My Grandfather's Clock

Some of my earliest memories in life are of family functions in the home of my grandparents, Louis and Gladys Hassell. They lived in the Oak Forest area of Houston on Gardenia Street. They bought the house and moved there early in 1949. It was in June of that year – on my mom’s birthday – that they planted the grass much to the dismay of my mom. This was certainly no way to spend a birthday. My mother and her sister were raised in that house and my grandparents lived there until my grandmother died in March of 2004, one day before the eleventh anniversary of my grandfather’s passing.

There were many family Christmases that took place in that house. Easters, Thanksgiving dinners, birthdays, and many other celebrations filled the house with laughter and joy over the decades, but Christmas was always my favorite. Their house became the center of our family it seemed, because while not every holiday or event took place there, we certainly gathered there more than any other place partially due to the fact that the rest of us moved to different houses from time to time, but mostly I think it was because that was just where we all gravitated to. That house was literally and figuratively the center of our ever expanding extended family.

I can never remember entering the house through the front door. We always parked in the driveway and entered through the back door. There was even a plaque attached to that door that stated “Backdoor Guests are Best”. As you walked through the back door, you were in the informal dining area, the kitchen table to the right, the kitchen itself was just ahead, and the den was to the left. Just inside that back door was an old milk can with a couple of canes and walking sticks, and was a good place to park an umbrella if it happened to be raining.

When our families were all gathered safely in the house, the kitchen became the hub of activity. My grandmother (Memaw) would see that everything that pertained to dinner was underway and under control. Mom and my Aunt Sylvia would sometimes be in there sharing the cooking duties also, but this would always be under the watchful eye of Memaw. Often there would be cookies, pies, or cakes or some combination thereof that would tempt my sisters and cousins and me to the point risking the business end of a rolling pin or dishtowel in order to sneak a taste. Thanksgivings brought an added bonus because even though the kitchen was clearly my grandmother’s domain, there would inevitably be an argument between her and my grandfather over how much sage should be added to the dressing. You can’t buy memories like that.

Christmas and Thanksgiving dinners were the best, although I can honestly say that I never once remember having a bad meal in that house that was prepared by my grandmother. I myself was able to ruin a few meals with my own cooking there, as did my sisters, my mom, and my cousins I’m sure. Memaw had always been a homemaker, what they now call a stay-at-home mom, and she honed her cooking skills into what I can only call magic. And even that doesn’t quite describe it accurately. Her meals were planned and started early in the day, all the dishes coming together and reaching readiness at the same time… and she did this every day. A lost art in my opinion.

The den was the informal social gathering center of the house, where the television was and where we spent most of our time when we were there. The adults occupied the furniture while the kids would find a place on the floor or if we were lucky, in someone’s lap, while conversations on politics, friends, and a never-ending stream of other topics never seemed to lag. Never one to shy away from controversial subjects or keep her opinion to herself, even Memaw would come in from the kitchen and say a few words once in a while if something was said that caught her attention.

An old braided rug covered most of the floor in the den. The television was a large console with a stereo receiver and record player on one side of the picture tube and a storage place for record albums on the other side. It was a monstrous and heavy thing and it took up most of the wall opposite the sofa.

There was a fireplace on the wall to the left of the television and a bookshelf and mantle that stretched from wall to wall. Most of the books in the bookshelf were of things that I could not comprehend in my younger years. As I got older I discovered and then became interested in books on President Kennedy, The Civil War, Our Earth, and many other topics. I can’t remember seeing more than a few fires in the fireplace though. I’m sure it was a gas operated fire but it just never seemed necessary to have a fire… the house was always full of warmth.

The sofa was under two or three elongated horizontal windows high up on the wall, and there was never a table in front of it that I can recall. Various chairs and recliners were positioned around the room, some having a better view of the big console than others. These were the premium chairs during football games or “All In The Family”, but when the television was off every chair in that wonderful room was perfect.

To the right of the television console was a sliding door that led into the formal dining room. This was the location of the big table, where the grownups would eat these wonderful meals while my sisters and cousins and I were relegated to the kitchen – or “kids” – table. Many was the meal where one or more of us would try to infiltrate enemy territory in an attempt to be seated at the big table, even if only for a moment or two. I myself was able to grab a seat once in a while if the conversation among the adults was particularly active. I was always discovered within minutes and summarily escorted back to my own universe. Even then I was ready to rub it in to my tablemates with the taunting “Ha ha ha, I got to sit at the big table!”

