I just got back from 3 days in Hong Kong seeing my late grandmother off, and during that weekend it was many a story about where my four grandparents (now with only my maternal grandmother remaining) came from and what they went through. In fact, I am likely to get many of these stories mixed up.
Thanks to World War II and all the shit that took place after it (you know, being that all my grandparents are CHINESE), my grandparents came away with experiences that almost make me guilty to have lived such a privileged and, by comparison, utterly easy life.
Herein we share tales of those from whence we came.
Paternal Grandfather (passed away in 1978)
His grandfather (so my great-great-grandfather) was a government official in southern China, and a wealthy one at that. Subsequently, my great-grandfather was a gambling drug addict that was spoiled out of his mind. Opium and such. The family fortune was squandered, and my grandfather had to strike out and making a living at the age of 12.
He went to work at a gambling house, keeping track of money. This was a kid who, at age 14, could multiply 3-digit numbers by 3-digit numbers in his head. He was good. He was sought after and made something of a name for himself. Eventually, he had to flee to Hong Kong to escape the Japanese invasion.
There, he started working on the docks, unloading fish. He sent money back to his family and eventually was able to buy a boat to actually be a fishmonger. Later, he could afford a small fleet of fishing boats. After the Sino-Japanese War ended and thanks to friendly ties with suppliers, he could open several grocery shops across southern China, at one point owning up to 30 grocery stores in the area. He married my grandmother around this time and they settled in Xinhui. (Keep in mind though that the civil war between the communists and nationalists was still going on, though southern China was left largely untouched.)
1947, 1948, and 1951 saw the births of my uncle, father, and aunt, and it was in 1951 that everything went wrong. A typhoon hit the area hard and sank many of the ships he owned, and for every person he lost, he had to pay insurance to each of the families. That lost him a lot of money. Then, later in the same year, the Communist Party, in power for only two years at this point, came in and took everything.
The family lost everything and my grandfather was forced to return to Hong Kong with his family and try to make a living as best he could.
The irony is that that part of my family suffered because of the early policies and actions of the Communist Party, and yet here we are, my father himself working in Beijing and me in Shanghai. But then again, no one nowadays looks kindly on what happened back then, and today things are insanely different, and it's not our place in this generation to hold a grudge for it when all they did was evolve.
Paternal Grandmother (passed away in 2008)
My grandmother lived a largely peaceful life until 1951, at which point hardships hit. Her father soon passed away after this. Her eldest son fell ill at the age of five to what we believe is meningitis (back then there just wasn't a diagnosis or treatment to aid it) and he became, and still is, mentally handicapped.
When her father died, my grandmother refused to take any of his inheritance, which was considerable. In fact, my father believes that if she'd taken even a portion of it, they would have been incredibly better off. But instead, the entire inheritance was split evenly between her two younger brothers. Her condition? To take care of her kids and to make sure they got a proper education.
My father thus lived 5 of his formative years with one uncle and 3 or so with the other, all the while growing distant from my grandfather and always appreciating the sacrifice his grandmother made for sake of her brothers and her children.
Maternal Grandfather (passed away in 1998)
A classic rags to riches story. He was sent away from his own home at the age of 11 to make a living for the family, told that he was a burden on them and should start earning his keep. His childhood was a miserable one and he eventually worked (and walked) his way from southern mainland China to Hong Kong, where he settled and did any work he could find.
The war hit when he was around 20 years old, and this part of the story you've likely heard before. He was captured by the Japanese and was in line to be thrown in a truck that would take all the men to a Japanese concentration camp, likely to be shot in front of a firing squad on arrival. The men were asked to strip themselves of all valuables, give them to the Japanese, and get on the truck.
My grandfather's turn came and he was wearing this old watch on his wrist. The Japanese soldier at the head of the line pointed at his watch and started shouting in Japanese (which my grandfather didn't understand). My grandfather, ox that he is, assumed the soldier wanted his watch, and instead yelled back in Cantonese, "No, it's my watch! My watch! You can't have it, it's mine!"
