Dear Grandpa Falk,
You are my mom’s father, but I never got a chance to know
you the way I knew my Grandpa Pete. You died a month before my third birthday;
my brother was one and a half. I have a vague fuzzy memory of seeing you in a
hospital bed but I don’t remember anything about what you were like. I wish I
could sit down with you and talk for a while to get to know you better.
Here is what I know about you.
I know the basic facts of your life.
You were born on 1 February 1901 in Aurora, Kane County,
Illinois.
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| Little Burton Falk, about 3 years old |
You had two younger sisters, Norma and Adrienne.
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| The Falk family Back: father Erik Falk, Adrienne, Norma, Burt Front: mother Helen |
You graduated from West Aurora High School and spent a year
at the University of Nebraska but never graduated.
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| Young Burt |
You married my grandmother Verna Graf on 30 June 1936 in
Aurora, Kane County, Illinois.
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| Burt and Verna on their wedding day |
You lived in Berwin Illinois after you were married and later moved to Aurora.
You died on 2 October 1965.
I know a few “tidbits” about you.
You had terrible eyesight, in fact you had cataracts. I remember Grandma Falk showing me your early version of contact lenses that you wore, hoping that they would help your vision.
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| Burt out west |
You were bald. My grandma had a copy of American Gothic on
her living room wall and for a long time I thought the farmer in that picture
was you.
When I was newly married my mom said that my husband reminded
me of you. I know that you had a passion for photography and often took my mom
with you when you went out taking pictures. You were meticulous about noting
details of your photographs on your slides. My husband is pretty meticulous
about recording and cataloging his favorite radio programs. Is this the
similarity that Mom saw?
You worked for International Harvester when you lived in Aurora but had to carpool east every day. So every morning you drove east into the rising sun and in the evening you drove west into the setting sun. What a drag, and yet you did it for years.
You smoked cigarettes. In one of my mom’s old family movies
there is a scene where she strikes a match to light your cigarette. But you told your daughter never to start smoking, and she never did. You died
of lung cancer. My mom told me that when you were in the hospital with the
cancer that killed you, you cried, regretting that you would never see me or
my brother grow up.
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| Burt at the Municipal Pier in Chicago |
Here are some things I can guess about you.
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| Burt and Verna |
You were sensitive. You met Verna, your future wife, and
then traveled west for some kind of a job you had with the telephone/telegraph
company. I have a letter that you wrote to your mom and you told her how much
you cared for Verna.
You were a peacemaker. You and Grandma didn’t play cards. My
mom said it wasn't because you believed it was wrong to play cards, but because
you and Grandma once had a nasty fight over a card game and you didn’t ever
want to fight like that again.
You were a hard worker and you loved your little family. You brought your daughter Sarah to the circus, parades, and ball games. She was the light of your life
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| Burt and baby Sarah, my mom |
You were patient. Your wife’s mother lived with you for
several years when she had dementia—“senility” they called it back then—and
hers was an angry dementia. There must have been some pretty rough times.
I’m sorry I never knew you, Grandpa. My dad says you were introverted but friendly, words I would also use to describe myself! I've got so many questions I'd like to ask you, if we could sit down together. Why did you quit college? What was that trip out west all about? How did you meet Verna? Did you wish you had a different job? What was your hardest day? What was your best? What made you laugh? Yes, there's a lot I don't know about you, Grandpa Falk, but I know enough to say I'm glad you are my grandpa.
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| Burton Gustaf Falk |
