As I get older and I have more time, I like writing and reflecting. With Father’s Day coming up, I reflex on the many “father figures” that I have been fortunate to have shape me. I got my name from my grandpa, Herbert Winfield Evans. Although my grandma wants quipped that I should have been “Evans” not “Evan” if I my mom was naming me for grandpa- it was always clear to me that I was named for my Grandpa Evans.
When I was young, I was not always proud to have the name Evan. On the first day of classes in grade school when the teacher would read the class roll, inevitably a teacher would prounce my name as Even or Evonne. This would bring on laughter from the class. At that stage of life, I wished I was something simple like Bob or Bill.
As I got older, I really like having a name that was unique. I never met another Evan until I was in my 20’s. But I appreciated my name more as I realized I was named for my “Grandpa Bert.”
My grandpa had a tough start to life. They lived on a farm in rural Victoria, IL. At the age of 12, his father died. With little money and few options, he was sent away to be a hired hand. They loaded up a trunk with Grandpa Bert’s possessions, for him to move to another farm. It had to be pretty tough for a 12 year old to in a matter of weeks lose your father and then move out to live and work with another family. Today, we have the trunk in our house, and it serves as a reminder of my grandpa.
As an adult, my grandpa and grandma lived in Galesburg. Originally they lived in an apartment on East Main Street. Grandpa worked as a street car driver. His route was from Lincoln Park to Broad Street to the Square then out East Main to Gale Lake. Before modern conveniences, he would pick up ice at Lake Stoney, bring it “into town”, make an unscheduled stop at their apartment on East Main for the family to use for the refrigerator.
When the street cars were abandoned in Galesburg, he became a bus driver and then later a custodian at Knox College. He probably did not have lots of options- he had stopped school in 6th grade when his father died.
Grandpa and Grandma never owned a car and never owned a house. By the time I was born, they had a second floor apartment at 153 East Main St. At one time they wanted to buy a house on the corner of Hawkinson Street. They were short a couple thousand dollars and asked my granda’s dad for a loan. He was definitely “old school.” Although he had given money to his sons, he felt it was the responsibility of the man to take care of the family, and didn’t loan them the money.
My grandparents never had a TV until my mom bought them a small black and white TV in the mid-1960’s. But they had followed the Silver Streaks on WGIL in a big radio in their den. They never went to any games, but followed on WGIL religiously. And it was an era when Galesburg had a daily paper so they clipped out stories from the Register-Mail. They loved the Streaks, but the two players they were the biggest fans of were African-American brothers, Elbert and Albert Kimbrough. My grandma got to one game when I was an assistant boys basketball coach. Her comment was,”I always wondered what it looked like.”
Grandpa was physically a really impressive man. Maybe I was impressed because on the Massey side of the family if someone was 5’9” they were a giant. As a young man, Grandpa was 6’3”, but he might as well have been 7’0” to me.
Grandpa Bert was a kind and gentle man. He loved animals, but living in an apartment never was able to have pets. My guess is when you are 12 and sent to live with strangers, that maybe he spent a lot of time “talking” with the animals that he cared for. He loved our dogs when he came to visit.
My grandpa was a quiet man. Memory is a tricky thing but I don’t remember if there as a group of people at their house or for dinner that my grandpa ever talked. In large groups he was a listener. But when we were alone going for a walk or just hanging out, he opened up and we had good conversations. I think that may be part of how he made me feel special, it was almost like he saved his conversations just for us when we were alone.
All of us like embellish our grandparents, but the thing that stands out about my grandpa was his gentleness. I NEVER heard him raise his voice to another human being. I never remember being angry or upset with someone else. He was a peaceful and kind man.
Just like my grandpa, my father died when I was 12 years old. My mom later shared that when my dad died that grandpa had shared with tears,”I am so glad Ev won’t have to go live with someone else.” My mom said that was the first time he had opened up emotionally about his childhood experience.
Hopefully as we approach Father’s Day, all of us have people who have inspired us, and we can take time to reflect with thankfulness for those relationships. My Grandpa Bert was an inspiration to me- not because of the fame or wealth he achieved but because of how he treated other people. I am so lucky to have his name!!
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