He was causing a ruckus and so the Japanese soldier, fed up, gestures with this massive gun (we have no idea what it was) and tells my grandfather to get lost. My grandfather walks away from the site, relatively unharmed.
My family still has that watch.
He also lost one of his eyes during the war, presumably from being hit there particularly hard by the butt of a rifle, but I'm not sure when exactly that happened. From what he also understands, all his brothers died in the war.
He later fled to Singapore to escape the Japanese, and there, working his ass off, made a fortune by starting a chain of theaters in the city. My mother grew up living like a princess because of it. Big house, limousines, drivers, servants, the works. He worked to give his family everything his family could never give him.
I knew him to be a dude who enjoyed a life of incredible luxury, but in the most mundane ways possible. He would fly, regularly, from Singapore to Hong Kong to eat a fish that could only be found in Hong Kong, and then fly right back. This was in the 70s and 80s, when flying was still ridiculously expensive.
Posts
Still alive, I never heard much about my grandmother's story. She is the oldest of (technically) 10 children, 7 of whom are still alive today. She was in Hong Kong when the Japanese invaded and because of them was locked in a tiny, cramped cellar, hiding with her brother and sisters, for 3 years. I'll likely ask about it when I go see her at Chinese New Year.
All I know about my grand grandfather is that he died in WW2 and theres a picture of him with his chopper.
My grandfather worked for him during the prohibition, when he was 16 years old. They delivered alcohol to the New-York mafia via the st. lawrence river.
my paternal grandmother is italian and the best cook and somewhat racist and i love her so much
my mom's side is french-canadian, i still have a lot of relatives in the quebec city area
my dad's side is italian
and that's about all I know
Edit: Oh, and my dad was in 'nam, and got lost in the jungle for 3 days
Thanks for sharing them.
My mom's side is descended from Robert the Bruce, but at this point there are a lot of people who can claim that to some degree
On dad's side we're descended from the clan known for being the greatest bagpipers in all of Scotland
I don't know anything specific about where the French part comes in
My mom's side is really good at making spaghetti.
My great-uncle who just died last year was one of the finest men I have ever known. As a kid growing up, he told me more about what life was actually like (not just what they tell kids) than anyone else. I don't have any specific stories, but the dude was awesome. I keep his picture in a special place.
my grandfather was once a ninja assassin who killed many terrorist leaders
but one time ninja assassins were sent to kill him, so he was all WACHA! HYAAAAA! WOOOHAAAAAA! and he defeated them
and then he won 4 billion dollars in the lottery, built a giant robot and that's where I live now
my paternal grandfather was a world war 2 vet, received a purple heart. I watched him have a heart attack and die when I was fifteen. My paternal grandmother is still alive
My maternal ancestry is kind of weird. They lived in Ireland until they had my mother, and shortly after my biological grandfather left the country with my mother to come to America. When she was about three he abandoned my mother and was taken in by the people I came to know as my grandparents. My mother managed to track down her real mother after a few years and they kept in touch but never saw one another till after she had me and my brother. Her biological father was nowhere to be found until about a year ago when he suddenly shows up. I eventually got pretty close to my maternal grandmother but I still consider the people who raised my mother to be my real "grandparents." My maternal grandmother died of cancer almost a year ago now.
This dude (who was a kung fu master) worked for an American trading company in southern China. When the Japanese invaded, all the Americans in the company pulled out and fled, let go of all the staff, and handed my great-grandfather the key to the safe. In the safe was banknotes and other items of ridiculously high value.
The Japanese came a-knockin' and demanded that my great-grandfather give up the key. He said no. And the Japanese beat the SHIT out of him. Torture of the most extreme kind. All but took his life.
The Americans came back after the Japanese got kicked out and looked up my great-grandfather up and ask him for the key. With a tired smile, he hands it back to them, the safe it unlocks untouched and fully intact.
