My grandparents were married on June 8, 1928, in the county courthouse.

I have a picture of them standing near the courthouse square. My grandpa has on a floppy hat and an ill-fitted suit that looks like it might be a little too small for him. My grandmother is a little more stylish in a “flapper style” hat and coat with fur collar.  “I thought that coat was pretty fancy,” she would say when we looked at that picture.

When I first saw the picture, it was a very small, wallet-sized photo. Since then, family members have snatched it up, made copies and blown the picture up so it’s easier to see.

Still, I like to look at the original picture. It’s sepia colored. A little worn. But it looks like it should be worn and the color seems to fit the picture.  They stand on the sidewalk next to a stone building that used to be a bank. When you drive into my hometown from the east, you see that big stone building.  It is the corner piece of the uptown area and seems to greet you as you drive into town.

It’s funny to think of my grandparents getting married and then walking over to that stone building, catty-cornered from the courthouse and standing there for a picture. I’m not sure who snapped the picture, but I have always thought it might be one of their witnesses.  I’d need to look that up to see for sure, but I’m thinking one of the witnesses was Aunt Mary, grandma’s older sister.

My grandpa was 21 and grandma was 18. I doubt they had a lot of money at that point, and it wasn’t long before they left the little country community that had both grown up in and headed for the big city of Akron, Ohio, where Grandpa got a job at the Goodrich Tire factory.

I always liked to hear about their adventures. Oh sure, it wasn’t anything overly exciting, but it was always fun to imagine them as young folks.  They lived for a while with Grandpa’s sister and brother-in-law who had already moved to Akron. In fact, I think my great grandparents lived there for a little while too. Somewhere along the line, maybe in Akron, my grandpa piloted gliders.  By the time I knew him, he was close to retirement and was a farmer. It was neat to think about him flying around in those gliders.

Generations of families generally lived in one area of the county back then, so it was weird to think of this family being in a completely different place. The whole family had lived in that little part of Wayne County, Ill., for many years.  Eventually, they would all move back, too. I was not surprised when I heard that part of the story.

But my grandmother would tell of driving to Akron in their little Model A. She told about going to a company Christmas party and having someone ask if she, a very petite little lady, was my grandpa’s daughter. I laughed when I heard that but Grandma said she hadn’t thought it was funny at the time.

Two of their children were born in Ohio before they returned to Illinois, and they would go on to have five more.   As with big families in that day, their home life would not always be easy and without heartache.

By 1935, they had a 7-year-old, a 5-year-old, a 3-year-old and a baby girl. A scarlet fever epidemic swept across the county and the two oldest children contracted the disease.  Grandma always said she was afraid being late on a bill for the country doctor may have caused him not to come as quickly as he could have.  Their 5-year-old daughter, Margaret, died from the disease. Their oldest son survived.

Later, he would tell one of his aunts that his sister’s heart was “just beating too fast.”

I’m wondering if one of my grandparents hadn’t offered that explanation to him.

The family was quarantined, but my great aunt Della, the much older half-sister who had taken care of my grandmother and her sisters when their own mother died, ignored the edict and went into the house to help.  My Aunt Edith, another sister, made Margaret’s dress.

The funeral was private, due to the contagiousness of the disease. The little one was eventually buried in the little cemetery down the road, and the newspaper clipping said that there was a short service held in the front yard of my grandparent’s house. No mourners were allowed. It must have been a lonely time.

There is only one photo that exists of Margaret. When someone in the family found it years later, my grandmother refused to look at it.

They lived in various places throughout their married life, until finally buying a farm down the road from the Shelton family. You’ve heard of the Shelton gang? That would be them. My grandparents still lived there long after the Sheltons left the state, long after the Shelton house was burned down.  Grandma tells of working as a cook downtown and being asked by one of the Shelton brothers if she needed a ride home. She declined.

They lived at the farm for more than 30 years, shaping it into a wonderful little place for their family and eventually grandchildren to visit. I still think of the “home place” as a place of peace and I’d give my eye teeth to sleep on the screened-in back porch for just one evening again.

Grandma went on to live on the farm another 27 years after Grandpa passed away. She outlived two of her children and eight of her 11 siblings. She lived out her life pretty simply, but I think she was happy.

Both of my grandparents believed in hard work and keeping a sense of humor. Both were stubborn. Both of them loved their family.
I often look at that marriage photo and wonder what they were thinking. They had no idea of what was in store for them.