Old Roy….
My Grandpa Hall, by today’s standards, was an alcoholic. Grandpa was known as ‘Old Roy’, and he loved his Irish whiskey. While he had a ‘colorful’ life, he and Grandma had a rough life, and I’m sure the drinking didn’t help. Old Roy’s ingenuity, when it came to getting whiskey, brought both chuckles and tears to the family over the years. We often tell the happy stories about our family histories, but this isn’t one of those stories. It is however, a true story.

Grandpa was born in 1887, and wandered around more than a bit in his young life. We were always told that he was in the Army during the Spanish American war, but that took place in 1898. He actually was in the army, but not until around 1904, and was stationed in California. After his tour of duty, he returned to Illinois, and married my Grandmother in 1909. You would think he settled down then, but what he actually settled down to was drinking

Grandma didn’t like it when Old Roy drank, as it always caused some kind of problem. So, he became sly about it. In the 30s, he worked as a logger for the coal mines in Southern Illinois. They cut down the large trees used to stabilize the walls and roofs of the mines. Roy would give my cousin Pooch (his grandson) a couple of dollars, and tell him he could keep the change if he would buy some whiskey and get it to him by 10AM. Pooch of course, had to keep it secret. So Pooch would go buy the pint and ride his bike into the woods to make the delivery. Grandma couldn’t quite figure out how grandpa went to work sober and came home tipsy. I’ve always thought in retrospect, how is it no one was killed while cutting down the trees?

In the 40s, they moved to Ottawa (my hometown). Everyone said Old Roy was very talented, great at working with his hands, and could do anything. Instead, he worked odd jobs, did day labor during and after the war, and for awhile, was the janitor at the Roxy Theater. On paydays he would often disappear for a day or two, and go off on a bender. When he returned home, sometimes there was payday money still left, but as often as not, it was gone. Grandma washed and mended clothes on the side to make a little additional cash.

After World War II ended, my dad got back to Ottawa, and one day saw that Grandma had a black eye. She tried to lie about it, but dad knew what happened. He found Old Roy and decked him with one punch. He told him if he ever touched his mother again, he’d get hit worse. Grandpa never did hit grandma again after that.   

In the late 40s he developed TB, and was confined to a sanitarium to “get well”. Aunts and uncles would visit, and the kids would have to stay in another room and look through a big window at him. Grandpa would always wave and yell greetings to the kids. Later, Old Roy broke out of the sanitarium and the police found him in an apartment with a “lady friend”, drunker than hell. The police took him back to the sanitarium, with him cussing the whole way.

When he was old enough to get Social Security, he collected his first check and promptly moved out on Grandma Hall. He was going to live the high life downtown. About a week later, he moved back home, the money all spent.

His health continued to get worse, and at some point he was confined to the hospital. His children were called, and told he didn’t have much time left. My dad and two of my uncles (George and Mick) went to see him. They were talking among themselves, and grandpa told my uncle Mick he had something to tell him, could he lean closer? Uncle Mick leaned in, and Old Roy asked him to bring some Irish whiskey. Uncle Mick popped up and told his brothers “let’s go. If he wants whiskey, he’s not dying right now”. They left, and sure enough, grandpa was later discharged from the hospital.

Eventually, my Uncle Dave turned his garage into a little apartment, and Grandma and Grandpa moved in there. The one condition was that Grandpa had to give up drinking. He agreed to, and mostly did. His health was quite poor at that point, and he didn’t have many years left. He died in 1961, at the age of 73.  

My Grandma Hall was a saint. She didn’t drink and was something of a religious woman. One of the things people always said was that “they didn’t know how she put up with Old Roy”. It was a different time then and people did what they had to, to get by. They were married 51 years when he passed away. I have to believe that there were definitely lots of good times in those 51 years, and listening to the stories from dad and my uncles, I know there were. But there had to be a lot of hell as well. 

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I’d like to thank my cousin Janice Connell who provided some of the stories for this blog.