Otto Grimm, of Muncie, Montana, died last week at age 110. At an early age, a crusty old pioneer told him that the secret of a long life was to sprinkle a pinch of gun powder on his oatmeal every morning. Otto left six children, seventeen grandchildren, thirty three great grandchildren, and a fifty foot hole where the crematorium used to be.
And they found a pool of oil where the crematorioum used to be.
My atlases do not show a Muncie, Montana so I think this is fictitious, Dennis.
There has been an update or two since '42Originally Posted by Jim Franklin
I got a bang out of that one.
Good one Dennis, I didn't see it coming.
-Jim
To know and to serve God, of course, is why we're here, a clear truth, that, like the nose on your face, is near at hand and easily discernible but can make you dizzy if you try to focus on it hard. But a little faith will see you through.
Garrison Keillor
Reminiscent of the Hillbillies.
{found on that page, too, the very first episode. Then there is also a video that says it was an UNaired pilot ... the difference was the addition of about the last five minutes where the banker/neighbor is describing meeting them, etc.
Life beats down and crushes the soul and art reminds you that you have one.
~ Stella Adler ~
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
It takes a great deal of maturity to accept that trying to eliminate all risk eliminates life.
~ Susan Lapin ~
Well, Jim, truth be told, Otto Grimm was the name of my great-grandfather, who lived in Muncie, Indiana. When I began to write the obit, however, the old crusty pioneer from Indiana didn't quite sound right, so at the last minute, I changed it to Montana. I should have known the old geographer would catch me.
My great grandfather was a gem of a guy, and when I was just a little kid, he bragged to me that at age two, he could spell his first name forwards and backwards. Unfortunately, he didn't live to 110, and as far as I know, he didn't like oatmeal. He was, however, a little crusty. If he didn't like the preacher, he would withhold his tithe, and put it in when a new pastor came to town. He was enough of a legalist to know what he could get away with.
This is a repeat story for some earlier naznetters, but he also was not in favor of building a new church when the old one was outgrown (1940's). The board moved ahead, however, and it went to congregational vote. It carried. After the vote was announced, he stood up and said, "I've been agin a new building since it was first brought up, and I've fought agin it. But my church has voted to move ahead, and I want to be the first to give a thousand dollars." Before the meeting had ended they had raised enough in cash and pledges to fund the building, and revival broke out. That part, is a true story.
That's a good man right there.
That's the type of people I like: up front and honest...... and not subversive. Bless him!
Not knowing the circumstances under which I would tell these other stories, I'll post them on naznet's dime.
Grandpa Grimm used to tell me that before he became a Christian, he smoked a pipe. He was saved at the altar of a little country church, and after the service he went home and grabbed his ivory carved pipe of which he had been very proud. He took it out behind the house and threw it as far as he could out into the river. "I don't know what happened to it, and I never went looking for it. I never went back," he said.
My most vivid memories of him where when he had a large acreage farm outside Muncie. As he got older, he leased out his land to other farmers, but kept the farm house and barn operative. When Holiday Inn came to town in the fifties, they came to him about putting up a sign next to the highway that abutted his farm. He said he had two conditions: that they pay the first ten years in advance, and the sign would have nothing about drinking, smoking, gambling or dancing. They agreed, and the very large billboard went up. Apparently not everything about the agreement had been communicated to whoever made the sign, and it included a couple martini glasses, and mentioned their Saturday night open dances. Grandpa said not a word, but one night the entire sign disappeared, and then showed up in pieces behind the barn. He had used his chain saw to cut down the sign and all the telephone poles they had used to support it. "I told them not to put that stuff on my sign, and they did it anyway: so I took it down. That's why I made them pay me up front." The sign stayed down, and they never came back for the money. Grandpa used all that plywood for years to patch his barn.
My kind of gentleman. Dan, we Geographers, although retired, try to stay current. My oldest is the Litarary Digest 1927 Atlas and Gazeteer,and my newest one is this year. Part of Mali is trying to separate from the other part.
Posting Permissions
Reply With Quote