I was really close to my grandfather. He was one of the best storytellers ever. It's easy to reminisce about his stories and their impact on me. He drove a Ford Ranchero Squire (look it up) for years. I can remember riding with him as a Camden police officer pulled him over just to talk with him about his car. As a history guy, I loved hearing about his time with Eisenhower in Panama, or how he wrecked Vice President Spiro Agnew's car. There was a time when one of his stories "inadvertently" taught me a new cuss word. My parents were none too pleased.
He was, if nothing else, a creature of habit. He was truly an American-dream story: served in the US Army for 20 years, then promptly worked in the Dupont plant in Camden, SC for 20 more. For 40 consecutive years, he shaved with a straight razor to start his day. After 40 years of hard work, he had the ability to retire with two pensions, watch his kids and grandkids grow up, be in front of the tv for every Braves game and Nascar event, and take care of his yard on his John Deere.
He had strong opinions, too: if the truck wasn't a Ford, he wasn't driving it ("Daniel, I went and test drove one a' them Tundras before buying this F150; useless!"). If the beer wasn't Coors Light, he wasn't drinking it (okay, so he maybe he was, but I never witnessed it). If the politician wasn't Republican, he wasn't voting for it (crooks, all of them).
He wasn't big on dressing up, that's for sure. I guess a man that wears a uniform every day for 4 decades has just as much of a right as anyone to shudder at the thought of formal attire. Just like many other areas of life, however, my grandfather knew when the time was to dress for the moment. In fact, I can recall a handful of times when he was dressed "to the nines", and they all are very important moments. I'm starting to realize that this correlation is not a coincidence:
August, 1988: Beulah Baptist Church
I don't remember the exact date when I was baptized, but I remember it being a big ordeal. I also remember the significance of the moment, both for me personally as well as for my family. It was such a big moment that my grandfather was in attendance. At the time, Deedaddy wasn't big on church.... yet, there he was, in full suit and tie. He also shed a tear as I was baptized. He knew the importance of the event. He knew that it mattered.
September 2, 2006: Rosewood Baptist Church
They say your wedding day goes by like a blur. It does. You're only left with snapshots of the event, a whirlwind of guests and ceremonial traditions. I remember seeing a lot of people, saying "thank you" incessantly, and seeing my crazy beautiful wife walk down the aisle. I also remember my grandfather, dressed formally for the occasion. I remember him coming over to me with a smile on his face and a tear in his eye as he handed me $300 cash.
The giving of money by my grandfather has always been ceremonial; I think this is because he probably grew up with nothing, so the notion of him being able and willing to give was a big deal to him. Every Christmas Eve, after all the presents had been handed out and opened, Deedaddy would get up from his chair and make the rounds, giving cash to every member of his extended family. My grandmother worked tirelessly to get everyone the present they wanted; my grandfather felt as though his best showcase of generosity on Christmas was opening up his wallet.
His giving wasn't limited to Christmas. He used to go up to the local bar in Camden and drink beer and pitch horseshoe on the weekends... in one such visit, he'd heard about a local kid that couldn't afford the accessories needed to play football. My grandfather made sure that everyone at the bar contributed money for a horseshoe tournament. He gave all the winnings to the kid.
Regardless of why he chose $300 as a solid "wedding gift" number, the money was given because of my grandfather's love and experience. He knew how tough marriage was and how little he had when he was young. My grandparents were married for almost 64 years; needless to say, he was familiar with the societal construct of marriage and how difficult it was sometimes just to make ends meet.
May, 2005: S&K Men's Wearhouse
Okay, so technically this happened before my wedding, and technically he wasn't wearing a suit (or even dressed up for that matter). Months before my graduation, my grandfather called me and asked me to meet him on Two Notch Road in Columbia. We went into the Men's Wearhouse and I was told that anyone that graduates college should have at least one suit and tie. Even though my grandfather never went to college, he was wise beyond his years. He knew the importance of a good first impression. Now, I'd had a few hand-me-down suits and ties in my life, but never one that was my very own. On that summer day in Columbia, SC, I was fitted for a suit I couldn't afford that was paid for by a man who hated wearing suits just as much as I did. It was a big day.
So... now we're here. I don't really buy into the old adage, "if he's looking down from heaven right now, I bet...". In fact, I think it's kinda ridiculous. Don't get me wrong: I believe in a literal heaven, and I believe Deedaddy is there right now; I just think he's got better things to do until I can join him.
Jimmy Donald Stack will be missed. He was loved.... but don't worry: when we commemorate his life in a few days, it'll be a formal event, which will mean one thing: I'll get my suit out of the closet. The only suit I've ever owned. It still fits.