Later in life, when I was expected to join my parents and sisters with their husbands at the big table, I discovered that I was still more at home at the kids table with my nieces and nephews. I imagine that I will always feel this way, even in my old age when I am the patriarch and clearly the oldest member of the family. Some things never change I guess.

Over the years, many things in that house changed. The furniture changed and became more modern. There was a brown chair that had wooden magazine racks attached to either side where my grandfather (Papaw) seemed to always fall asleep. We would tease him about it constantly but he would just smile as if to say “Well, what are ya gonna do?” It’s clear to see why he would sleep in that chair; it had a matching ottoman and could easily become very comfortable. Just sit down, lean back and settle into the comforting upholstery, put your feet up on the ottoman, and next thing you know, you'd be waking up. Man, I love that feeling. And then, it just wasn’t there one day. I never really knew what happened to that chair. I guess it was replaced by one that was supposed to be more stylish and perhaps even more comfortable.

There was also a red rocking chair where Memaw would rock us when we were little. That chair made a hideous squeaking when she rocked back and forth but that sound was pure heavenly music to us kids. She rocked each and every one of her grandkids, and even a great grand-daughter – my daughter Jessica – in that chair. That chair was stashed in the attic when they brought in two matching leather reclining chairs. There simply was no room for that antique in the den any longer. But even though the chair is no longer in use, it is safe and sound in the possession of one of my sisters, Linda I think.

On the wall next to the kitchen table there were two large frames that held images of chickens made of different kinds of beans. Memaw and Papaw bought these as kits and painstakingly glues each bean in place until they were completed. Those things hung on that wall for years. I believe they had to throw them out when they were taken down for some kind of maintenance to the walls and bugs got into the beans. It was a sad ending for those beloved chickens.

There were also numerous wall hangings from the hands of their grandchildren. I remember going to some park near their home where my sisters and I would paint ceramic figures like frogs and cowboys and a variety of barnyard animals including even, yes, chickens. I went through a candle making phase and it wasn’t long before the landscape of their home was littered with wax owls, toadstools, and chess pieces, none of which seemed to stand exactly upright.

Photos of their marriage, their children and grandchildren – and eventually their great-grandchildren – could be found in every room. Every photo in its own special frame and displayed proudly. There was also a picture of Jesus that hung at the end of the hall leading to the bedrooms, and that picture always scared the crap out of me when I was very young. I knew who it was and I knew I wasn’t supposed to be scared of it, but it frightened me to no end anyway. I never told anyone I was scared, I just closed my eyes if I had to go to the bathroom. I believe my sister Linda also has that picture.

There were other changes over time. The old braided rug was replaced by carpet. The old informal kitchen table was replaced with one that would be at home in most formal dining areas. It was pretty fancy for a kids table, to be sure, but it was still the kids table during the really big meals. Sofas, other chairs, dishes, artwork, and even the television were all updated as the old ones wore out. The old style venetian blinds throughout the house were replaced with newer and more modern mini blinds. Interior color schemes changed and vinyl siding was added to the exterior, but no matter the changes to the physical stuff within or without, it was still Memaw’s and Papaw’s house.

Until the day Memaw died, I believe there were still markings under the tall bar that separated the kitchen table area from the actual kitchen where all of us kids would have to stand and have our height recorded. For all I know, Mom and Aunt Sylvia had their growth recorded there as well. We eventually all grew too tall to stand under the bar, for me that happened around age nine. Those markings and the accompanying bits of information (Lynn – age 7½) were still there through the years right up through the last time I looked under there.

There were also some other things that never changed. One was an old style crank telephone that hung on the wall next to the kitchen table for as long as I can remember. As a small boy I always wanted to turn that crank and make the bells ring. I was too small to reach it on my own so a nearby stool would always help me achieve this goal. It seems as though a visit to my grandparent’s house never went by when I didn’t ring that phone at least once. I would ring the bell, pick up the earpiece, then speak into the mouthpiece and have lengthy conversations with whomever I could imagine having just called.

