Last night the last of my grandparents died. At 8:07pm Newfoundland time, in his home, surrounded by family, Francis Furgus Wall died at age 92.
We all believe it was time. For 91 years, he had a great quality of life. While the last 5 years were occasionally marred with hospitial trips, he always….ALWAYS bounced back and had the whole Wall clan out to dinner at the infamous Fairmont Hotel. This last year has been rough. He was in hospital when I returned from South Africa in September and again at Xmas. At Easter we truly thought we were going to lose him and on Friday, it became evident that maybe I should think of coming home.
I’m not however. I have the cash, but spending the $1500 is not wise right now. Work even offered to give me a salary advance. But like I said, its not about “having” the cash. Its about the right decision to spend it.
And, funerals are for the living.
I’m taking the rest of the week off. And I have the weekend. I dont feel like being alone. In fact, my sleep last night was littered with nightmares that woke me up sweating and frigthened. But alone I am. And I understand that this is my burden to wear right now. But it makes it a lot worse to be alone.
But doing ok. I just need a lot of distractions.
My grandfather was a larger than life man. He grew up in St. John’s, the son of a local business man who owned a store on George Street (before it was GEORGE STREET). He enlisted in the army for World War 2 as a mechanic and was posted to London just before the war ended. He never saw action - not even to fix front line machines. Someone early on recognized his wonderful voice and he sang his way through World War 2 for the BBC. We’ve all heard the recordings of his silver voice. And we’ve all heard the stories of how he was hung up by his suspenders at the Newfoundland Gate in front of Buckingham Palace.
He was a small man physically, barely reaching 5′5. But he went on to do great things. He marred Isabell Madden in the 1940’s and they had 6 children, of which my father is the youngest boy. He was a salemans for larger industrial equipment in those early family days and schleped the family across Newfoundland in the summer combining a family vacation with business. We’ve all seen the silent home videos from the late 1950’s or early 60’s with the children in the water and my father with his floaties on. Poppy was rarely in those videos, but what we did see of him was a proud man in slacks and a plaid shirt always leaning against the car.
In the late 1960’s he moved on to work for the Royal Canadian Legion. And this was where he made his most memorable contribution to Newfoundland life. He fought tirelessly for the rights and welfare of Newfoundland and Canadian war vets. In the 1970’s Poppy was the President of the Newfoundland Royal Canadian Legion and eventually, in the 1980’s he took the position of Prov Secretary. This was a position that suited him well. I remember time and again after I moved from Medicine Hat going into the branch office in Pleasantville and sitting in those big chairs in his office while he sat behind his oversized desk. Paper was always over flowing. The women in the office loved him. The vets loved him. Everyone loved him. Not always for his pleasentries, but his ability to get the job done. And then some.
There isn’t a politician in Newfoundland or an important businessman who doesn’t owe some debt of gratitude to Poppy from those days. In 1988 he was awarded Citizen of the Year for St. John’s. I clearly remember the celebration the family had for him at Aunt Kathys. He was 72 and still plugging away at what he felt was a worthy cause. He worked behind the scenes for the Liberal Party and voted for them until the end. I’m even sure there are national Liberal leaders who will hear of poppys death and pause for consideration.
He married again in 1990 after Isabel died in 1984. I didn’t know Mary well, but I did go to FLordia with her and poppy in 1993. Mary was active - at least in comparision to poppy. At 76 he felt he deserved the right to sit on the condo balcony and watch the waves. And so he did. But nothing compares to his non-plussed reaction to the storm of the century the last night I was in Florida. While the city of Medera Beach was coming apart at the seams, Poppy just went to bed. Leaving Mary, mom and I to battle a storm of epic porportions.
Mary died in 1999 and Poppy buried a second wife. Shortly after he moved to Elizabeth Towers Assisted living. This was more to please the children than out of necessity. Poppy was still taking the Wall clan to the Fairmont and Biancas monthly well into his late 80’s and even partying with cousin Jeff and his celebrity friends from Toronto.
He was working on dictating his life before he died. And he had such a life. There is no way I can even come close to sketching out the life he led. And I dont want too. Everyone should remember him in their own way, not the way I did. My story of poppy will not resemble anyone elses.
He became cranky in his old age. Theres no denying that. But he always had time for his grandchildern. He outlived one grandchild, but he reveared her in death. A small memorial to Cindy still remained in his living room until the day he died.
He helped me travel to South Africa in 2007 and never questioned why I returned early. He always gave me money when he felt I needed it and I’m positive he did the same for the other grandchildren and great grandchildren. He appreciated us differently, but none of us believe we didn’t get exactly what we deserved from him.
My fondest memory of his later life was how he always got up from his expensive lazy boy when we left. Always kissing us on the lips. Giving the biggest hug he could. By later life he was barely 100 pounds and had shrunk to 5′4. He wore his pants around his chest and never failed to have a glass of scotch at the side table. For a man who smoked until 90….well, theres nothing else I can say. He smoked until 90.
I don’t get to come home this time. I dont get to say goodbye to this man that I complemented generously in my birthday dedication to him in 2005. But in a small way I’m glad. My lasting memory is not of a frail man in failing health, but of poppy.
My poppy in the chair.
