Still alive... just busy... Here's a rather long post about a recent loss.
Haskell, HF, Jones, Jonsey, old man, Dad, Paw Paw, Husband, and, of course, diceman. My grandfather had alot of names and titles over the course of his 97 years. He died on April 13th at 1:30pm at East Jefferson Hospital surrounded by his family. He wasn't in pain (because of all the morphine) and went peacefully.
The weather was perfect. The service was beautiful. I never really looked at services as anything other than comforting the people left behind. Lots of people came. All people that considered him an important institution in their lives. I did the readings. My father and 2 of his brothers got up and spoke about him. It was one of the hardest things I've ever had to deal with. My cousin Leisha wrote a beautiful piece about him. It's the only time in my memory I've ever seen my father cry.
Alot of time was spent outside on the patio at his house. My cousins and I talking to our uncles, getting stories out of them that we had tried so hard to get out of them before. This time we were successful.
My grandfather was born in Oklahoma. He had a huge family. They raised their own food, and everyone worked for a living from a young age. I found out that at one point my paw paw had a pet pig named 'Tippy.' He picked it out of the litter because it was the runt. He'd fight the other pigs off so that Tippy could get enough food. Because of his care, the runt became the largest of all of them. Like I said, they raised their own food, so you can guess the obvious ending of this story. He never did like "the other white meat" very much after that.
When he was 18 or so, he would do collection jobs for the mob on Monday, Wednesday, and Friday. On Tuesday and Thursday, he ran collection jobs on the mob for the cops. He was such a personable young man that neither side went after him for working both sides of the fence.
Around the same time, he was a rumrunner (prohibition being in effect and all). He and his brothers supplied and managed all kinds of backroom bars.
He moved to New Orleans around the age of 24. He started opening up "social clubs." Think of every movie you've ever seen with backroom casinos in them and the stereotypes applied. Drop boxes that would put the money through holes in the floor. Police raids with people running out the backdoors. When I asked why the mob didn't raise hell with him, I was told that they kinda had a territorial agreement with my grandfather (he never would work with them). Three of his places burned to the ground at various times, lots of other fires happened as well. Raids were commonplace.
He met my grandmother and they got married. She only recently learned all these things that I'm now talking about. They had 4 boys. My dad and his twin were the youngest. Paw Paw always made sure his family was not just provided for, but protected. I think that just by being his family, they protected him as well. Protected him from getting involved with really bad things and really bad people.
One of his best friends was a man named Red. Red was a hitman from St Louis who had been run out of there and came down to New orleans.
Paw Paw was arrested at least twice (gambling stuff). Never found guilty. The FBI raided the house once around the same time my mom and dad had started dating. They came in throwing everything into boxes and moved those boxes into their cars. According to my grandmother, halfway through this, an agent walked in and told them "You all take Mrs. Jones' stuff out of those boxes, fold them back up just like they were, and put them back where they belong." To this day she remembers him as "that nice agent man."
Obviously my grandfather was not exactly a fan of the federal government. He was summoned before Congress around the same time as the McCarthy hearings to testify on organized crime and gambling. I asked what all Paw Paw had said, and was told "Well, he took the fifth alot." I'm going to do some FOIA's for that testimony as well as his FBI file.
I found out that my great uncle Les (Paw Paw's little brother) had a bit of a mouth on him, the kind of big mouth that would apparently have the mob in New Orleans wanting to kill you. Apparently one night, Carlos Marcello (THE mob boss in New Orleans at the time - also mentioned in JFK conspiracies - http://www.crimelibrary.com/gangsters/marcello/) stopped in a car next to my Paw Paw and Les. They asked them to get in the car to talk. Paw Paw responded with "I don't think so. We can talk here." Marcello replied with "Come on, Jonsey. We don't have any problems with you. We just want to talk to your brother." My grandfather replied by pulling out a snub nosed .38 and made it clear they weren't going anywhere. I'm guessing they left them alone after that, because my great uncle Les lived a long time and was a person that helped make Vegas what it is now. Years later, I remember being a kid in my grandfather's shop and seeing Marcello come in. I didn't know who he was at the time. The only reason I ever knew was I recognized his picture in the paper when he died in 1993.
