place to watch the local 4th of July parade. The parade was held on a typical Midwestern Ohio day. It was hot, humid . The eastern sun was ascending it's position high in the sky. We soon found our spot. Just under a shade tree, The tree gave us a few brief minutes of respite from the heat and a great vantage point to watch the oncoming festivities. I remember my grandfather hoisted me upon his shoulder's so that I could see the oncoming parade. During the parade, a group of men passed by. Marching along with precision in their steps. Military volunteers, Veterna's much like my grandfather. . Each of the men held a flag that represented an individual branch of the service. One man was carrying The American Flag. . I remember my grandpa placing his hand upon his heart as the flag bearer passed us by.
I cautiously asked him why he placed his hand on his heart. His Answer was this "The American Flag stand's for freedom. Men went to war to protect our country so that you can be free and safe to live your life. Never disrespect the flag. It was during that parade that I saw someone drop their little American Flag and step one it. I became really angry about that. I respected my elder grandfather and if he said to respect something, he meant it. My grandfather gently reminded me that when men sign up for the service they did so knowing that everyone would have a right to an opinion. Even those folks who choose to disrespect our flag. It's called freedom. My Grandfather never again spoke about his time away from home.
The kind and loving man that went away to serve his country, came home hard, cold and distant. While he never officially received a diagnosis of Post traumatic stress disorder, hindsight tells me different.. It was really hard to grow up as Raymond's child. Extremely rough. Sometimes I would watch my grandfather interact with his children, He could be cold and distant. Extremely combative, argumentative and harsh. He hated anything to do with religion and he expected you to tow the line. He forbade any talk about any war. My grandfather expected his children to tow the line and If they didn't they truly felt his wrath.
I often wonder, if he had not entered the war, would that have made a difference in the way he chose to parent his children? By the time his children's children came along he had mellowed a little and to me, he was kind, gentle and ornery. I could see flashes of that young precocious farm hand that climbed into steam engines and fell into farm pond's.
I looked forward to spending weekend's with my grandparents. On Friday nights my grandpa would drive from Baltimore, Ohio where he worked, crossing many a country mile, to my home in the countryside of Carroll, Ohio He would still be in his work clothes, dirty and sweaty from a hard grinding shift at the local paper mill. He'd scoop me up and grab my suitcase and off we'd go. He'd place me in his truck and we would drive to New Salem, Ohio, where He lived with my Grandmother. Along the way we would stop at a little country store just inside of New Salem and he'd by 1/2 a gallon of chocolate chip ice cream for him and a 1/2 a gallon of mint chocolate chip ice-cream for me. Then we'd sneak our treat into the house and hide it in the freezer. My grandmother was a diabetic so we had to keep it on "down low". After Grandma went up to bed my grandpa and I would scoop up a delicious bowl of ice cream and pig out to our hearts content. Not really saying anything to each other but instead just hanging out. My happy place was wherever that man was. was one of the few safe, warm and comfortable places imaginable.
Comments