The first baron in my line was given the title and lands by Henry the III, and after a few decades of holding the seat my ancestor was called, "Cursed of God."
The eleventh baron in my line went insane, killed his family and all of the servants, and then fled to Virginia.
Thanks! I thought they were pretty great stories, too.
my dad's side is much less notable but the personalities are much more interesting
My grandfather was born during the depression, and was about 17 when the war ended. He enlisted in the Navy afterwards, and ended up on CV-41, better known as the Midway, right after its shakedown cruise. His position? Radar Operator.
They ended up in Gibraltar, and he, being the Radar Operator, had to keep tabs of every ship going through the place.
Now remember, Gibraltar is 8 miles wide. And it's one of two places international trade could go in and out of the Mediterranean.
He updated the positions, bearings, and speeds of every. single. ship. going through. All of them. As fast as he possibly could. Eventually, the captain of the boat realized that there was a Radar Operator keeping tabs on the situation. Orders?
"Get this man a bunch of chicken sandwiches." Essentially constant chow.
For anything else remotely interesting I'd have to go back farther, but I kind of doubt the veracity of the stories.
My grandad spent the Great Depression picking cotton as a migrant farmer. Not because of the Depression, that's just what the family was up to in those days. In any case, at the age of eighteen he arrived in a small Texas town, seduced the Methodist minister's daughter, and they took a Greyhound to Las Vegas to get married. That's grandma, and she's a pretty classy old broad.
Most of the good stories are from further back. My direct ancestor is Henry Clay, who was almost president once. Back before that we have a sea captain who came to Virginia in the 1600s and may or may not have been a slave trader. It was either that or transporting indentured servants and convicts, or even passengers with money who actually wanted to come to America. Details are a bit sketchy, although I've got a lead on his ship's log and might take a road trip to the archive it's in and check it out.
Before that, we were from Jolly Olde England, and the family got quite a bit of land in Wales for fighting on the right side of the Battle of Tewksbury in 1472. The fact that our estates were in Wales probably explains why we were in such a damned hurry to get to America.
My favorite part of my family history is the poem that's inscribed in the family tomb:
Soules are made of heavenly spirit:
From whence they come ye heavens inherite.
But know that bodyes are made of claye
Yett is he as hee was I saye:
He living and dead remaineth Claye.
His very name that nature gave:
Is now as shall be in his grave.
Tymes doth teach, experience tryes:
That claye to dust the wind up dryes.
Then this a wonder coumpt wee must:
That want of wind should make Claye dust."
Fuck yeah. The earliest evidence of my family is a tasteless, labored pun presumably made at a funeral. At least I come by my posting style honestly.
My maternal grandfather and grandmother refused, absolutely REFUSED to have anything Japanese in the house. Never bought a Japanese car, TV, stereo, rice cooker, anything. Avoided the stuff like the plague.
It's very interesting to read this as I don't know that much about my own family line.
My paternal grandmother refused to have anything Russian in the house for similar reasons.
It didn't come up as much as Japanese electronics for obvious reasons, but it happened.
i vaguely remember when the sarin gas attacks in tokyo happened and was all over the news, my grandpa laughed and said they deserved it
I thought that technically, he wasn't even supposed to be writing on the radar screen, which is why the captain was down there in the first place. I'm also pretty sure it was he who started the whole writing on the screen thing. I could be wrong, though. I think we all know how often I'm wrong.
who didn't clinton pardon
i dunno
i bet it's awkward when he bumps into them though
My Mum's side is more entertaining. She is descended from a long line of staunch Irish Catholics, most notably one Patrick Ronan. His is a cautionary tale about alcohol and firearms that has stayed in our family for generations...
Allegedly, he was born and grew up in Northern Ireland, in a little rural area ruled over by a miserly English landlord who heavily taxed his Irish tennants. At some stage during his twenties, Patrick and some friends got very drunk, and became convinced that it was a good idea to storm their landlord's manor house. Patrick lead the charge through the doors, firing his pistol in the air to punctuate his dramatic entrance. Unfortunately, it was one of those single-shot pistols and so a now-unarmed and heavily intoxicated Patrick was bludgeoned into submission by the landlord's lackeys, while his friends had the good sense to flee the scene.
