It took a lot to make my Grandpa angry. He never raised his voice. He didn’t sweat the small stuff. He was a good neighbor and generally received the same treatment in return. He was a strong man, but he went through life easily, fluidly, not needing to publicly demonstrate his strength.
He was self-reliant. With an eighth-grade education (which was pretty good for his era) he worked as a rancher for most of his life. For a while he worked at a smelting plant in Missouri. He brought his family to California in the early years of the twentieth century, where he worked as an orange grove manager in Compton, an area that has long ago replaced its orchards with concrete and asphalt.
He left people alone to make their own decisions about how their lives went. He didn’t gossip or speak ill of others. He saw life with a twinkle in his eye, always looking for the opportunity to inject humor. He had a dry wit.
