"My Uncle Joe"
The following is a story that I wrote to be read and distributed at the memorial party held on 19 January 2008 for my uncle, Joseph Knapp, who died on Christmas day, 2007. Just six weeks prior to his death, he lost his house and all he owned in those terrible fires in the mountains near Lake Arrowhead, California. He didn't mourn his losses at all; he was thankful to be alive! When the policeman came and knocked on his door, telling him that he had to evacuate at once, he only had time to grab his car keys, a bag of laundry that had been left sitting by the door, and go. If it had been the week before, his car would have been in the shop and the policeman would have assumed nobody was home and would have given up trying to awaken whoever was in the house. Poor Uncle Joe, who was eighty-five years old and in good mental and physical shape, was nonetheless exhausted from his long day at the beach and running errands, and didn't readily answer the door because he was used to drunks disturbing him in the middle of the night; so he thought that must be who was disturbing his sleep now. When the policeman kept pounding and pounding, he finally answered and was very thankful that he did. He got the biggest kick telling everybody about what happened, especially since he shocked the young policeman by answering the door wearing nothing but a scowl. My Uncle Joe definitely was a character...and I will miss him so much!
"My Uncle Joe"
“You’re not on the farm now!” my Uncle Joe said rather loudly as he looked from face to face down the length of the long dinner table. Then everyone burst out laughing and suddenly all eyes were upon me. I think I was about ten years old at the time and embarrassed to death to be the center of attention-especially since what I had done was not something that could be referred to as brilliant. My Uncle Joe was a certified and most accomplished jokester and I had handily fallen into his trap; he was ready to pounce and I was unable to stop his advancement.
Our families (the Knapp and Bond families; Nonie (Carpenter) Knapp and Mary Ellen (Carpenter) Bond were the sister ties) had just finished a totally fun-filled day at the Corning Glass Works and a few other stops along the way and then had decided to go out for dinner. We had agreed on the Lehigh Valley House Restaurant in Ithaca because my father was treating us all to dinner. This was where Dad liked to take our family and my grandmother when we came to visit her at her home in Ithaca once a week and he was sure we’d have a wonderful, relaxing time there.
After we were seated, menus were handed out and everyone was ready to order, Uncle Joe noticed that I was discreetly studying the “lump” that was wrapped in a cloth napkin beside my plate. The place settings at the entire table looked different to me that night from the way they usually looked week after week and we were later told that they had changed how they had been setting the tables only a few days prior. When the waitress finally reached Uncle Joe, who was seated on my right, he bent over and grabbed the “lump” from beside my plate, then carefully spread the napkin out and while he looked at me, he announced, “That’s your silverware under there.” He spoke loudly and slowly, as if I were a dullard, then he paused for dramatic effect and proclaimed rather loudly, “You’re not on the farm now!” As you can imagine, my face turned beet red when everyone started laughing. It was not one of my better moments.
Unfortunately for us, that was not the last time that Uncle Joe would use that phrase on us. Throughout the years, whenever he got the chance and whenever we least expected it, out Uncle Joe would come with a huge grin on his face and his voice booming with that ever familiar little byword designed to embarrass his unsuspecting victims. To this day, if one of our family members or friends says something stupid or naive, you’re bound to hear someone say, “You’re not on the farm now!”
My Uncle Joe (or Jose Siesta, as we used to call him when we were little) was a handsome, charismatic man. He was so full of life that he was absolutely electrifying; he made you feel glad to be alive! He was someone that I looked up to, loved and respected and just thinking about him has always put a smile upon my face.
I remember when my twin sister, Sande, and I were twelve years old and our family went out to California to visit. Our sister, Carol, who was sixteen at the time, was scheduled to have major back surgery and our father thought that a nice vacation beforehand was in order. During the vacation, one of the neighborhood parks (Yucaipa?) hosted some summer festivities which included swimming contests for all age groups. Sande and I weren’t particularly good swimmers at the time and had never competed in anything before, so Uncle Joe encouraged us to sign up for the breast stroke competition. Kathy, Laura and Sue Ellen quickly taught us how to do the breast stroke and we were ready by the time our class was called. To everyone’s delight, Sande came in first place and I came in second! We accepted our ribbons and Mom and Dad kissed and hugged us, saying how proud they were of us. .
Afterwards, I kept my eyes glued on Uncle Joe. Whether he was aware of it or not, he had the power to break my spirit that day. I look back at it now and realize that he knew exactly how I was feeling when I kept looking down at my feet, fighting back my tears, thinking to myself that my second place ribbon was worth absolutely nothing!
You see, Sande and I were the only ones in that age group. In fact, we were the only ones in that competition. As I saw it, I had come in dead last; therefore, I lost, so I was a loser! Case closed. (Sande had beaten me, at least.)
I watched as Uncle Joe briskly walked over to me, bent down on one knee and said, “Look, kiddo; you finished your race. You did something you had never done before in front of a bunch of people you didn’t know in a brand new place. The most important thing is that you did your best! In my eyes, that makes you a winner!” Then he smiled at me until he made sure that our eyes met; then he gave me a great big, long hug. That changed everything for me. And you know what? I still have that red ribbon as a reminder of what an awesome thing he did for me. He taught me a big lesson that day-and I really did feel like a winner after that!
I can’t tell you how many times my Uncle Joe did things like that for me throughout the years. Whenever we came in contact, the miles that separated us would just disappear and our closeness would instantly be restored. He was just that way; it was all or nothing for him-and his “all” was the best there was! When he visited us following the big arson fire that destroyed the building that used to contain the Oldsmobile-Chevrolet dealership that my father owned for over forty years, he volunteered his time and talents to do several repairs that were weighing heavily on my mother’s mind. He just swooped in and took care of them for her, just like he did forty-five years ago, when he installed all those phones in her house; they’re everywhere! (There’s one in every room and we think they may be multiplying!)
Uncle Joe was an awesome uncle and I loved him more than I could ever describe on paper. Even though we’re all terribly sad that he had to leave us, let’s rejoice in knowing that we will be reunited with him once again when we meet with him in Heaven-and right along beside him will be my beautiful Aunt Nonie, whom I also loved dearly. There will be dancing and singing and angels, and everyone that has asked Jesus into their hearts will join all of our loved ones who have gone on before us, and they will welcome us into eternity.
Thanks for listening to my story and may God bless you all,
Cynde Lou (Bond) Hammond