My mom told me that when she and my father were dating, their dates always started or ended with a trip to the Greyhound bus station to "drop off packages for dad." I asked my dad what was in those packages. He smiled and said, "It could have been anything. Poker chips, cards, regular dice, loaded dice, magnets for roulette wheels." My dad's twin remembers Paw Paw taking he and my dad on "trips" where they were stopping at all kinds of holes in the wall places dropping off packages. On one trip, Dan was playing with an 8mm camera and caught a Thunderbird that would come off a dirt road, follow them for a while, and then pull of a different dirt road, just to pull back behind them a mile or so later. Paw Paw told them "It's those fucking feds. They just don't give up." Years later as a kid, Paw Paw took me on similar trips. I loved taking those trips with him, meeting all these people.
My dad used to work in my grandfather's places. He bought my mom's engagement ring with the money he made cleaning up in the mornings at a place on Fountainbleau.
Paw Paw never acted like an old man. He was quick, alert, and lucid up til the end. He taught me alot of things over the course of his life - things like how to make and load dice at his shop one day, taught me how to count cards on one Easter Sunday a long time ago, and taught me that the secret to a long life is apparently cookies and milk for breakfast, a usually unlit cigar in your mouth at all times, and two martinis every night.
I went through his old office on Sunday with one of my uncles. I grabbed a few things that I wanted to keep - a set of loaded dice and a pair of regular dice (all made by him), a quarter with tails on both sides, some of his old business cards, and an old notebook he used to keep all his notes on dice making and loading, roulette wheels, poker chips, everything. At his house, my grandmother gave me some of his cigars (the smell alone reminds me of him) and one of his canes he used later in life (twist the handle and pull for the blade to come out). We found that old snub nosed .38 under some of his shirts. My lawyer uncle has it. We're presently pleading with him to not turn it in, because the police would just melt it down to slag.
The last thing I noticed as I walked out of his office was a frame on the wall. Inside was a State of Louisiana certificate naming my grandfather to the staff of Governor Huey Long. He had one from every governor since.
That's it for now. I have lots more stories. Stories that I'll post here from time to time and filter like this one. I just don't have the energy right now to think about them.
Haskell, HF, Jones, Jonsey, old man, Dad, Paw Paw, Husband, and, of course, diceman. My grandfather had alot of names and titles over the course of his 97 years. He died on April 13th at 1:30pm at East Jefferson Hospital surrounded by his family. He wasn't in pain (because of all the morphine) and went peacefully.
The weather was perfect. The service was beautiful. I never really looked at services as anything other than comforting the people left behind. Lots of people came. All people that considered him an important institution in their lives. I did the readings. My father and 2 of his brothers got up and spoke about him. It was one of the hardest things I've ever had to deal with. My cousin Leisha wrote a beautiful piece about him. It's the only time in my memory I've ever seen my father cry.
Alot of time was spent outside on the patio at his house. My cousins and I talking to our uncles, getting stories out of them that we had tried so hard to get out of them before. This time we were successful.
My grandfather was born in Oklahoma. He had a huge family. They raised their own food, and everyone worked for a living from a young age. I found out that at one point my paw paw had a pet pig named 'Tippy.' He picked it out of the litter because it was the runt. He'd fight the other pigs off so that Tippy could get enough food. Because of his care, the runt became the largest of all of them. Like I said, they raised their own food, so you can guess the obvious ending of this story. He never did like "the other white meat" very much after that.
When he was 18 or so, he would do collection jobs for the mob on Monday, Wednesday, and Friday. On Tuesday and Thursday, he ran collection jobs on the mob for the cops. He was such a personable young man that neither side went after him for working both sides of the fence.
Around the same time, he was a rumrunner (prohibition being in effect and all). He and his brothers supplied and managed all kinds of backroom bars.
He moved to New Orleans around the age of 24. He started opening up "social clubs." Think of every movie you've ever seen with backroom casinos in them and the stereotypes applied. Drop boxes that would put the money through holes in the floor. Police raids with people running out the backdoors. When I asked why the mob didn't raise hell with him, I was told that they kinda had a territorial agreement with my grandfather (he never would work with them). Three of his places burned to the ground at various times, lots of other fires happened as well. Raids were commonplace.
