After my mother had her stoke in 2007, I began to know my dad better. As a Christmas present I’d given him a little black notebook with instructions to please write down memories of his life. It wasn’t a surprise to me that he complied. I think it helped him after my mom became sick. And it helped us. He wrote. I read. I edited. He approved. I found out things about him and his life that I hadn’t known. I heard stories in more detail. But most of all, working on this project formed the basis for a closer relationship, something that had gotten lost amongst my mother’s needs in the last decades of her life.
Charles Grantham Crump II
My parents’ personalities complimented and aggravated each other. Where she was sentimental, he was fiercely independent. Janet clung to the past. Charlie forged ahead into the future. She laughed, and he often earned one of his nicknames, “Grumpy Crumpy.” But I admired and loved him. We understood each other. We argued, but they were good and productive arguments. He never held a grudge – his anger passed quickly.
Wallingford, Connecticut was a small town. My parents were born there and grew up there, and their families knew each other. Charlie was a close friend of my mom’s brother, Francis Hall. They hunted together and spent time with their other high school friends at a cabin near Tyler Mill called “The Shanty.”
Francis Hall and Charlie Crump in front of Whirlwind Hill farmhouse
In a letter to my mom at college in 1938 my grandmother mentions my future father.
“Not a visitor today except Crump and Cooper. I hadn’t seen Charlie Crump since last summer until this afternoon.” – Agnes Biggs Hall
My dad loved animals, especially horses, and spent as much time as he could at his aunt and uncle’s farm in Northford, Connecticut. But he never looked like a farmer. He had style, and he demonstrated it early.
Charles and Charlotte Crump riding horses at Orchard Beach
He wouldn’t want me to write anything about him that sounded like an obituary. He hated the cemetery, he hated funerals, and he never “dwelled in the past,” as my mother would have said. He was what people describe as a self-made man, and he was proud of it.
After high school graduation in 1936 Charlie got on a bus and headed west. I always thought he’d run away from home, but in a letter to his parents he says,”
“When I get home I’m going to make you go someplace for a rest Dad. I’m big enough to look after the shop [my grandfather owned a printing shop] at the desk now, you’ve done more for me than anything in the world by letting me take this trip – I wouldn’t have missed it for 10 new cars, so I ought to be able to do a little something for you now.” Charles G. Crump, September, 1936
He was away from Wallingford from June until October. On a ranch in Montana he milked cows, herded horses, cooked meals, acquired his favorite nickname, “Buck,” and found himself a life-long identity as a cowboy.
Charlie “Buck” Crump in Montana, 1938
When summer ranch season ended, he went to California and worked for a time for Lee Duncan, owner of Rin-Tin-Tin.
“Well, well, well. I have a job, – and guess who with! Lee Duncan – the man that owned and trained Rin-Tin-Tin…He saw me on the street the other day with my big hat on and stopped and asked me if I’d like a job taking care of his horse and dogs and helping him in general.” – Charles G. Crump, September, 1936
He returned to Montana for many summers after that, and sometimes took us with him when we were growing up. When asked what my father did I always answered, “He’s a cowboy.” Stockbroker was too hard a profession for a young girl to understand.
Carol, Charlie, and Kirt Crump, Hank, Wayne, and Barba Rowe, Norris, Montana, 1956
My grandmother Hall was right in a way about him being a “playboy,” but sometime in 1941 he began in earnest to court my mother. When cleaning out the basement at my parents’ house a few years ago I found boxes and boxes of letters written back and forth between my engaged, and then married, mom and dad. But the one thing I looked for and never found was a record they made together on their honeymoon in New York City in 1943. In those days there were little booths where you could make your own record – audio selfies. They sung together “Let me call you sweetheart.” Their two pleasing voices harmonized like professionals. Even now, when I hear it only as a memory, the happiness they shared in those heady first years of their life together shines through.
Charlie and Janet, Whirlwind Hill, 1942
On Monday: The Little House in the Glen
Wow Carol!! Great story about your Dad. I bet you had fun in Norris with your family. Beautiful picture of your loving parents.
We loved going to Norris, except for the rattlesnakes. The family we stayed with just took them in stride, and the mom one day had to kill one that had her little twin nieces cornered. She just grabbed her shovel and dispatched the rattler without a second thought.
Although I knew your father best at the office in New Haven, I could always see the cowboy side of him. He was a great boss, and long time family friend.
He could be quite bossy, which in turn probably made him a great boss. For some reason I hadn’t known you worked for him!
6 plus years, before Vicki was born. Left the job due to move my husband made in his job.
Boy oh boy—it does take me a while to put two and two together. All these names in this story and I know just about all of them. Carol–I never knew that you were related to the Hall’s —duh!–I did know the Hall’s of Whirlwind Hill and why I never put that all together –of course you were related–now I see it. It all is so clear now. And on the Crump side your grandfather, H.A. Crump (without him knowing we called him ha-ha) the printer who had his business on North Orchard Street, was also on my paper route when I was a kid –always hoping for the opportunity to see either Carol or her cousin Sue at their grandmother’s when I was delivering papers. Years later when I opened my firm your Dad was quite kind and helpful to me on several occasions , in spite of the fact there was no real business connection between us. And his sister Charlotte was a staunch supporter of mine and my business as a strong voice in the community. She as Town Treasurer did not have to bother with me —but she did—and her words of encouragement when I was first starting were so helpful. Thank you for the great memories you have shared here. I only stopped to look at your paintings and I end up with wonderful memories for myself as well.
Thanks Chris. Small world isn’t it. And now I will keep thinking about my grandfather (who was called Gus) as “ha-ha.” Too funny.
As a little girl your Dad was my first and only exposure to a real cowboy……and I loved hearing my Dad telling me about his adventures out West. It captured my imagination and this is how I will always remember your Dad, my Uncle Charlie! In fact I have the 1938 picture of him with his horse hanging on our wall in Kansas. Wonderful Carol, thanks for sharing.
Ellen
And I always picture your dad laughing. He was so much fun. I think Charlie would be flattered to be on your Kansas wall.
I have to think that Grumpy Crumpy would be pleased to read this warm and loving tribute. (After all he did fill out the little black book.) And how wonderful that you offered it and he responded.
Thanks, Katy. He would have been pleased, I think. I was pleased – so pleased – when he filled up that little book. One of his best traits was doing what he said he would, something I try to emulate. (When I’m not trying to outdo him in the grumpiness department.)
Your Dad was such an interesting character! The shot of him and the horses in Montana could have been taken from any number of the westerns we watched when we were kids. He looks so at home there, so comfortable. He looked the same way when he was riding in the ring near your house: relaxed and at ease. It was always hard for me to picture him in an office making stock trades and advising clients. When I was growing up, Mr. Crump was one of those slightly larger-than-life adults, very capable, very sure of himself, and not a little intimidating. It is wonderful that you got to know him in a different way in his later years and that you inspired him to jot down his experiences. These family writings are true treasures.