28 replies to this topic

[Kylel Ironclaw]

Not my grandfather, but my great-uncle, was in Europe during WWII. He brought back a German Luftwaffe dress sword. He never said how he got it. I always imagined it was something out of Wolfenstein.

My Dad had some great opportunities to bring home nice trophies from WWII, but back luck and bad information spoiled things... He got a really nice pair of binoculars and a camera from a surrendering German officer - either in the Ruhr or in Czechoslovakia. Unfortunately, in the confusion of battle, and then being hastily shipped to the Pacific, he lost track of them. Later, in the fall of '45, his unit was among the first to be on occupation duty in Japan. Many an Imperial officer's sword/katana was ruined due to a rumor that Japanese officers would keep gold and or jewels hidden inside the wrappings of their sword grips.

Can't believe I forgot to say: I still have the sword. Inherited it from my grandfather when he died--it sat in an attic dresser for 60+ years. By the same token, I don't really want to display it---for obvious reasons (see pic I found online below):

[deuce]

Not my grandfather, but my great-uncle, was in Europe during WWII. He brought back a German Luftwaffe dress sword. He never said how he got it. I always imagined it was something out of Wolfenstein.

My Dad had some great opportunities to bring home nice trophies from WWII, but back luck and bad information spoiled things... He got a really nice pair of binoculars and a camera from a surrendering German officer - either in the Ruhr or in Czechoslovakia. Unfortunately, in the confusion of battle, and then being hastily shipped to the Pacific, he lost track of them. Later, in the fall of '45, his unit was among the first to be on occupation duty in Japan. Many an Imperial officer's sword/katana was ruined due to a rumor that Japanese officers would keep gold and or jewels hidden inside the wrappings of their sword grips.

I was handed down a katana (probably 20th century vintage) by way of my maternal grandad's nephew. It was then packed up/"stolen" by my roommate's grandfather (imagine Tony Soprano's mother as a male redneck). I thought it was a straight-up robbery for 5yrs. By the time I found out differently, the katana had already (most likely) been appropriated by one of "Wild Bill's" scumbag buddies. Gone forever. I've always felt I betrayed my grandma's trust on that one.

On a better note, a friend of my mom's had a katana her dad received from a Japanese colonel in Nippon. I did a 4-H talk on both swords in high school. Except for the hilt, the "Colonel's Katana" was in pristine condition. The scabbard was a work of art. According to MY researches at the time, katanas forged BEFORE 1400 (?) were signed on one side of the tang. Post-1400 blades were signed on the other. That sword was an OLD sword. Polished like a steak-knife. Don't know what her family did with it.

[Officer Aggro]

Without a doubt. Good pranks know no borders! Plus, when Wales (also a Celtic country) went Methodist/Non-Conformist, much the same things would've happened as when Scotland went Presbyterian.

My grandpa was Presbyterian all his life too. Maybe he learned the pranks from the church.

VERY cool. You need to post those right here, Aggro..

Cool, I'll do that when I get a few of them uploaded. He did a couple good sketches of my grandma at the time, so I'll include those too.

Here's some I had taken photos of. I just uploaded them to Photobucket.

Nose art for a plane called Punched Fowl:

http://i256.photobuc...punchedfowl.jpg

Dorothy Lamour

http://i256.photobuc... Art/lamour.jpg

A couple sketches of my grandma:

http://i256.photobuc...rt/grandma2.jpg

http://i256.photobuc...rt/grandma1.jpg

A portrait of himself he drew on one of the many envelopes he sent my grandma:

http://i256.photobuc...nvelopeport.jpg

Some art he did on the back of a bomber jacket:

http://i256.photobuc...omberjacket.jpg

[EM Erdelac]

I never knew my paternal grandfather. I have a few photos of him, one where he's clowning with my grandmother, one pant leg rolled up and propped on the running board of a car, thumb out a la It Happened One Night, and another where he's standing outside a barracks in his fatigues and tie with a helmet holding my infant father. He died in France when a German Panzerfaust blew up the light tank he was driving.

Everything I know about him is second hand. As a boy he saw Harry Houdini perform at Navy Pier in Chicago and got called up from the audience to handcuff the illusionist. He tried his hand at boxing for a while, but quit when he pummeled an Irish man to a pulp and the man kept getting up. Nobody in my family has any artistic talent but me (I used to want to be a cartoonist). A couple years ago my father shared a bunch of correspondences my Grandfather had written to my grandmother and uncle. Because he was not allowed to talk about the places he was at, if he saw something interesting in the countryside, he sketched it on the envelopes for my grandmother, so there are all these great pen drawings of rural farmhouses and castles and the like.

