Gramps

"15-2, 15-4, 15-6, and 8 is 14. I win again." the old man said. " Tell you what, why don't you go to the store and get me a pack of Old Golds and get you a Coke?"
He usually won, but his method of teaching was wonderful. My Great-Granddad that everyone called Gramps, kept a large bowlful of pennies by his chair. Before every lesson he would stick his massive, long fingered, nicotine stained hand into the bowl and pull out a fistful of pennies. They were mine to keep, but each time I missed a point he would reach over and take a penny from me. It didn't take long before I became a pretty good cribbage player. As I look back , I remember that even if I lost all my pennies, he would have me run an errand to the store, for which my reward was usually a Coke or a doughnut.
Gramps stood 6'6" in his bare feet, and even though he was in his eighties, his advanced age couldn't force a stoop in his prideful carriage. His hands were the largest I've ever seen, and his long fingers were stained deep brown by nicotine. He had lived through the depression, when nothing was allowed to go to waste, and had retained his habit of sticking a toothpick through the filter of his smokes so no tobbaco was wasted. I can't remember ever seeing him outdoors without his pearl grey J. B. Stetson, and he wouldn't wear any kind of boots except Justin.
Gramps had his corner of the living room set up just the way he wanted it and no one bothered it. His blue, high-backed platform rocker with the wide wooden arms was placed in front of the heat vent. A small table beside his chair held the penny bowl, his coffee mug, the ashtray, and cribbage board. Above his head hung a framed Texas Ranger badge, and his favorite split bamboo fly rod. I don't remember ever hearing Gramps raise his voice in anger, but I remember heaaring it softened with love and caring very often.
I remember one time when my friend Johnny Edwards and I were going out to the dump to plink at tin cans with our 22's. Gramps asked us if we would like a ride, when we agreed, he walked into his bedroom and came out with a package under his arm. When we got to the dump, we discovered that the package held a gun belt and an old Colt .44. After Johnny and I got tired of shooting holes and breaking what bottles we could find, Gramps told us to set up some tin cans further out. We told him he couldn't hit them where they were, let alone moving them out further. But we did as he asked ( one always did what Gramps asked ) , and set the cans out a little farther.
Gramps stood there for a minute flexing his fingers. Suddenly his hand dropped to his side. In less time than it takes to tell, the old pistol was in his hand, fired five times, and was back in the holster on his side. Needless to say, the cans were each holed.
That night, after we had listened to The Shadow on the old Zenith console radio, Gramps told us of some of his adventures as a Texas ranger, and later as a deputy U. S. Marshal. My favorite story was of how he had foiled a bank robbery in Del Rio, Texas. He had heard that a gang of crooks were going to tunnel into the bank's vault from across the street. He waited untl that night, when they would be digging. Then, with some help from a friend on the fire department, he ran a fire hose into the tunnel and flooded it. Gramps simply stood there at the entrance to the tunnel and arrested the soaking wet bandits as they came out.
He also told us stories of how he made a living as professional gambler on the river boats, riding from Natchez to St. Louis and back. Once, one of my uncles expressed doubt as to the veracity of the old man's stories. Gramps asked for a deck of cards. After shuffling them three time, he picked up half the deck in each hand and did a double fan; with a shift of his wrists he did a double accordion. His hands moved with almost unbelievable speed and dexterity as he then dealt out six poker hands. He left his hand face down as he looked around the table.
"You, " he said, looking at me, "think you have a good hand with your full house." My eyes widened in surprise. "And you," looking at my uncle, " think you have a sure winner with your four of a kind." My uncle blinked a few times and nodded . He continued around the table telling each player which cards he held. " But I you all beat." he ended, as he turned over his own hand, revealing a royal flush.
I've only begun to tell of the flavor of this old man, who died when I was only fourteen, but I'll always remember his last words to me, as I bent kiss his bald head for the last time. He said, " Remember, Steve, the most important thing in life is to love and be loved."

Why High Empire

Everyone has their own reasons for picking a title to a blog. Mine is quite simple. It is the title of my dad's first novel. I named this blog in memory of the man that taught me the three most important things in my life: how to fish, to love reading , and that family is really all that matters in the world. Thanks Dad!! This picture is dad and Sylvia in Denver circa 1975