Patrick woke up the next morning on a prison ship bound for Australia.
It's possible that this story has become embelished over time; but I do know for certainty that Patrick Ronan was released after a year shamefully sucking up to his overseers. He travelled to South Australia to begin life as a reformed character, got married etc.
He has left me with a legacy of high alcohol tolerance, having stupid ideas and not being allowed to marry anyone who is not an Irish Catholic.
It's quite possible. I'll ask him next time I see him.
Terrible outlaws of hooligans of scoundrels. Untrustworthy beyond their own blood relatives.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=KV4qnAU9SH4
FOOT SWEATERS
Here on the mainland, a lot of the younger generations are not explicitly told why the Japanese pulled out of China so suddenly. I mean, they know the nukes happened, but the link between the incidents is downplayed.
The old folks? They were glad for Nagasaki and Hiroshima. You lose a bit of your compassion when you watch the people around you raped and murdered and live in constant fear of being in a concentration camp... and have it all publicized within Japan as it being a "happy, liberating time" for the Chinese people (taken from an actual Japanese newspaper).
My mom and sister are starting to get into tracing our genealogy, and I love it.
The one line they've traced back as far as they can is on my maternal grandmother's side.
As soon as the Northwest Territory was opened up, this family moved to Indiana, where they remained right up to my mom.
Also, my paternal grandmother (died in 2002) was a complete badass.
This being 1940s Las Vegas, she got a job as a secretary for some powerful gangsters. When my dad started getting in trouble at his public school, she decided to embezzle a bunch of money from these dangerous motherfuckers in order to send him to a good boarding school. When the mob found out, they threatened to kill her unless she gave back the money and work for very little pay, which she did. But as a final "fuck you" she started collecting information on her employers to relay to federal investigators.
Tomorrow, I'll have to tell about my dad's life story. He's kind of a crazy bastard.
GoFund The Portland Trans Pride March, or Show It To People, or Else!
Apparently, my family is related to Lady Jane Grey (I'm not sure how, I'll ask Mom later) and Helmuth von Moltke the Elder of Austria. Also, rumor has it that my mother's grandmother was the relative of a Gypsy king, Jan Lacketas (sp?), as her maiden name was Lacketas. Jan was from the Czechoslovakian region.
... At least... I think I have the right. I'll have to double check again.
Also, I'm part Irish on my mom's side. Wheee!
Paternal Grandfather: World class asshole, guy lives for destroying his grandchildren's dreams.
Paternal Grandmother: Greatest woman I have ever known. Singlehandedly raised my father and 2 uncles (and her own daughter from when she and my pop were seperated) and was the primary breadwinner for the family for most of her life. Then contracted bowel cancer and proceeded to make it her bitch.
Maternal Grandfather: Korean War veteran, served in all three of the Australian Defence Forces (Army, Navy, Air Force). I don't know if he won any awards or anything, but I've never known another man who embodied what a warrior is to me
Maternal Grandmother: The middle child of 13. Bloody brilliant lady, and descended from French Royalty (don't ask me who)
Legends
Stoddard Family: Apparently around about the year 1760 (rough estimate) the two sides of my family back then (The Stoutharts and the Stothards) had a drinking contest to determine which of the names would be attributed to the newborns. The Stothards won, which evolved into the name I carry now: Stoddard
Knight Hospitaller: My great uncle used to tell me that one of my ancestors was a Knight Hospitaller who served with King Richard in the Third Crusade. He had an old painting of a Knight in the Order of St John tunic and everything. He's dead now though, and I think he sold the painting.
Compatriot of Robert Bruce: Every person of Scottish descent can claim something like this. Nothing like Ancestral Patriotism