Grandfather's Clocks

If you look up dapper in the dictionary, I strongly feel a picture of my maternal grandfather should appear alongside the definition. He could frequently be spotted in a perfectly tailored suit, sporting a pocket square, cufflinks, and wingtips. He also rocked plaid sport coats and patterned dinner jackets and smoked a pipe, of course. He was of the “We Dress For Dinner” generation (I’m more of a “I’m so glad to be home, let me immediately take off my bra” kind of gal).

Grandpa’s family owned a manufacturing company in Canton, Ohio. Originally, they made plows, but then they transitioned into making toys; Gibbs Toys, for happy girls and boys. That seems like a head-scratching transition, but it came about organically. They were asked to make spinning tops for hometown boy William McKinley’s presidential run. “McKinley On Top” tops were given away as campaign promotional items. Lots and lots of them. It was so successful they started making tops and toys all the time.

When my grandfather was a boy, his family modeled a toy after him and his pet dog. How cool is that? I’ve had no luck so far, but I will continue to pursue to the end of the earth that particular toy. My grandfather was a collector extraordinaire, so he had lots of different Gibbs toys, and, never forget where you come from, a big old Bucher and Gibbs plow outside.

What he really collected were clocks and watches. Saying it was his passion is an understatement. He literally had to put an addition onto his house just for grandfather clocks. He needed extra ceiling height, as well as floor space. Not that there weren’t also grandfather clocks in the foyer, dining room, powder room, and basement. He loaned some of his pieces out to museums, and he researched the history of his clocks and watches, writing numerous articles and books about them. The bane of his existence was when Daylight Savings time ended each fall. It wasn’t good for the gears to roll the dial back 1 hour, so he had to roll the dials forward 23 hours. He had so many timepieces to do that for, my uncle stopped going over for visits that weekend, for fear of being roped into helping.

The bedroom I stayed in when we visited had a tall display case filled with pocket watches. I’d fall asleep listening to all that ticking, as well as striking of the hours off in the distance from another part of the house.

My grandparents had a large basement, and the entire perimeter was filled with tables covered with clocks of various types and sizes, and flat filing cabinets with drawers filled with hundreds of pocket watches. The middle of the room held back-to-back tall display cases filled with other things he collected. Yes, somehow he also found time to collect antique books, model trains and planes, and toy soldiers. There was a separate smaller basement room for the Gibbs toys. It really was like a museum down there. I loved it. Every trip to the basement was an adventure. You never knew what you might discover.

Grandpa settled in Philadelphia and was an executive at Safety Glass. While he worked there, he helped develop the modern one-way mirror. That’s fascinating, but low risk. When the company developed a line of bullet-proof glass, they made him stand behind a big sheet of it and shot at him with live ammunition. They photographed it and made it part of an ad campaign; “We stand behind our product.” Maybe if he didn’t dress so nicely, they would have chosen someone else to do that.

Sadly, Grandpa passed away just a few months after I graduated college. In fact, he and my grandmother were supposed to have come visit me to see my new apartment for the first time just a week or so later.

Grandpa seemed to have a life philosophy about good deeds; you could get credit for them in this world or the next, but never both. To that end, he did multiple nice things he never told anyone about which revealed themselves after his death. The most memorable example came to light immediately after his funeral. I was standing in a reception line with my family and attendees of the service were paying their respects. One man came up and said to Grandma “I’ll be forever grateful to Jim for paying for my back surgery and recovery. Without that, I wouldn’t have been able to keep my business or feed my family.” Since no one in my branch of the family recognized him or knew what he was talking about, we all turned expectantly to Grandma once he’d walked away. Looking a little stunned she said, “Well that was our gardener and I had no idea.”

Not everyone was so well-mannered in that reception line. One neighbor approached Grandma with “I have Jim’s drill that he let me borrow.” Long pause. “Can I keep it?” Stunningly, another man said to Grandma “Don’t be sad. I’m sure you’ll be joining your husband soon.” What the heck, people? Were you raised by wolves?

I mentioned my grandparents dressed for dinner. In fact, dinner was always a formal affair, and special occasions and holidays were even more so. After breakfast or lunch on special days, the doors to the dining room would be shut, and woe unto you if you dared look in there. It was a big reveal when the doors were ceremoniously opened at dinnertime and you could see what gorgeous table setting had been created. There was a whole room between the kitchen and dining room with different silverware, sets of china, glassware, napkins, and tablecloths, so you never knew what you might get. And having the same place setting for lunch and dinner even on a typical day? Please. How gauche.

I should clarify, Grandma didn’t cook, she had a cook. Grandma created table settings and menu planned. I loved the compromise she came up with for her cook on Thanksgiving, so we could be fed and the cook could maximize her time with her family. The cook would prepare a turkey for us at her home and then bring it over. She didn’t drive, so every Thanksgiving morning our turkey would enjoy a ride on a SEPTA bus through the streets of Philadelphia.

I always assumed Grandma was the driving force behind all that formality since she was in charge of it, but I eventually realized it was Grandpa. A month or so after his funeral, we went down to be with Grandma and help her with thank you cards. We were all working away on card tables in the living room when lunchtime rolled around. Grandma said “I thought we could just eat in here and keep working.” Well, that had never happened before so I was already surprised, but I just about fell out of my chair when she added “We’re having hot dogs.” I guess one has to ease into such debauchery because out came hot dogs on buns served on a large sterling silver domed platter. The condiments were in cut crystal bowls. Baby steps. But I think Grandma liked it because subsequent visits involved take-out pizza and cheesesteaks, and if a Penn State football game was on, we ate in front of the TV. It was remarkable, and fun.

A few months after Grandpa passed, I went to the Ithaca Library. I was passing a wintery Saturday afternoon in the Local Interest section, getting to know my new hometown better and seeing what attractions and waterfalls were around that might make for fun spring outings. When I was finished, I put the books I’d been looking at back on the shelves. I heard something fall and started to walk away when guilt made me turn back. Clearly, when I put one of my books away, I’d knocked another off the back of the shelf and it was now wedged against the wall behind the bookcase somewhere, never to see the light of day again unless I did something. I took some books off the bottom shelf and reached through to feel around on the floor. I was grateful to feel a book and not something gross and I pulled it out. It was a booklet my grandfather had written. I’m not usually a “woo woo” person but that gave me pause. A book my recently departed grandfather had written flung itself onto the floor so I’d notice it. Well, OK, I knocked it off, but still! The book was all about the Ithaca Calendar Clock Company.

Some time later, when we were in the basement divvying up some of Grandpa’s belongings to remember him by, we got to the clock section and there it was, the Ithaca Calendar Clock he’d included in his booklet. I sheepishly said, “I kindof feel like Grandpa wanted me to have that.” I couldn’t bring myself to elaborate on why I felt that way, it was too ridiculous, but everyone agreed the person living in Ithaca should get the Ithaca clock. My uncle even said, “I think he wrote a piece on this. Let me get it for you.” I still have the booklet and the clock, and treasure both, almost as much as I treasure memories like these.