My grandpa Hastings (“Spike”) was a boxer and a carpenter and was physically strong as hell. As kids, we had trouble understanding a lot of what he said because of his peculiar mumble, and he would kind of rough-house with us, so he was a bit scary but we could tell he loved us. I remember that so much of what he talked about was things like getting our legs stuck in bear traps, and being sent to the gulag, etc. – sort of 1930s flavored cartoon violence, if that makes any sense.
Anyway, I just inherited a letter that Spike wrote to my father in 1969, when people actually corresponded that way, and I sat laughing out loud with it this morning, a rush of memories about the kind of man he was rushing back. I’ve photographed the pages and transcribed it here. All of the names he mentions are extended family members (most of them deceased now), just him riffing. Sharing for the time capsule joy of it. I’ve bolded the funniest bits.
Oakland, Califonia
July 18, 1969
Dear Pigaloos –
Fat ones, skinny ones, large ones, and small ones and as Scot asked me “Grandpa,” why do you call us pigaloos?” Well Scot, old boy, I’ll tell you, just because you are all pigaloos, that’s why. And if you don’t like it, you can either quit being a pigaloo, or we can go out in the alley. Just write your own ticket, Scot old man. But regardless, John and I will always be friends. That is as long as he has money. But I don’t know about you Scott, you are sumpin’ else.
Grandma and I have been canning apples and peaches. Don’t think you are going to get any Scott. Maybe John can look at them. Maybe.
Bill’s are being sent back out here, soon I guess. They haven’t said exactly when. They are all glad, I guess. Least that’s what Bill said. But then you know how he kicks the truth around. Something should be done about him. ?What?
It is a beautiful morning. Perhaps it will get warm, before the day is over.
Vic Bakers are leaving for Pennsylvania this afternoon. That’s where they both come from. Just going back fro a visit. M. and Mrs. and the twin girls. They are the ones that tied you up, Avis. They are quite grown up now.
Nancy’s are supposed to come up the last of this month. Cuss their mizzable hides. Guess I’ll have to get a few of my bear traps out and set them around where Shelly and Mike won’t suspect them. Then when they get a foot in them and are bobbing around on a broken leg, I can take a stick to ‘em and whomp ‘em just I like I am going to do to old man Scott when he shows his smiling face around here. I’ll wipe the grin off his ugly mug I get one of his old chicken legs in that bear trap and play Yankee Doodle on his noggin with a club. Heh, heh, and heh.
I better close. Mommy wants me to go to the Claude Dillons and borrow a thing to squeeze apples with. She can cook just the juice to make jelly. Don’t know how it is going to work, wish we had a regular old cider press. If I did, I would catch old Jim and put one of his hands or feet in it and screw it down real snug. I’ll bet he could remember real quick, that five bucks he borrowed from me some years back, and he claims he can’t remember.
Love to all, Jim too.
– POE OLD PAPPY
