He wasn’t a tall man by today's standards, under 6 ft., slight of build, but to me he was a giant of man; good and grand. Loving, faithful and fun.
After mother and dad, my Grandpa Cooney was one of the first to welcome me to the world October 25, 1950 - the day I was born. From the beginning we shared a sweet camaraderie and were very simpatico . I was his Little Brown Eyed Sweetheart, he was my hero. I adored Grandpa and cherished my time with him.
After mother and dad, my Grandpa Cooney was one of the first to welcome me to the world October 25, 1950 - the day I was born. From the beginning we shared a sweet camaraderie and were very simpatico . I was his Little Brown Eyed Sweetheart, he was my hero. I adored Grandpa and cherished my time with him.
Grandma used to tell the story about when I was still a toddler and came to visit I'd run right past her to give Grandpa my first hug, and how he'd be sitting in the old Morris chair in the back bedroom after work waiting for me to bring his slippers; I'd climb up on his lap and we'd talk about our day.
Grandpa was an upholster, the best in the Midwest! His shop was Cooney's Upholstery on Pearl St. in Council Bluffs. When my dad was in high school he helped Grandpa at the shop, and according to my mother, Dad learned a lot about the trade, stretching material over sofa's and chairs in just the right way, pulling thread and tacking nails, and became a good upholsterer himself. When I was a little girl I often visited the shop, too. I can still picture the large spools of thread and rolls of fabric all about , and how tickled I was to be near Grandpa. I remember how he would stop his work, no matter how busy he was , pick me up and carry me in his arms the whole time I was there, like I was royalty.
When Grandpa came home from work he washed his hands with Borax and soothed his aching muscles with BenGay . When I had trouble with warts on my thumb he cured the problem by rubbing a ball of hot bee's wax on the warts making them disappear. Grandpa smoked a pipe, and enjoyed drinking a Schlitz beer every evening. To this day I still associate the sweet smell of pipe tobacco with Grandpa - it gives me a pleasant, nostalgic feeling of him being near.
Both Grandpa and I liked raspberries. During summer months we'd pick a basket full from his patch in the backyard . When I was a little older and the berries weren't so plentiful on that backyard bush, Grandma bought frozen raspberries at Piggley Wiggley. Grandma taught an Adult Education Cake Decorating class at Thomas Jefferson High School on Tuesday nights. Before she left for class Grandma always had dinner prepared, and card table set in the front room for Grandpa and I to eat together. We always looked forward to a bowl of raspberries for dessert !
Grandpa's early life wasn't an easy life, I'm sure. He left school after 6th grade to go to work. Grandma once told me Grandpa was an industrious young man, and would buy her lovely gifts when he was courting her. In Grandma's high school memory book she listed one of those gifts as a diamond lavaliere to 'Vera from Cecil' . Grandpa’s graduation gift to her.
Many years later , it was grandma's gift to me to wear on my wedding day.
Like many young men of his generation, Grandpa was a soldier during World War I and shipped overseas; He and Grandma married after his return home. While I'm sure there were troubles and challenges for Grandma and Grandpa during the course of their marriage, I know Grandpa was a faithful and loving husband, a father who did his best to instill high morals and responsibility in his children. Grandpa loved baseball , even played on a team in his younger days, and was an avid fisherman; At one time he was president of the local Fish and Game, and was also Boy Scout Scoutmaster, encouraging each of his three sons - Lloyd, Skip (my dad) and Pep to become Eagle Scouts, which they did.
Grandpa was very ill at the end of his life. Today he most likely would be diagnosed with Alzheimer's . Not long ago I came across a youthful essay I wrote about visiting Grandpa at Veteran's Hospital in Omaha - an essay I included with other little stories and poems I wrote and sent to Grandma for Christmas 1962. It was about visiting Grandpa in the hospital and the nurse allowing me to feed my Grandfather, and how overjoyed I was to be near him. Dad and Mother had already told me Grandpa probably wouldn't know me, but to everyone's great surprise when I entered his hospital room Grandpa lifted up, reached out his hand toward me, and smiled. I rushed over to him, happily crying out, "Grandpa, it's me, your little Brown eyed Sweetheart ", and told him how much I loved him. That was the last time I saw Grandpa. He passed away that April . My heart was broken and I cried for days. Grandpa is one of the great loves of my life.
Like many young men of his generation, Grandpa was a soldier during World War I and shipped overseas; He and Grandma married after his return home. While I'm sure there were troubles and challenges for Grandma and Grandpa during the course of their marriage, I know Grandpa was a faithful and loving husband, a father who did his best to instill high morals and responsibility in his children. Grandpa loved baseball , even played on a team in his younger days, and was an avid fisherman; At one time he was president of the local Fish and Game, and was also Boy Scout Scoutmaster, encouraging each of his three sons - Lloyd, Skip (my dad) and Pep to become Eagle Scouts, which they did.
Grandpa was very ill at the end of his life. Today he most likely would be diagnosed with Alzheimer's . Not long ago I came across a youthful essay I wrote about visiting Grandpa at Veteran's Hospital in Omaha - an essay I included with other little stories and poems I wrote and sent to Grandma for Christmas 1962. It was about visiting Grandpa in the hospital and the nurse allowing me to feed my Grandfather, and how overjoyed I was to be near him. Dad and Mother had already told me Grandpa probably wouldn't know me, but to everyone's great surprise when I entered his hospital room Grandpa lifted up, reached out his hand toward me, and smiled. I rushed over to him, happily crying out, "Grandpa, it's me, your little Brown eyed Sweetheart ", and told him how much I loved him. That was the last time I saw Grandpa. He passed away that April . My heart was broken and I cried for days. Grandpa is one of the great loves of my life.
Today, August 3 would be his 118th birthday. Looking back through memories eye, I see us as we were then, a loving grandfather and his devoted young grand-daughter laughing and playing, and enjoying each others company.