I read all the letters, including the last he ever wrote, in which he expressed some doubt that he would make it back to the States alive (this was in the last year of the war, I think).

My maternal grandfather participated in the liberation of Paris, though I don't know to this day in what capacity. I have all his old patches, so need to look up his units. But in the liberation, he was given a Mircaulous (or Immaculate Mary) Medal by someone in the crowd, which I still have.

'Mary conceived without sin, pray for us who have recourse to thee.' is the inscription on the reverse.

My great uncle was a waist gunner in a B-17. He flew with the world's first female war correspondent for LIFE magazine, and got a commendation for crawling into the bomb bay when a live bomb that failed to deploy and hammered the housing until it dropped.

He kept and labeled all the bomb pins.

This article in the Northwest Indiana Times is about him..

http://www.nwitimes....881a8a45c8.html

[deuce]

Cool, I'll do that when I get a few of them uploaded. He did a couple good sketches of my grandma at the time, so I'll include those too.
Here's some I had taken photos of. I just uploaded them to Photobucket.

Nose art for a plane called Punched Fowl:

http://i256.photobuc...punchedfowl.jpg

Dorothy Lamour

http://i256.photobuc... Art/lamour.jpg

A couple sketches of my grandma:

http://i256.photobuc...rt/grandma2.jpg

http://i256.photobuc...rt/grandma1.jpg

A portrait of himself he drew on one of the many envelopes he sent my grandma:

http://i256.photobuc...nvelopeport.jpg

Some art he did on the back of a bomber jacket:

http://i256.photobuc...omberjacket.jpg

Aggro, your grandpa had some serious talent. Cool on you for posting those.

[Officer Aggro]

Thanks, deuce! Yeah, he was one hell of an artist and a big inspiration for me. If I get a chance to take some more photos of that scrapbook, I'll be sure to post them here.

[Sardonikus]

My great-grandfather (Swedish immigrant), worked on the Roosevelt Dam in Arizona (circa 1910). Nearby was a gorge, crossed by a rickety bridge that would sway in high winds. My grandmother and her sister were riding in a car with two others: one was the driver and another one was a character named 'Brother Izet'. As they crossed the unsteady bridge, 'Brother Izet', fearing the car might plunge into the water below, dropped behind the front seats and started to show my grandma and her sister how to swim. While furiously kicking and paddling at the air, however, his d**k popped out of his open fly. So my grandmother and her sister, being proper young ladies, did the only thing imaginable: they yelled 'Keep swimming, Izet! Keep swimming!'

Edited by Sardonikus, 14 September 2012 - 03:23 AM.

[constantine]

My great-grandfather (Swedish immigrant), worked on the Roosevelt Dam in Arizona. Nearby was a gorge, crossed by a rickety bridge that would sway in high winds. My grandmother and her sister were riding in a car with two others: one was the driver and another one was a character named 'Brother Izet'. As they crossed the unsteady bridge, 'Brother Izet', fearing the car might plunge into the water below, dropped behind the front seats and started to show my grandma and her sister how to swim. While furiously kicking and paddling at the air, however, his d**k popped out of his open fly. So my grandmother and her sister, being proper young ladies, did the only thing imaginable: they yelled 'Keep swimming, Izet! Keep swimming!'

Just snorted my Cola on the keyboard.

[deuce]

As I noted above, my Grandad Richardson was/is a devoted cattleman/rancher (in fact, he was honored by the Kansas Cattlemen's Association). Richardsons going all the way back (Revolutionary War) were noted horsemen, but I think my grandfather is the most dedicated rancher ever. If any other scion of James Richardson (Ulster Plantation) took to cattle more than my grandpa, I don't know of him. Here's a little story from the last year...

 

My grandad went down to visit my aunt, who dwells in Mullin, TX. After a few days there, my aunt called my dad. She said, "Dad seems to be alright, but something seems off. He's restless, unhappy." My dad said, "Is there a sale barn thereabouts? Take 'im down there and see what happens." My aunt did so. Afterwards, she called back and said, "Y'know, he does seem in a better mood..."

 

He's 91yrs old. Still can't stand being away from ranchin', even on vacation.