Grandpa

Ok, i've been putting this off - partly because my scanner isn't working and i would prefer to be able to include photos of him, but mostly because it's just hard writing any kind of reflections on someone so emotionally close.

My grandfather, Robert John Hilgers, was born on october 10, 1917. We always had mucho fun in our house in early october, as my dad's birthday is the 5th, mine's the 7th and grandpa's is the 10th - cake and ice cream everywhere! (and no small amount of beer - this was a german household, after all.) He finally succumbed to cancer, after a 15-year struggle, on march 3 (which, as chance would have it, is my nephew's - his great-grandson's - birthday).

When he was young he played violin. He adored his wife. He loved his family, and he was universally beloved. I can't think of, can't really even conceive of, anyone who knew him and didn't like him. This subject came up with the family last week, and the only thing anyone could come up with was "well, maybe one of the electricians who worked for him." Even then, it wouldn't have been dislike as much as resentment at not being allowed to be lazy. Grandpa was seldom in management - union man all the way - but he would be a foreman, supervisor, master electrician on the job, that kind of thing. And he was seriously old school, the way only a german can be - he was known to send apprentices back to the hall for sitting down on the job. But even taking them into account, imaginary though they may be, i don't know of anyone with a higher approval rating.

Everyone who knew him would talk about baseball. He was a very serious, and seriously good, player; and then a lifelong fan. He played semipro ball and had the singular distinction (for those of you who know your baseball history) of having gotten hits off dizzy dean (!) and satchel paige (!!) And it's kind of funny to hear the people who saw him play talk about him - reverence, really, on a bunch of levels: his ability first and foremost, but then things like how much he hustled, how he liked his beer but hated drunken behavior, and how he would walk away when the conversation turned coarse.

And the thing about him i'll keep with me forever - the twinkle in his eye. Unmistakable, folks. So openly emotional (at least in joy - not always so much in sorrow), so loving of his family. See, here's where pictures would come in handy. Not that they could ever really do him justice, but the do give an idea of the radiance of his smile. Those of you who have noticed the, um, unrestrained nature of my smile when it really turns on, well, guess where that came from...

One last thing - and i'm skipping so much, but hey, i don't want to bore you - that my uncle said in his very moving eulogy at the funeral mass (grandpa was a devout catholic his whole life). When one of his caretakers saw him looking thoughtful in february (he lived with my aunt and uncle up till the end, but they needed some help taking care of him the last couple years) she asked, as she often did, what was on his mind. And this old electrician gave a reply from the heart of his solid, simple wisdom: "When they flip the switch upstairs, then it will be dark."