StoryCorps 498: My Grandparent, My Superhero

 

[MUSIC “Befallen” by Ketsa]

Michael Garofalo (MG): At StoryCorps, we provide a list of Great Questions to get your conversation started.

And when you ask people one of those questions, “Who has been the most important person in your life,” a lot of times, the answer is “my grandfather or grandmother.”These people who, as a kid, seem so much larger than life.

Camaran Henson (CH): I remember, I really truly believed that Grandpa was bulletproof. Like my grandpa is an actual superhero, and could probably fly.

MG: They inspire awe and wonder.

Joanne Nucho (JN): She didn’t smile much. She kind of had a permanent scowl. And I didn’t know where it came from.

MG: And they are often our co-conspirators.

Nicholas Petron (NP): He would get a pastrami sandwich the size of my head. And he would buy me a hotdog and he would say, ‘Don’t you tell anybody. We just go for a good walk, right? You want another hot dog?

MG: So in this episode of the StoryCorps podcast from NPR, grandparents, what they teach us and what they leave us when they pass on. Plus, something we haven’t done in a while, listener voicemails.

I’m Michael Garofalo. Stay with us.

[MUSIC OUT]

MG: Welcome back. In this episode, we’re hearing stories about grandparents. What they mean to us and what we learn from them.

As a kid, Camaran Henson listened for hours as his grandfather Leonard Simmons told him stories about being a police officer in Newark, New Jersey.

Leonard died in 2013  but his stories live on through Camaran and his mom, Toni.

At StoryCorps, Toni told her son about how his grandfather ended up on the force.

Toni Henson (TH): Dad was working in a factory. And he would get off work really late, past when the busses would run, so he would have to walk back home through Hillside. Hillside was majority white, and the cops used to stop him. They would always ask the same question: “Where you going? Where you coming from?” And that would make him angry. And I remember him saying, “One day, I’m going to own one of these houses in Hillside.” So he joined the police force. And that was where I grew up.

CH: I remember, I really truly believed that Grandpa was bulletproof. Like my grandpa is an actual superhero, and could probably fly. Did you ever worry about Grandpa being a police officer?

TH: I never worried, you know. He loved catching the bad guy. But one time, street informants told him there was going to be a robbery of a bar, so he and his partner walked in, and he actually was shot at and shot the perpetrator.

That was the only time that he killed a man. And he was hailed a hero. But I think he felt as though he failed. I remember hearing him weeping at night because he had taken someone’s life.

That’s why he was such a good cop. He looked people in the eye and he saw them.

CH: What would you say grandpa was most proud of?

TH: His kids. [Laughter] He loved you, you know, first-born grandson.

CH: I remember his wallet only held four pictures. And all four pictures were of me.

TH: —Mmh.

CH: When grandpa came to visit, I would put on my Timberlands just to make sure that he knew that I was getting taller.

TH: [Laughter] I didn’t know that.

CH: And Saturday mornings, he would take me to IHOP. One particular time, one of the ladies next to me looked at me and picked her purse up and put it on the other side of her. And Grandpa said, “You don’t have to move your purse. My grandson ain’t never stole nothing before in his life.”

TH: [Laughter]

CH: And that meant the world to me. I still haven’t completely gotten over his passing.

TH: I want you, Camaran, to know how much Grandpa loved you. But I don’t want you to ever feel like you’re off the hook. The legacy that you leave, is the one that honors him.

CH: Absolutely. I try to be just like him, and I want him to continue to be proud of me.

[MUSIC “Grey Grey Joe” by The Blue Dot Sessions]

MG: Memories of Leonard Simmons, from his grandson Camaran Henson, with his mom Toni, in Atlanta, Georgia.

[MUSIC OUT]

MG: This feeling that your grandparent is larger than life, almost mythical, is something we hear a lot. It makes sense, right? I mean, when you’re a kid, just the idea that your parents have parents can be kind of a difficult concept to comprehend.

And that your grandparent has had a full life, that they were a child, that they loved and lost and had to find their place in the world, that kind of stuff remains a mystery, often well into adulthood.

In this next story we hear about a tough Metzmama, that’s Armenian for grandmother

Isabel Kouyoumjian was born in a refugee camp after her parents left the area we now know as Turkey, it was around 1915 and they were fleeing the Armenian Genocide, which killed nearly a million and a half people.

Isabel eventually immigrated to the US and she raised two generations of her family here, before she died in 2016.

One of her granddaughters, Joanne Nucho, sat down with her husband, Jeff Ono, to remember her.

Joanne Nucho (JN): My grandmother was a large woman but on the shorter side; she just was kind of round. [Laughs] She did not have much formal education but spoke and read five languages. She was very sweet and loving to me, but she had this really tough streak.

Jeff Ono (JO): What’s one of the stories that conveyed her toughness to you?

JN: One incident I remember, we were kids and there was a lizard in the backyard. My younger sister saw it and screamed, so my grandmother picked it up and broke it in half with her bare hands. And it was a mixture of being horrified but also really impressed.

She didn’t smile much. She kind of had a permanent scowl. And I didn’t know where it came from. But I heard stories about how she raised two kids by herself.

And, you know, so much of her ways of seeing the world were really bound up with knowing the ground could fall out from beneath you at any moment, and that she would weather whatever storm.

JO: You had a very close relationship with her that wasn’t just grandmother and

granddaughter.

JN: Yeah. She was my best friend.

You know, that last week when she was dying, I just kept telling her, ‘It’s okay to go. You’ve done your work. You don’t have to fight this if you don’t want to.’

And I miss the little things, like speaking Armenian with somebody — not something I do very often anymore. I miss feeling like there’s this one person who really believes in me. It’s something I’m trying to do for myself, but nobody else could convince me the way that she could. And there isn’t really a replacement for that.

