Sometimes, a person’s life can be so influenced by another that it helps shape that life for the better. And when the subject of games and youth is raised, I invariably think of how fortunate I was to have had a grandfather like Ludavick Anderson or “Gramps” as I affectionately called him. When he visited, not only did he teach me how to play different games, he taught me an even more valuable lesson. He set an example of how important it is to convey a sincere interest in others. In this brief snapshot, I will provide some background on his life as I remember it and the games he taught me.
He was born in 1874, in the small village of Halmstad, located near the southwestern coast of Sweden, directly across from Denmark. At the age of eleven, he, his parents and ten other siblings migrated to America, eventually settling in Springfield, Illinois. When he grew to manhood, Gramps stood about 5’7” tall, had wavy blonde hair, loved to listen to classical music, possessed a marvelous tenor voice, made baseball a hobby; and had a jovial spirit. He always seemed to wear a broad smile and enjoyed greeting friends and strangers alike. As he would often say: “Smile and the world smiles with you.”
Like many children of immigrants, even today, Gramps was unable to complete his high school education. I often recall him saying: “Roger, what a wonderful thing it is to get a college education. You are so fortunate to have had this training. It will open many opportunities for you.” When he shared such thoughts with me, I sensed it made him feel a little sad, owing to his own lack of education. It definitely limited his ability in the workforce of mid-western America.
While he never had the benefit of a full high school education, he never stopped trying to learn. Quite easily he learned to speak English fluently, without even a trace of a Swedish accent, except when he was suddenly surprised. On those rare occasions he would express his surprise by using Swedish words. I must confess I enjoyed hearing him speak in Swedish and actually attempted to mimic his words. Once I actually did this for a Swedish friend of mine who interpreted them for me. I was somewhat confused afterwards and considered it best to stick to my own native tongue.
At fifteen, Gramps began work initially on the Pennsylvania Railroad, as a brakeman. In the latter part of the nineteenth century rail road cars had to be individually braked as they came into a station. Whereas today the train engineer uses a hydraulic system to automatically brake the train as it glides slowly to a stop. Over the course of the ensuing sixty years Gramps rose from being a brakeman to becoming a valued express messenger. Eventually he was hired by the New York Central Rail Road, where he worked until his retirement in his late-seventies. He was always proud of his life of hard work and sometimes when we greeted each other he would say: “Shake the hand of an iron worker.”
An express messenger is a mailman who delivers and receives mail and freight while traveling in the freight car of a train. In Gramps’ day, the railroad was a primary source for delivering goods from one state to another. Federal Express, including air freight, had yet to surface. During the late nineteenth and early twentieth century a messenger would customarily begin his work at night, leaving from one major rail hub en route to another. Along its route his train made intermediate stops in smaller cities, until it reached its final destination where he would overnight. The following day he reversed the trip and returned to his original starting point. Throughout this roundtrip he would continue to deliver and receive all kinds of mail, boxes, foodstuffs, and live animals from workers waiting for his train at each temporary stop. In railroad parlance such travel was referred to as a ‘run.’
As a teenager, I was privileged to make a run with Gramps from Cincinnati to Chicago and back. Here are some episodes I remember from that occasion. At one stop in Kankakee, Illinois we took on a large pig. Throughout the rest of our trip to Chicago, I occasionally played with the pig, although it wasn’t really playing as such. Rather I was trying to pet him. I had never petted a live pig before. Every time I would touch his bristly back he squealed loudly, as only pigs can do. When this happened, Gramps would burst out laughing. Later during the run I felt hungry. Fortunately we had just taken on some large boxes of cherries. They were and still are one of my favorite fruits. But I am ashamed to admit that I committed some petty larceny that night, by scrounging a few cherries for myself.
When he wasn’t busy doing inventory, we talked. And he told me that on one run he transported a live bear for a zoo. Unfortunately there were also live chickens in nearby crates. Once the bear smelled them, he eventually broke free and had chicken for diner. This allowed Gramps time to barricade himself behind some boxes. At the next stop the police and fire departments were called and corralled the bear. While my grandfather carried a pistol on all his trips, he never had to use it. After listening to the bear story, not Goldilocks and The Three Bears, of course, I finally fell asleep on some surprisingly comfortable cardboard boxes. It’s amazing how soft cardboard can feel when one is truly sleepy.
In Chicago that night, we had to exit through the freight section of the train depot to reach our hotel. In the process Gramps had to check in his pistol with railroad officials. While I waited for him, I became distracted by a strange hissing sound. It seemed to be coming from a small box cage resting nearby on the floor. As I watched, I observed that every time someone walked by or accidentally hit the box, with their shoe, a large weasel popped his head out from his enclosure, menacingly barring his teeth, while hissing. The speed with which the weasel popped in and out of his enclosure amazed me. It was almost like he was shot out of a canon. For the first time I finally understood how the well-known nursery rhyme came to be written. You probably remember the words to it as “Pop goes the weasel.”
While the run to Chicago and back to Cincinnati was a once in a lifetime experience, it cannot really express how much I enjoyed being with Gramps. He thoughtfully taught all his grandchildren how to play different card games. Consequently, I learned how much fun card playing could be especially when bad weather prevented our playing outside. The fun was not only in being able to win, but more importantly learning how to acquire a card sense or strategy as to how cards are played.
The game that we played most often was called Casino. It can easily include both adults and children. The object of the game is to earn 21 points before your opponent(s) do. It usually required dealing of several card hands to win, especially when we played with my brother and cousins. We actually played for an hour or two at a time. While we never attempted to play the adult game of Bridge, the techniques I learned playing Casino ultimately aided me in becoming a good bridge player. Three such techniques were: to always play by the rules; to keep track of what cards had been played; and to plan ahead before your turn came. Gramps enjoyed every game. I can still remember his laughing loudly when my brother bluffed me into thinking he held the big casino.
Today, as a grandfather myself, I am amazed at how kind Gramps was to spend so much time with us. By comparison, where my own eight granddaughters are concerned, I am humbled to even think of matching the patience he demonstrated. I believe tick tack toe was probably as close as I ever came to finding a game they truly enjoyed. Most were not old enough to learn Bridge.
When they grew older, of course, card games with an old grandfather didn’t interest them as much.
By the time I reached adulthood, Gramps could no longer play games. At age 85, senility had affected his keen mind and warm heart. He had to live in a nursing home. On his last night with us, I visited him. Surprisingly, he proved to be somewhat lucid. So I asked him if there was anything he wanted me to tell the family. His reply was: “Just tell them I love them.” By the next morning he had passed away.
Before closing this family story, I would be remiss if I did not suggest that Gramps’ entire family is grateful that he came to America. Quite likely each of us can credit some of our patience and good nature to the example he set. Thanks Gramps! We’ll always love you.