If you missed this off of Deadspin, it is pretty good:
https://theconcourse.deadspin.com/and-n ... 1823869121

My grandfather used to have about a 16oz glass of buttermilk with every dinner. You could watch the rings form on the glass as the gulps went down. He also used to mix all of the dinner plate together and say that it was all going to end up mixed in his stomach anyway. And when we were younger, he would tell us jokes that we would have no idea what they meant, like "I went down to the hatchery the other day and ask the man if he bred any good rooks lately." And half the time the punchline would get slaughtered as he was telling it.

Anyone have good grandpa stories to share whilst we wait for the next Loyola victory?

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"All crowds boycotting football games shouldn't care who sings or takes a knee because they aren't watching." - Nas

One of my grandfathers also drank buttermilk with dinner. So gross.

My other grandfather was the crazy one. Very bad alcoholic. He quit when I was born so I never really saw it but he would tell stories. He went out one night and ended up on a bender and the next thing he knew, it was two days later and he was being woken up by a stewardess on a plane in San Francisco. He loved to tell the joke about the blind man walking past the fish house. Every hot chick that they would show in Wrigley during Cubs games was his ex girlfriend. ‘Don’t tell your grandma!!’ And then he would laugh at the joke like I never heard it.

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I believe the grandfather who passed away before my birth would have been the funny one. The one who lived till his mid 90’s, like many of his time, was a wee bit prejudiced. Not against anything ethnic mind you ( He let his wife handle that) but overweight people. I was sitting in a diner with him in his hometown and a rather large woman rode by on a bicycle. He kind of sighed for a second and sadly said “ Poor bike” and than proceeded to refuse to tip the waitress as she was overweight and would just spend the money on more food. Ahh Colonel, kinda miss you sometimes.

I'll never forget the inspirational saying he used to tell us, which was a twist on an old George Burns quote:

"It is better to fail at something you hate than to have to live as a completely sentient being."

My grandfather was a real life MacGyver. Fixed everything himself, got run up on from behind whilst working(in his 70s) on his car in his garage across from Phillips HS. Young guy grabbed him, pulled a gun him, but didn't see the hammer within my grandfather's reach.

One cracked skull later the young guy was begging "old man please don't kill me". Cops came to arrest the guy and my grandfather refused to press charges, noting that the guy would never rush another old guy on 39th and Prairie ever again.

And that's actually the tamest story about I knew about my grandfather until he died.

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There are only two examples of infinity: The universe and human stupidity and I'm not sure about the universe.

I just googled them (because of this thread) and saw a video of one. He's been dead for 30 years.... Looks exactly like my uncle.

Both were good people. I wish I had more time with them.








Side note...Who is Bill Ociepka?

He was the guy who let the news out (accidentally) that Orton would start over Grossman.

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"All crowds boycotting football games shouldn't care who sings or takes a knee because they aren't watching." - Nas

I sense a racial subtext.

My Grandpa helped kill someone who was famous.

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My grandpa learned English fighting in the Korean War, so whenever he would come out of surgery he would revert back to either speaking Lithuanian or a lot of his "original" English which was literally a swear word every third word. He had an accent but was pretty good at speaking English when not coming out of anesthesia but something about that turned him into a bit of a madman until it wore off.

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You do not talk to me like that! I work too hard to deal with this stuff! I work too hard! I'm an important member of the CSFMB! I drive a Dodge Stratus!

This sounds somewhat similar to my own grandfather. He and his Irish buddy, Pete Kelly, used to raise hell all over Lakeview. In the 30s when Hitler was rising in Germany, there was a segment of Germans in Chicago who supported him. There was a bar near Addison and Ashland where the Nazis would hang out. At the time, "Nazi" obviously didn't have the same weight or connotation that it would several years later during and after WWII, but my grandfather still found it foreign and subversive. I suppose he saw such activity as sullying his own German name and somehow making him seem less than American.

He and Pete Kelly decided to go into the Nazi bar separately and sit at opposite ends. When they gave each other the high sign they would then flip the bar- which was not secured to the floor- upside down. Well, the two drunks did exactly that and all hell broke loose. My grandfather ended up having his skull split open with a blackjack. He staggered home with his head bleeding profusely. My grandmother was appalled and insisted they go immediately to the hospital. My grandfather sneered at her, "Put a towel on it."

Even after he stopped drinking, which was before I can remember, he was a tough guy to take. He could be very obnoxious at his worst and pretty damn funny at his best. He's the only 80 year old man I ever met as an adult who I was sure could beat the fuck out of me.

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Freedom is our Strength.

Come on! You can't just leave it at that.

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Freedom is our Strength.

The famous guy was Gianni Versace.

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it adds to my mystique.

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"Put a towel on it" That sounds like my WWII vet grandfather. He lost a finger working in the mill and still finished his shift.

My other grandfather was the crazy one. He missed WWII, too young, and he was never that kind of tough guy. He was heavily involved in the longshoreman union so I've always assumed he was casually associated with the mob.

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Unfortunately, my Mom's dad passed when she was 18 and my Dad's dad died before I was 2 so I never knew either Grandfather. I've heard MANY stories, but they seem to be the typical run of the mill drinking tales.

Probably the most remarkable story was one I posted a few month's back when my great uncle (My grandfather's brother on my Mom's side) passed. My uncle and grandfather were both in the army, on the ground in Europe during WWII. My uncle stormed the beach at Normandy, my grandfather had already been over there for some time. Both were captured by the Nazi's and as they were being marched across Europe, the two actually ended up meeting each other when the Nazi's let them stop next to a river for a short break. That had to have been pretty surreal.

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every morning my great grandfather would eat 6 slices of bare rye toast. and coffee. no butter, no nothing. he would save any beef from dinner and eat it with desert. He also loved crushing saltines into a cup and pouring butter milk over it and eating it.

My grandpa was the state wood chopping champion back in the 40s. He won the event where you stand on the log and chop down on it in between your feet.

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