Onley George Hess

Proud, Acrylic on Canvas by Amy Lynn Hess

When I was eight years old, my grandpa bought an old bicycle, and together we turned it into something special.  We scrubbed the rust off with S.O.S. steel wool soap pads.  We put on a new seat; pearl white and royal blue.  We painted it purple and chrome, and we added a bright, silver bell to the handlebars.  I remember daydreaming about it.

My grandpa died yesterday, March 18^th, two months short of his ninety-fifth birthday.  Not knowing what else to do, I painted that bicycle, acrylic on 24” x 32” canvas.  Such a tiny painting for such a span of time, such an important project, such a big idea.

My grandma is the storyteller in the family, but I did hear some wonderful stories from my grandpa about his life, especially as I got older and visited them often at their home in Ruskin, Florida.  I heard some stories, I pieced some together, and we made some together.

My grandfather was a veteran of WWII, but he never spoke of it while I was growing up.  Probably ten years ago or more, we watched Saving Private Ryan together.  My grandma had left the room because she didn’t “like to think about the war.”  Before the movie ever ended, he told me pieces of his story.  He was a 13^th machine gunner on the Belgian front, a Timberwolf.  On the day he became the 1^st machine gunner, the war ended.  “Lucky 13,” he told me.  When he returned home from the war, he was a cook on one of the trains that delivered returning soldiers to their respective homes across the country.  He didn’t tell me why he didn’t go home. 

According to the 1940 census, he and his first wife reported that he was 21 years old and she, Helen L., was 19.  They owned their residence at 2126 16^th Street in Port Huron, Michigan.  He was a "stock picker" who had completed his third year of high school.  The value of the home was recorded at "250," and his pay was recorded as "1440."  Then he went to war.  He returned and divorced, but I don't know in which order.  The census didn't say so.

The census didn't say this, either, but I can tell you that when he laughed, his shoulders really shook.   

My grandpa once told me about a trip he took to Colorado.  He had a friend who owned a radio station and an airplane.  My grandpa loved music and flying, so I can guess that it was a very natural friendship.  The trip to Colorado came about when the radio man needed to fly to Colorado to pick up his girlfriend at a picnic.  My grandpa flew to Colorado with his friend, and when when he arrived, he learned that the picnic was at the top of a mountain, and the picnic site could be reached only on horseback.  Not a fan of horses, he was a sport about it, nonetheless, and he and his "grumpy" horse started up the mountain.  When they reached the picnic site, the horse took off for the lake, jumped in, and left my grandpa chin deep.

In addition to music and flying, my grandpa also loved taking photographs.  We took hundreds of photographs together: alligators, birds, squirrels, grandma, trees, the ocean.  He never once told me to be careful with his camera.  He never told me what pictures to take or not take.  He only helped when I asked for help.  That's how I learned.

We drove to the beach once and sat watching the boats, birds, and waves.  He sat on a log near the water.  There were pelicans floating behind him on the water.  I took a photograph of him with his camera.  In the photo, a profile shot, it looks like he has a tiny pelican sitting on his head.


I also have a photograph of him as a very young man with a very long beard, chopping wood.  I have photos of him in suspenders, in t-shirts, in a rain coat in a cave, shirtless, with cameras in hand, with his hair in a perfect blond or white wave, one surprise shot I got of him before he combed his hair that morning, and lots of photos of him with family and friends.  I have a photograph of him with his first wife and his daughter, Gayle, at the zoo.   I have his enlistment photo.  I have photos that he took of alligators and my grandma, but not alligators and my grandma in the same photo.  My prize photo is one of my grandparents, together, from the late 1940's.  They didn't have a big church wedding, so there are no fancy wedding photos - just that one photo of them happy and holding hands.

I would love to have a photo of my grandpa, a young man, getting himself out of that lake on top of that mountain. 

After my grandparents were married, my grandpa wanted to buy a boat. My grandma told him they didn't have the money.  He demanded the checkbook, proclaiming his entitlement to his paycheck.  She handed over the checkbook.  Two months later, when the lights went out, he showed her the drawer full of bills he hadn't even opened.  He gave her back the checkbook.