He met my grandmother and they got married. She only recently learned all these things that I'm now talking about. They had 4 boys. My dad and his twin were the youngest. Paw Paw always made sure his family was not just provided for, but protected. I think that just by being his family, they protected him as well. Protected him from getting involved with really bad things and really bad people.
One of his best friends was a man named Red. Red was a hitman from St Louis who had been run out of there and came down to New orleans.
Paw Paw was arrested at least twice (gambling stuff). Never found guilty. The FBI raided the house once around the same time my mom and dad had started dating. They came in throwing everything into boxes and moved those boxes into their cars. According to my grandmother, halfway through this, an agent walked in and told them "You all take Mrs. Jones' stuff out of those boxes, fold them back up just like they were, and put them back where they belong." To this day she remembers him as "that nice agent man."
Obviously my grandfather was not exactly a fan of the federal government. He was summoned before Congress around the same time as the McCarthy hearings to testify on organized crime and gambling. I asked what all Paw Paw had said, and was told "Well, he took the fifth alot." I'm going to do some FOIA's for that testimony as well as his FBI file.
I found out that my great uncle Les (Paw Paw's little brother) had a bit of a mouth on him, the kind of big mouth that would apparently have the mob in New Orleans wanting to kill you. Apparently one night, Carlos Marcello (THE mob boss in New Orleans at the time - also mentioned in JFK conspiracies - http://www.crimelibrary.com/gangsters/marcello/) stopped in a car next to my Paw Paw and Les. They asked them to get in the car to talk. Paw Paw responded with "I don't think so. We can talk here." Marcello replied with "Come on, Jonsey. We don't have any problems with you. We just want to talk to your brother." My grandfather replied by pulling out a snub nosed .38 and made it clear they weren't going anywhere. I'm guessing they left them alone after that, because my great uncle Les lived a long time and was a person that helped make Vegas what it is now. Years later, I remember being a kid in my grandfather's shop and seeing Marcello come in. I didn't know who he was at the time. The only reason I ever knew was I recognized his picture in the paper when he died in 1993.
My mom told me that when she and my father were dating, their dates always started or ended with a trip to the Greyhound bus station to "drop off packages for dad." I asked my dad what was in those packages. He smiled and said, "It could have been anything. Poker chips, cards, regular dice, loaded dice, magnets for roulette wheels." My dad's twin remembers Paw Paw taking he and my dad on "trips" where they were stopping at all kinds of holes in the wall places dropping off packages. On one trip, Dan was playing with an 8mm camera and caught a Thunderbird that would come off a dirt road, follow them for a while, and then pull of a different dirt road, just to pull back behind them a mile or so later. Paw Paw told them "It's those fucking feds. They just don't give up." Years later as a kid, Paw Paw took me on similar trips. I loved taking those trips with him, meeting all these people.
My dad used to work in my grandfather's places. He bought my mom's engagement ring with the money he made cleaning up in the mornings at a place on Fountainbleau.
Paw Paw never acted like an old man. He was quick, alert, and lucid up til the end. He taught me alot of things over the course of his life - things like how to make and load dice at his shop one day, taught me how to count cards on one Easter Sunday a long time ago, and taught me that the secret to a long life is apparently cookies and milk for breakfast, a usually unlit cigar in your mouth at all times, and two martinis every night.
I went through his old office on Sunday with one of my uncles. I grabbed a few things that I wanted to keep - a set of loaded dice and a pair of regular dice (all made by him), a quarter with tails on both sides, some of his old business cards, and an old notebook he used to keep all his notes on dice making and loading, roulette wheels, poker chips, everything. At his house, my grandmother gave me some of his cigars (the smell alone reminds me of him) and one of his canes he used later in life (twist the handle and pull for the blade to come out). We found that old snub nosed .38 under some of his shirts. My lawyer uncle has it. We're presently pleading with him to not turn it in, because the police would just melt it down to slag.
The last thing I noticed as I walked out of his office was a frame on the wall. Inside was a State of Louisiana certificate naming my grandfather to the staff of Governor Huey Long. He had one from every governor since.
That's it for now. I have lots more stories. Stories that I'll post here from time to time and filter like this one. I just don't have the energy right now to think about them.
VIEW 7 of 7 COMMENTS
morticia:
Oh man I went fuckin hiking for frive hours. It sucked and I am so burnt!! But I will try to make it out.
maia:
Thank you!!!!! 