Open Writing

In west Texas in the fall of 1909, Grandpa Tracy married Grandma Allen, a large-boned soft-spoken woman. After the wedding they moved with her family to New Mexico. It was rumored that, as a young boy, Grandpa Jack Tracy had witnessed a hanging from a bridge by a group of men. The hanged man had allegedly murdered and robbed Grandma's uncle, a doctor, as he was returning from a house call. The vigilantes tracked the suspect to his home and extracted their own form of justice.

Upon their arrival in Estancia, New Mexico, Grandma's father and Grandpa Tracy became sheep ranchers. When Grandpa Allen passed away he left his ranch to Grandma Tracy. While Grandpa Tracy was running the sheep ranch, a local thief, by the name of Farnsworth, allegedly kept stealing
sheep, and illegally letting his livestock graze and water on Grandpa's land. When Grandpa caught him stealing sheep he dragged him over to his side of the fence and shot him. At that time, stealing livestock was frowned upon by the law, and Grandpa received no jail time. No doubt witnessing the earlier vigilante lynching left an imprint on Grandpa Jack.

Grandma Tracy gave birth to nine children. Of those nine, there were two sets of twin girls. The first twin's lives ended in tragedy. In 1924, while living on the sheep ranch, Grandma rose early one morning to care for some orphaned lambs and left the five-year-old twins in the house. It was later determined that one of the little girl's gown caught fire as she was tending a wood stove. Grandma heard the screaming and rushed into the house where she smothered the flames but was unable to save her daughter's life. Grandma was still in mourning when they moved from the ranch into town, to a house built near the main highway. A year later, the surviving twin, was struck and killed by a truck in front of the house as Grandma watched in horror.

Even after suffering all that pain and grief Grandma remained a sweet happy person. The only time I heard of her losing her temper was when Grandpa Tracy, who had taken to drinking too much, came home on a bender. After stripping his clothes down to his long handled underwear he went into the kitchen in search of something to eat. He staggered into the kitchen stove and knocked off a large pan of jam that Grandma had left to cool before canning.

Grandpa lost his footing in the slick, sticky mess and slid to the floor.

"Damnit, Ida Mae," he yelled. "What the hell is this stuff?"

Grandma found him wallowing around in the jam and gave him tit-for-tat.

"Jack, you get yourself up from there and change those underwear."

It took him several tries, but he finally got up, staggered to the bedroom, and slid between Grandma's clean sheets in his sticky underwear. He promptly passed out.

The harder Grandma worked to clean the jam off the floor, the madder she got. Finally, she collected her sewing kit, tiptoed into the bedroom, and sewed the sheets together around his body. When she finished she proceeded to beat him with a mop handle.

Grandpa, helpless in the sheet sack, twisted and squirmed, croaking, "Now Ida Mae, don't hurt me anymore, please don't hurt me. I promise I won't do it again!"

As far as I know, Grandma never did hurt Grandpa again and they stayed married for many more years.