Today Is an Eventful Day
Not specifically because it's the 67th anniversary of Pearl Harbor, either.
Today is my great-uncle Harold's 100th birthday. One hundred years old.
His mother was only two months shy of 100 when she died. His father was 98. He was the first of seven children (five boys, two girls) born between 1908 and 1923.
Think about that for a moment.
When he was born, there was no such thing as an "airport." The words "calculator" and "computer" were job titles for humans, not machines. Henry Ford had not created the assembly line, the single idea which has impacted our modern lives the most. There was still an Ottoman Empire.
He was a teenager during the Roaring Twenties, graduating high school in 1926.
He was 32 years old (to the day) when the Japanese bombed Pearl Harbor. He didn't serve in the war, but three of his brothers did. One of them died in service, in the Air Corps over Germany.
He had lived more than half his life before the civil rights movement of the 1960s.
He has lived longer in a town of less than 5,000 people (according to the 2000 census) than my dad has lived, period.
He married before the war (when, exactly, seems to have escaped most of us), but never had any children. His wife was rather sick a lot of the time, and died in the late 1980s; my sister never knew her. Ever since, he has lived at home by himself, more than three hours' drive away from any other relatives. It wasn't until after he was 95 that he had to hire nurses to stay with him, and he was able to drive well into his 90s.
Before my father can even remember, he and his wife moved down to the tiny town of Ahoskie, NC, near Elizabeth City. He became a part owner of a tobacco warehouse there, and worked in Johnson City, TN, during the burley tobacco season (his warehouse in Ahoskie sold flue-cured tobacco, which has a different growing season). Tobacco was something of a family business, as my grandfather & grandmother were both part-owners of a warehouse in south Georgia and my great-grandfather was a tobacco farmer. My dad grew up helping out in the warehouse and, after serving in the Air Force & finishing college, he came to work for both his parents in Georgia and his uncle in Ahoskie. He also worked some in Lexington, KY, and an Johnson City, but those two markets were both burley. Because they spent so much time working together, and because he never had any children of his own, Uncle Harold looked on my dad as a son. To me, he was like a third grandfather, one I didn't get to see much because he lived so far away.
When my mother went into labor with my sister, my dad had just gone back to Johnson City. He was staying in a motel whose switchboard cut off at midnight, but Uncle Harold was at a different motel with a 24-hour switchboard. So, very early in the morning, my mom had to call Uncle Harold, wake him up, and get him to drive cross-town in the snow to my dad's hotel, wake him up, and get him to rush home. The minute she found out that my Dad wasn't on the way yet, labor stopped. And she didn't start again until my dad was at the hospital.
Uncle Harold still likes to tell this story.
Uncle Harold was a consummate golfer, and still holds several senior golf records, as well as many trophies. His dining room walls are practically lined with them and other golf mementos. He's even in the North Carolina Golf Hall of Fame.
He's always been a dapper Dan. Always dressed sharply (even if his pants were pulled up to his armpits), always well put-together, always smelling like Old Spice. And he was a real ladies' man. Not a womanizer, someone flitting from girl to girl, but a man who genuinely enjoyed the company of ladies. He loved Aunt Mary, I'm sure he still does, but he also enjoyed having dinner with ladies while on the road.
Here's some pictures we took at the party:
Here's my grandfather (Papa K.O.), Uncle Harold, and my Aunt Linda.
Here, Uncle Harold is telling me I've gotten fat, in a hilarious way.
"You been rootin' people out of the pot?"
Here's his gigantic birthday cake. It's two regular sheet cakes.
See, I told you he always dressed sharp. He's wearing custom leather-soled dress shoes, even though he hasn't left his house in months.
These are the last two surviving Veazey brothers. Papa K.O. is not, however, the youngest. Uncle Luke is, and he died in 2006.
We had a bunch of food, and Mom spent most of the day making sure people had enough of it to eat.
We had far too many people crammed into his somewhat small and very strangely-built house.
See? I told you that he was a ladies' man. That's Mrs. Jenkins, a lady who used to work at the warehouse. Her husband (now deceased) wrote a letter to me that my dad was supposed to give me on my 21st birthday. It's still in our safe-deposit box, but he swears we'll get it out this week.
That's my grandmother (everyone calls her Tink; it's a long story and it's all my fault) on the left, my Aunt Leila on the right (she's Uncle Luke's widow), and Mrs. Newsome standing up. Mrs. Newsome used to work at the warehouse with Uncle Harold and my parents, she lives just down the street, and she & her husband have been helping to take care of Uncle Harold for years. They've become like family to us. And, like family, you can't get them to sit down and relax for anything. She felt something in her hip pop earlier in the day and instead of finding a chair, she just borrowed Uncle Harold's cane and kept on going.
Here's all of us Veazeys that could make it. My dad's brother (Uncle Doug), his wife (Aunt Gwen), and their two kids were all busy, as well as both of Aunt Linda's kids. In their defense, they all live even further from Ahoskie than we do. Uncle Turan, Aunt Linda's husband, stayed behind to help take care of his ailing mother.
And here's Dad and his second father. I like this picture.
And here's Papa K.O. Asleep in an almost impossible position. I've even seen him fall asleep while changing channels. It is absolutely amazing.
