My paternal great uncle Joseph Truman was the nephew of US President Harry Truman and has spent the last few years at the Saint Augustine House, an elderly facility in rural New Hampshire. Because I am aware of the passing of time and how connections and wisdom are often lost with the eventual passing of relatives, I have been calling Grandpa Joe frequently over the last year, trying to pry bits of wisdom to incorporate in my own life. I have recorded all of these conversations and what follows are some of the pearls he was able to offer me.Me: Could you tell me about how it was growing up?
Uncle Joe: I don’t understand.
Me: You were raised in the early 1900s and lived through two world wars and having a family member be the President of the United States. What was it like growing up during that time?
Uncle Joe: Well, I started out quite small and grew up to be much taller.
Me: Do you remember what they called World War I?
Uncle Joe: We called it World War I as well.
Me: Even though there hadn’t been a second one yet?
Uncle Joe: Oh my, yes. We knew even then there would be a second one, even during the first one. That’s why no one made much of a fuss about it at the time. We all figured, ‘well, we’ve come in a bit late on this one but there’ll be another one sooner or later.’
Me: When were you first aware of Hitler?
Uncle Joe: Great dancer. Adolf Hoofer, we used to call him. Taught your grandmother how to foxtrot. Taught me some dancing, too, which you youngsters later would term ‘dirty dancing’. A foul term, if you ask me.
Me: What did you call it then?
Uncle Joe: Monkey Fucking. We were civilized.
Me: That sounds more foul than ‘dirty dancing’ to me.
Uncle Joe: Well, you would, being young and all. Fact of the matter is, when you say ‘dirty dancing’, it conjures up all sorts of distasteful activity, whereas you only really get the one mental image when you say ‘monkey fucking’.
Me: Did you serve in either war?
Uncle Joe: Coffee, mainly.
Me: What was your impression of your uncle, Harry Truman?
Uncle Joe: Couldn’t dance at all. There are two things that make a man a man: dancing and juggling. And poor Harry couldn’t do either. Poor fellow was always ignored by the girls. And the Japanese. Which is why he dropped that bomb on them. He figured, if he couldn’t get mellow with some yellow – his phrase – no one else would.
Me: So you two weren’t especially close.
Uncle Joe: No, no, not especially. I voted for Dewey.
Me: You voted outside of the family? Why?
Uncle Joe: I liked his system. He had a decimel system, probably the first one known to man. It had all these periods and numbers, which are important.
Me: What do you think of all the technological advances since you were a child?
Uncle Joe: Very exciting. I quite like your new thing, the pet rock.
Me: I don’t have a pet rock. That was from the 1970s.
Uncle Joe: Oh, dear. So you’re not shitting yourself anymore either?
Me: No.
Uncle Joe: I’ve just re-discovered it myself. I must say I quite like it. I must’ve shat myself four or five times today alone. Mind you, at my age, it’s more like slowly peeing yourself with brown goo, but it’s still marvellous. There’s something positively grand about going to breakfast in the shared kitchen and saying to myself, “I am shitting myself and nobody knows.” But I think it’s possible that everyone else here is thinking the same thing.
Me: Why do you say that?
Uncle Joe: The smell. Quite overwhelming, being around a bunch of other old people. If the rotten skin doesn’t get you, the smell of people shitting themselves will. Mind you, the liquid bacon is good. Goes in and out with largely the same texture.
Me: If you had to give me the best advice, not only as a relative but as a member of a younger generation, what would it be?
Uncle Joe: Life is music. You’ve got to keep dancing to it, even if you crap yourself in the process.
