Postcard to Granddaddy

In early October 1972, my mother moved my three sisters and me from Virginia to New Jersey. We journeyed to New Jersey on the Greyhound bus. During our layover in Washington, DC, I purchased this postcard and mailed it to my grandfather Minor Elwood Thornton (1913-1979), some time after we arrived in New Jersey. I don’t remember if I bought other postcards during this layover.




Finding Postcard Years Later
Several years ago, I went through the papers of my maternal grandparents and found this postcard which I had written a few weeks after my ninth birthday. I’m not sure why I didn’t address the card to both of my grandparents. Perhaps I sent Grandma a separate card, but if that actually occurred, she did not keep it.




Observations About the Postcard
I had just begun fourth grade when this postcard was written. Three things come to mind as I look back at this.

First, I thought that I learned to write in cursive during my third grade year, but if this is my signature, and then we would have learned cursive writing in the second grade. This is evident with the way I wrote the majority of the postcard in print and my name is signed in cursive. Also behind the cursive print, I can see that I printed my first name, but then erased it. After carefully, looking at the signature, I began to suspect that my mother may have written my signature in cursive because I remember the shape of her “D’s” when she wrote her name “Dorothy.” I looked at her signature on my birth certificate, and the writing looks similar. Today, I was looking for other documents with her handwriting, but can’t find them right now.

The second observation about this postcard is that I’m amazed that this card, which I wrote in pencil, is still readable after 36-years.

My third observation is that I referred to my grandfather as “Grandpa” instead of “Granddaddy” like I always remember calling him. Did my nine-year-old mind think that Grandpa was the proper way to refer to him in writing? Or did I actually address him as Grandpa during this time in my life?

Cousin Greg’s First Birthday Party
My youngest cousin Greg, not “Grey” as I spelled on the postcard, turned one about a week after our arrival and a big birthday party was given to him by his parents to honor this occasion. The postmark on the card was October 16, 1972, which was a Monday. I remember that Greg’s party was on a Saturday afternoon so I must have written the postcard sometime prior to the event, and mailed it on Monday.

Back to VirginiaWe stayed in New Jersey for about eleven months, but did not return on the Greyhound bus. Instead, we traveled home by a car that was driven by my grandmother’s youngest brother.

Granddaddy’s People

Who are these people? I really want to know!

This picture has been in the photo album of my maternal grandparents every since I can remember. My grandmother Emma says that these are some of my granddaddy's kinfolks, but she doesn't remember who they were. My maternal Granddaddy was Minor Elwood Thornton (1913-1979), and he lived in the Enfield area of Halifax County, NC until around 1940. From there he moved to Newport News, VA, where he remained the remainder of his life. I believe that this photo was taken somewhere in North Carolina and that these individuals were likely family or friends.

One of Granddaddy’s cousins, who is in her mid 80s, has looked at the photo, but she does not know the names of the people in it. Hopefully I can find some other older family members who may be able to identify the individuals in this photo.

Granddaddy’s Morning Rituals

My maternal grandfather believed in punctuality and rising early everyday. Even after his retirement in 1975, he continued to rise early around 5 a.m. daily. When I was a teenager, I started sleeping in the den downstairs because I was tired of sharing a room with my three sisters. Around 5 a.m. every morning, Granddaddy would come downstairs. It was the same ritual every morning: the sound of a coffee pot whistling, the smell of strong Maxwell House coffee, hearing him talk to himself and praying, and his loud irritating slurping sounds. He liked to place his coffee cup on a saucer. He would pour the coffee until it spilled from the cup into the saucer and sip it making a loud slurping sound. All of this noise disturbed my last winks of sleep before getting up for school and I would usually go upstairs angered at al the commotion.

Sometimes as I passed Granddaddy on my way upstairs, I would observe Granddaddy praying. I can still see him now, his tall, large frame and brown bald head leaning, with his elbow resting on the buffet in the dining room. I could never understand what he was saying because it all sounded like a loud whisper, a "sip, sip, sip" sound. But he always looked like he was in a serious and fervent morning prayer. During my childhood, I did not appreciate Granddaddy’s prayers because he was interfering with my last winks of sleep before getting up for school. But now that I’m a grown woman, I can appreciate this memory of my grandfather praying. I often wonder what he was praying—perhaps he was praying that God would bless his family. Perhaps he was praying for his grandchildren—that God would bless them to get an education and to go further in school than he had. Perhaps he was praying that God would get bless them to get jobs where they did not have to do hard physical labor like he had done.