My grandpa retired from Chrysler. When I was very young, just four or so, I would call my grandpa during the day to come and pick me up. He always assumed my mom had dialed the phone for me. I learned to dial the phone by myself, inevitably, and I called to have him come and pick me up. It surprised my mom when he showed up, and it surprised them both when they realized I had learned to dial the phone for myself. He's very handsome in the photo I associate with that memory, sitting in the rocking chair, and I am wearing a Kermit the Frog t-shirt.

When I was in college, my grandparents would send me boxes of cookies, Werther's Originals, and summer sausage. There was always a note from my grandma: "The summer sausage is from grandpa." One time, they decorated their trailer for Halloween. In these photos, Polaroids, my grandparents are trying to photograph themselves together with the camera turned the wrong way. The photos are crooked, they look concerned instead of happy, like they're trying to figure out how to work the camera backwards.  There's a "ghost" behind them made from the yard light. The photos look a bit like Siamese-twin mug shots made by a drunken police officer.

One time, I took a photo of my grandparents together on my dad's couch.  They look content and comfortable, but I prefer the Siamese-twin mug shots.

One of the women in the retirement park got divorced, and she got herself a wiener dog, a Dachshund. When I came down to visit, he told me about it.   "Her husband told her to 'get along, little dogie,' so she did," grandpa laughed.  I love jokes that hinge on grammar, so I really laughed, too.  All of our shoulders shook, all four, up and down, up and down.  He really leaned in to tell that one, from the edge of his orange easy chair.

When I visited for Thanksgiving a few years ago, his memory was a little scattered.  He told me he didn't want bologna sandwiches for lunch because grandma made him take those everyday to work.  He told me he didn't want to fly an airplane on a video game because he had his own plane and could go flying whenever he wanted to go flying.   He woke up very clear-headed the morning after that, though, and when grandma wasn't listening, he told me "it's like living in a dream, but you don't wake up."  I didn't know what else to do, so I told him I hoped they were good dreams.  I made him a cup of coffee and held his hand for a little while.  He told me he was very proud of me, but I don't remember if that's when he said it.  It's just where I put it, like how the tail fin on the bicycle in my painting is a little bigger than the real one was.  It's just where I put it.

To answer in the affirmative was to say "Amen."  To say hello was to say "Hi ho!"  He also meowed at random.

A few months ago my aunt and uncle packed up the conversion van and drove my grandparents back to Michigan from Florida.  They stopped here in Georgia on their way through.  My grandpa didn't know who I was, but he recognized the photos I showed him: He and Helen at the zoo with Gayle, my grandmother sitting on the bumper of the Dodge, my grandparents happy and holding hands in a photo from the late 1940's.

The Port Huron Times Herald Obituary - March 19, 2013

Onley G. Hess
Kenockee

Onley George Hess, 94, went home on Monday, March 18, 2013. He was born May 18, 1918 in Port Huron to the late George and Nellie Hess. He married Irene Zauner on April 12, 1947 in Port Huron. Onley worked for Chrysler Corporation for over 38 years retiring in 1974. He served his country in the United States Army during World War II. He was a lifetime member of VFW May-O'Brien Post #8465. He enjoyed hunting, fishing, boating, traveling in his motorhome and piloting his own plane. He is survived by his wife of 65 years, Irene; his son, Karl (Darlene) Hess; his daughter, Kathryn (Pat Carnahan) Schlinkert; nine grandchildren, Michelle "Shelly" Martin, Amy (Mathew Smith) Hess, Renee Hess, Jamal Hess, Patricia (Roger) Hartman, Dawn (Roger) Carrivau, Paula "Nicki" (Don) Fortune, and Scott and Pam Buchanan; several great grandchildren and great great grandchildren. He is preceded in death by a daughter, Olana Gayle Buchanan; a son, Erik Hess; a great grandson; and two sisters, Leah Dicer and Frankleen Conley. A private family service will be held in the spring. Arrangements are by Smith Family Funeral Home-North, 1525 Hancock Street, Port Huron. Memorials may be made in Onley's name to Heartland Hospice.