Another item that was constant was the clock on the mantle above the fireplace. It has long been tradition to present a newly married couple with a clock for their new home. I always thought that this was such a clock, received by my grandparents on or shortly after their wedding day in October of 1935, but when I called my mom for verification she informed me that this was not so. This clock was purchased by my grandparents shortly after they became empty-nesters, as was the old crank telephone while they were in an antique collecting phase of their lives. Still, the clock was there on the mantle for as long as I can recall.

There was a key that had to be used several times a week to wind the spring that operated the chimes and to wind the clock itself. Papaw was always the one to handle this duty. I always wanted to wind the clock myself when I was a small boy, but he told me that I wasn’t quite old enough to handle such an important task just yet, so I had to wait. That was okay though, I knew my day would come. The chimes would ring out every half hour. It would chime on the hour, the number of chimes indicating the hour, and it would chime just once on the half hour. And the pendulum would steadily keep the time with its rhythmic tick-tock, tick-tock, tick-tock that could almost be heard throughout the entire house. And several times a week, just as reliable as the old clock itself, my grandfather would open the front of the clock, take the key, and wind the two springs just the right amount.

There are several items from that house on Gardenia Street that are in our possession now. The milk can is just inside the front door of our apartment where it holds one of the same canes it held for my grandparents as well as two of my own walking sticks, and stands ready to accept a wet umbrella should it be raining outside. The telephone was hanging in the kitchen of our house in Ava but is now stored away for later use. The spice rack that held many of Memaw’s spices in her kitchen now hangs in our kitchen, and I can’t help but think of her every time I reach for the thyme or oregano. Papaw’s rocking chair graces our living room and it’s where I spend most of my television watching time.

Yes, there are many memories that come to mind when I think of that house. Those memories seem to come closer to the front of my mind as Christmas approaches. After the meal preparation had been completed, we would all sit down to a feast of turkey, or ham, or both… stuffing or dressing, or both… potatoes, mashed just right or perhaps scalloped or sweet potatoes… maybe a green bean casserole or two… some kind of gelatin fruit salad… cranberries…. hot rolls fresh from the oven with lots of butter and possibly honey to spread on them… Cold milk or hot apple cider or punch or egg-nog or hot cocoa or any number of cold soft drinks to choose from to drink… and dessert, it’s waiting just in the other room, teasing everyone with those wonderful fragrances… pumpkin pie with whipped topping… apple pie topped with vanilla ice cream… that pink fluffy stuff… something with enough chocolate in it to send the entire Mormon Tabernacle Choir into a diabetic coma… and Christmas cookies that look like snowmen and bells and angels and Christmas trees. What I like to call “The Laying On of Dinner.”

Yes, there was much laughter and happiness during those dinners… good food, great company, the warmth and love that comes from family, and all the while in the background, the tick-tock, tick-tock of my grandfather’s clock with the occasional chiming marking the passage of time, just as it does in my home now. I’ve had this clock since my grandmother’s death but I haven’t always been so diligent in keeping it running. I guess Papaw was right… I wasn’t quite ready. I’m finally big enough to wind the clock by myself and I’m better at keeping it running these days. It hasn’t stopped even once since we put it in the living room here in our apartment a few months ago.

There’s a serene and still comfort when the house is all quiet, the televisions are turned off and the cats are settled down, and the only sound throughout is the tick-tock, tick-tock of that old clock. And while it does indeed mark the passing of time, it also serves as a reminder of the past, at least for me… memories that I’m very happy to have and hope to always have. I feel that as long as I can keep this old clock running, I will have those memories of my grandparents’ house, of the many wonderful times spent there, and of my Memaw and Papaw themselves.

The old house is still there, under new ownership now. It was sold after the passing of Memaw. I went by there once this last year just to see it but it was different. I couldn't see into the back yard because tall leafy plants were blocking the view. The exterior, or what I could see of it, hadn't really changed that much. How much can you really change the shape and style of a house? I decided then and there that I no longer wanted to see what had become of the house. I'm sure the new owners have made it their own, and that's the way it should be. I just want to remember it the way I remember it though.

So I think I’ll go and sit in Papaw’s old rocking chair, put my feet up on the arm of the red sofa that was once in their house, cover myself with my favorite blanket, and drift off to sleep while thinking of the many wonderful times spent in that old house and listening to that old keeper of time, a true lifelong friend… my grandfather’s clock.