Popnik
We referred to my father’s father as Pop, Poppa, or Popnik.
He was a kind old boy with a bad drinking problem - although I never knew him to be a mean drunk. I do not know that he drank so much (my other three grandparents drank just as much or more) as he had a low threshold for alcohol. Strange when you consider he was a large man. Every couple of years he would come to live with us for a while. After a few months he would announce that he needed to go back to Detroit to get his tools and clear up a few personal matters - but would be back in a week or so. It would usually be another year or two before we would see him again.
I would later find out that what would really have happened was that he would go on a binder, lose his job, and just wanted to be with family. I think he was just a lonely man. He and his wife had divorced when my father was young, and I really think he missed being part of a family. My impression was that his other child (my Aunt Dee) was somewhat bitter about growing up without a father (or for him as a father) and we were the only family he could visit for extended periods. After a few months he’d either have enough of being around a dozen kids, didn’t like the short drinking leash he was on, needed his space, just wanted to go back to work, or any combination of those - and would use the old “Going for my tools” story.
The last time he stayed with us was when I was learning to drive. He liked that, as I would take him places my parents would not and keep my mouth shut. In return, he would teach me how to work on my car. He was a very handy man. My father is not so handy so Popnik was my first exposure to working with my hands.
While I was in the Air Force, he had a very bad stroke and was sent to a nursing home for the destitute in a Detroit slum. Over the next couple of years, he withered away to nothing. I visited him three or four times in the nursing home, which unfortunately is the family record. Deb was able to make the last trip with me. Every time I would see him, he would have one less limb. He would be very happy to see me - although he had probably been happy to see his ex-wife, as he was so lonely. He could barely talk and it would frustrate him. After trying to say a couple words he would get upset and say “aw nutz”, which he could say well. I would tell him to take his time because I was following him, and I would wait to listen to what he has to say. It was hard to watch what was once a very strong man, die so slowly.
I think he died in 1983. He was a very kind man with many problems. I consider myself to be handy and think his influence started me to want to be mechanically inclined.