Today is my great-uncle Harold's 100th birthday. One hundred years old.
His mother was only two months shy of 100 when she died. His father was 98. He was the first of seven children (five boys, two girls) born between 1908 and 1923.
Think about that for a moment.
When he was born, there was no such thing as an "airport." The words "calculator" and "computer" were job titles for humans, not machines. Henry Ford had not created the assembly line, the single idea which has impacted our modern lives the most. There was still an Ottoman Empire.
He was a teenager during the Roaring Twenties, graduating high school in 1926.
He was 32 years old (to the day) when the Japanese bombed Pearl Harbor. He didn't serve in the war, but three of his brothers did. One of them died in service, in the Air Corps over Germany.
He had lived more than half his life before the civil rights movement of the 1960s.
He has lived longer in a town of less than 5,000 people (according to the 2000 census) than my dad has lived, period.
He married before the war (when, exactly, seems to have escaped most of us), but never had any children. His wife was rather sick a lot of the time, and died in the late 1980s; my sister never knew her. Ever since, he has lived at home by himself, more than three hours' drive away from any other relatives. It wasn't until after he was 95 that he had to hire nurses to stay with him, and he was able to drive well into his 90s.
Before my father can even remember, he and his wife moved down to the tiny town of Ahoskie, NC, near Elizabeth City. He became a part owner of a tobacco warehouse there, and worked in Johnson City, TN, during the burley tobacco season (his warehouse in Ahoskie sold flue-cured tobacco, which has a different growing season). Tobacco was something of a family business, as my grandfather & grandmother were both part-owners of a warehouse in south Georgia and my great-grandfather was a tobacco farmer. My dad grew up helping out in the warehouse and, after serving in the Air Force & finishing college, he came to work for both his parents in Georgia and his uncle in Ahoskie. He also worked some in Lexington, KY, and an Johnson City, but those two markets were both burley. Because they spent so much time working together, and because he never had any children of his own, Uncle Harold looked on my dad as a son. To me, he was like a third grandfather, one I didn't get to see much because he lived so far away.
When my mother went into labor with my sister, my dad had just gone back to Johnson City. He was staying in a motel whose switchboard cut off at midnight, but Uncle Harold was at a different motel with a 24-hour switchboard. So, very early in the morning, my mom had to call Uncle Harold, wake him up, and get him to drive cross-town in the snow to my dad's hotel, wake him up, and get him to rush home. The minute she found out that my Dad wasn't on the way yet, labor stopped. And she didn't start again until my dad was at the hospital.
Uncle Harold still likes to tell this story.
Uncle Harold was a consummate golfer, and still holds several senior golf records, as well as many trophies. His dining room walls are practically lined with them and other golf mementos. He's even in the North Carolina Golf Hall of Fame.
He's always been a dapper Dan. Always dressed sharply (even if his pants were pulled up to his armpits), always well put-together, always smelling like Old Spice. And he was a real ladies' man. Not a womanizer, someone flitting from girl to girl, but a man who genuinely enjoyed the company of ladies. He loved Aunt Mary, I'm sure he still does, but he also enjoyed having dinner with ladies while on the road.
Here's some pictures we took at the party:
Here's my grandfather (Papa K.O.), Uncle Harold, and my Aunt Linda.
Here, Uncle Harold is telling me I've gotten fat, in a hilarious way.
"You been rootin' people out of the pot?"
Here's his gigantic birthday cake. It's two regular sheet cakes.
See, I told you he always dressed sharp. He's wearing custom leather-soled dress shoes, even though he hasn't left his house in months.
These are the last two surviving Veazey brothers. Papa K.O. is not, however, the youngest. Uncle Luke is, and he died in 2006.
We had a bunch of food, and Mom spent most of the day making sure people had enough of it to eat.
We had far too many people crammed into his somewhat small and very strangely-built house.
See? I told you that he was a ladies' man. That's Mrs. Jenkins, a lady who used to work at the warehouse. Her husband (now deceased) wrote a letter to me that my dad was supposed to give me on my 21st birthday. It's still in our safe-deposit box, but he swears we'll get it out this week.
That's my grandmother (everyone calls her Tink; it's a long story and it's all my fault) on the left, my Aunt Leila on the right (she's Uncle Luke's widow), and Mrs. Newsome standing up. Mrs. Newsome used to work at the warehouse with Uncle Harold and my parents, she lives just down the street, and she & her husband have been helping to take care of Uncle Harold for years. They've become like family to us. And, like family, you can't get them to sit down and relax for anything. She felt something in her hip pop earlier in the day and instead of finding a chair, she just borrowed Uncle Harold's cane and kept on going.
Here's all of us Veazeys that could make it. My dad's brother (Uncle Doug), his wife (Aunt Gwen), and their two kids were all busy, as well as both of Aunt Linda's kids. In their defense, they all live even further from Ahoskie than we do. Uncle Turan, Aunt Linda's husband, stayed behind to help take care of his ailing mother.
And here's Dad and his second father. I like this picture.
And here's Papa K.O. Asleep in an almost impossible position. I've even seen him fall asleep while changing channels. It is absolutely amazing.