[MUSIC: “Step In Step Out” by Blue Dot Session]

MG: Joanne Nucho and her husband, Jeff Ono, remembering her grandmother Isabel Kouyoumjian, Joanne’s grandmother.

[MUSIC OUT]

MG: Our final story comes from From Nicholas Petron.

His grandfather came to the US from Italy as a young man in the early years of the 20th century to try to make it in New York City.

NP: My maternal grandfather, Rocco Galasso, was a superintendent in an apartment building for probably 18 years of his life. And at some point he bought the building and so we grew up there. He would say to me, ‘Nicolo, we’re going for a walk.’

And I always wanted to go with grandpa. And he would get a pastrami sandwich the size of my head. And he would buy me a hotdog and he would say, ‘Don’t you tell anybod, we just go for a good walk, right? You want another hot dog? And in this building, every apartment was filled with an aunt or an uncle and every Sunday, Rocco cooked. So, all of his family would show up for dinner, all 30, 40 of us. And, one Sunday at dinner, Rocco made it clear to us that we were all going to have to move. That the city had condemned all of these buildings to build these brand new apartments. And so we had I think eight months to a year to relocate. And then one day, my mom, my dad, and my brother Michael and I, went to Rocco’s apartment for the Sunday meal.

Now, we no longer lived on the first floor, everybody else was gone, it was abandoned, except for that one apartment. We had our meal and at some point Rocco said to me and my brother, ‘Let’s go downstairs and put some coal in the burner.’ And we got down to the coal pile and instead of grabbing the shovel he said, ‘Pick up as much coal as you can and put it into your pocket.’ So we stuffed our overcoat with coal and our jean pockets with coal, and we went to the backyard. And there’s one light on and all of the other apartments are dark. And he takes a piece of coal out of his pocket and he throws it through one of the windows. And tears are streaming down his face. And he says, ‘Come on! You break the windows with me.’

So my brother and I just started throwing, we thought it was fun at the time, and we’re smashing windows and my mom and aunt Lucy stick their heads out going, ‘What are you doing, Pop? Stop it! Stop it!’ But we didn’t stop till all of the windows were broken except for his apartment.

At first my reaction was, they took his building away, that’s what I thought it was about, but I realized much later that it was about the destruction of the family, which I think he knew. A month later he had to leave, and never again were we together on a Sunday in that way.

[MUSIC “Demus” by Charles Atlas]

MG: Nicholas Petron in New York. There’s an animated version of this story, called Sundays at Rocco’s, on our website, StoryCorps dot org.

[MUSIC OUT]

MG: Now for your voicemails.

In episode 493: Being Human There or Here, we heard from Philip. An Iraqi who worked with the US Army as an interpreter, and we learned about his journey to the US and how he was able, after many years of trying, to reunite his family in Minnesota.

Philip (P): You know, when I remember my last couple years, like working by myself here, I used to work like four different jobs, and at the end of the day, go home, there is no one waiting for you.

Andy (A): Yeah.

P: That’s hard feeling.

A: Yup.

P: So from being alone to a whole family with my best friend and nephew with me.

P: What do I need more…

A: Yeah…

P: That’s it.

MG: Many of you called in with messages for Philip. Here’s what you had to say.

Voicemail 1: Hi, I’m [NAME], I’m calling from Redman Oregon? I just listened to the podcast about Philip and I just wanted to leave Philip a message and say welcome to you and your family to our country.

Voicemail 2: Hi I’m [NAME], I’m calling from Louisville Kentucky. I wanted to leave a message for Philip to say thank you. And I want to thank him for all the hope that he gives us and what America can be and should be. His story’s beautiful. And his heart and his mind and his ideals and his values are American values, and what makes our nation great.

Voicemail 3: This is [NAME] and I’m calling from Stillwater Minnesota. I just wanted to leave a message for Philip and say hank you for sharing your story. It was really inspiring and I felt, at the end of it, I just felt like I wanted to be your friend. It makes me want to go out and meet some people who are coming to our country and help them feel welcome. And hey, I understand about the Minnesota winters ‘cause I had to deal with them too. [LAUGHS]

Voicemail 4: This is Jackie Parker and I’m calling from San Luis Obispo, California. Philip, I was really touched by your story and I wanted you to know that millions of Americans support you, appreciate what you’ve done and are so happy for you and your family that you’re reunited. And I would just like to say if you and your family would ever like to visit California we would love to have you contact us. We live on the beautiful central coast and we would love to meet you and host you. So, God bless you and hope that the only safety that you have to worry about is auto accidents, as you say. Take care. Bye Bye.

MG: Okay, well, I don’t want to keep you on the phone for too much longer. But, um, it’s been great speaking with you. Hopefully we’ll see you again either in New York or Minneapolis.

Philip: Please please please, if you think to come to Minnesota let me know.

MG: [LAUGHS] Okay.

Philip: I will be so so happy to have you at home and introduce you to my family, to just have you here in Minnesota. This is an open invitation for anyone from StoryCorps. Please please please let me know when you want to come to Minnesota.

MG: I definitely will spread the word. That would be an honor.

Philip: It’s my honor. Everyone from StoryCorps tell them there is a house, and a family waiting for you in Minnesota.

[MUSIC “Tiptoe (Instrumental)” by YEYEY]

MG: That’s it for this episode.

These stories were produced by Emily Martinez, Jud Esty-Kendall, and Vanara Taing.

The podcast is produced by me and Elisheba Ittoop.

Find out what music we used on our website, storycorps dot org… and keep those reviews coming on itunes.

If you want to leave a voicemail for someone you hear on our show… the number to call is 301-744-TALK, that’s 301 – 744 – T-A-L-K

Until next time, I’m Michael Garofalo. Thanks for listening.

[MUSIC OUT]