My grandfather died in 1952, two years before I was born. My grandmother stayed in her home until 1984, living alone and scaring the wits out of my mother and uncle toward the end, as she had a gas stove but was no longer firing on all cylinders. Lots of burned-up black-eyed peasant ruined saucepans.
When her heart finally wore out, they brought her to my mother's house on a Monday, took her to the ER that Friday, and she died an hour later. When my mother got back home, the Seth Thomas clock that my grandfather had given her as a wedding present in 1922 had stopped at the time of her death. That clock is now on the mantel in my living room.
During the Depression, they had three mortgages on their house (the one on Tanglewood) and took in boarders. My grandfather was laid off from the railroad, and as a former teacher, she went to the Memphis Board of Education to apply for a job. The man who interviewed her said, "Mrs. Jones, I can't hire a woman when men are out of work." So yeah...
Good old Goldsmith's, now Macy's (boo.) I worked one Christmas (1973? 1974?) at the Goldsmith's at Poplar and Park, in the record department.
(Yes children, there were these things called "records.")
I was required to play Elvis's "Blue Christmas" every three rotations. I thought I would lose my mind. There are only three (maybe) Elvis songs I liked, and that ain't one of them. I protested by playing Pure Prairie League and Al Green in hot rotation.
Happy Friday, namaste y'all, and Gruden to the hill! Apologies for the nostalgia attack!
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