Perfectionist Grandfather

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My grandfather was a German truck patch farmer all the years I knew him. I guess at one point he had his own painting business. "I never worked for anyone except myself. Except when I went to fight the Kaiser in 1915. I worked for Uncle Sam for three years, but other than that, I worked for and by myself." Truth be known? No one would put up with him! Uncle Sam had to, but when free people were given a choice any other job looked good.

Grandpa would have had to be the worst co-worker or employee anyone ever had, for the five minutes it lasted. Five minutes tops--I don't want to exaggerate. Why was he so difficult? Back then, we would just have said he was a nasty old son of a bitch. Today, we would say he was a perfectionist. Either is SO true!

As a kid I stayed on the farm in the Summers. (I thought all kids did!) The truth was my Mom and one of her husbands were both working and they did not want to leave me home alone. (Social workers had tried to take me away once before, so they knew better than to try that again.)

Working with Bill Roedel was scary. You never knew when he would "fly off the handle." It almost always came as a shock when he did. After a few "near fatal" episodes you noticed the quivering lip. That was the sign to quickly get silent and as invisible as possible. And that was hard for a talkative guy like me. (Still is ;-) But he was my consistent male role model. His expression was "Don't explain. Don't complain." Yet, Bill Roedel was, without a doubt, the biggest complainer I ever met. Nothing was ever right. Nothing. I cannot tell you how many times he would get pissed off at the radio and storm out of the house, walking down the farm lane to cool off, hands clasped behind his back, muttering about how stupid Harry Truman still was. My Grandfather believed that Harry should have let MacArthur "take China" as he was poised to do when Harry said, "Get your ass home, Mac. You have gone off the deep end." And he had! Take China?!?! We barely beat Japan! I guess Mac thought that since we now had "The Bomb" we could just nuke our way to the Caspian Sea.

Well one thing: If MacArthur had had his way all those products would say "Made in USA" now!

He also would throw his coffee cup when on the porch. It was a heavy ironstone cup with a little bouquet of roses and some green leaves on it, as I recall. I retrieved it several times until Grandma warned me off. "Just leave it there, Tony. He should have to get it himself if he wants any coffee."