My Take Tuesday: Hugh Peterson

This past week, while attending a veterinary conference in Nebraska, I received the devastating news that my only remaining grandparent had passed away. This news came just as I was preparing to address the conference attendees during the annual storytelling night and banquet. 

As the tears began to flow, I worried that I would not be able get up in front of a room of people. Just then, a calming feeling came over me. It felt like my grandpa was sitting right there in the room. Grandpa was the best storyteller I have ever known. His blood runs through my veins. I composed myself, and gave the very best performance I could give, in dedication to him. 

For those lucky enough to know Hugh Peterson, he was a wonderful person with a huge heart, a brilliant mind, and a most unique sense of humor. 

While in the first grade, Grandpa was mischievous. He and a couple of other boys were standing near the merry-go-round one day during recess. A group of girls riding on the merry-go-round noticed these boys trying to look up their dresses. One of the girls grabbed rock and flung it at the boys. It was a solid hit to my grandpa’s head. The girl that threw the rock became my grandma. Their story began on that day in 1937. 

They were married in 1949. They spent just shy of 72 years together. My beloved grandma passed away just last month. My grandpa only lasted 40 days without her.  

My grandpa was a remarkable man. He was a farmer, coal miner, and a father to six beautiful daughters.

I have never met anyone that can tell a story like Hugh Peterson. His excellent memory wove a tapestry of nostalgia. With each word we would move closer to the edge of our seats. With a smile on his face, and just a tad of embellishment, he told a story like a boss. He frequently made us all literally laugh until we cried.

As a teenager, I met a coal miner that had worked in the same mine as Grandpa. I told him my grandpa had worked there and that he may know who he was. When I told him Hugh Peterson was my grandpa, I noticed a tear stream down his cheek. 

“He was the best foreman I ever worked for.” He then paused, “Your grandpa is an honest and wonderful man. I would trust him with my own life.”

He then told me of a story about Grandpa working as a foreman in the coal mine. His crew had a set of twins that worked together. A mining inspector came in and was asking about the perfectly parallel tire tracks in the soft dirt that entered the underground portal, my grandpa said, “Oh, the twins were rolling some tires this morning.” Everyone, including the inspector, laughed uncontrollably when he said this. 

Grandpa had a small white pickup truck when I was a child. His Chevy Luv was his calling card in the 80’s. It was an iconic vehicle and the only one like it in the small town of Emery. I loved riding in the back of the truck. Grandpa would drive us around the block every time we went to visit. All of the grandkids loved this! I remember one particular ride, when Grandpa slowed down and put the truck in neutral on 200 North. He rolled his window down and said it was having mechanical issues. We all got out and pushed it. A dozen 5-12 year old kids make for a great team, we pushed the truck for a few feet and then grandpa said, “Oh wow! You fixed it! Jump in!” The smile on his face as we got into the back of the truck was one of absolute joy and happiness.  

The last time I saw my grandfather was at my grandmother’s viewing; just a few weeks ago. He was seated next to my mother in front of the casket. As I went through the line and spoke with each of my wonderful aunts, I wept as I looked at my grandfather. His spouse, of nearly 72 years, was gone. His mind, weathered from the long years of his life, could not comprehend the passing of his north star, his one and only constancy. 

As I passed through the line, his eyes met mine. As only Hugh Peterson could, he made a motion with both of his arms. He clenched his fists and extended his arms in unison. This is a signal both of us would make to each other over the past 25 years. If either of us made this motion, it meant that we were nervous. 

My family loved to play games. My aunts and cousins would raise all kind of noise as they played card games and Pit. I remember one Thanksgiving, as my grandparents house filled with laughter and noise from a Pit game, my grandpa mentioned to me that he was nervous. I felt the same way. I am really a very shy person, just like my grandfather was. He mentioned to me that all off this noise made him nervous and on edge. I then motioned to him the very signal that became our calling card. The extension of the arms and the clenching of the fists. 

The last time I saw my grandpa, he recognized me. Despite the deterioration of his memory, he remembered who I was. This is a wonderful last memory for me to have of this wonderful man who is a mountain to me.

He never ran from a battle

And when he was thrown from the saddle, 

He would get back up and be ready for more. 

Just like fine wine and good leather

He only got better and better

The more that he was weathered and worn

They just don’t make cowboys like him anymore

He was not afraid to work in the coal dust and the dirt

And he always put his wife and six daughters first

And with my everything I’ll be the best that I can be

Just trying to live up to his wonderful legacy

Grandpa Papookas, I love you. Thank you for being such a loving and kind soul. Thank you for teaching me to forgive imperfections and how to love unconditionally. Give Grandma a hug. Please remember me and watch over me and my family from that place high in the sky, just out of sight, between the rainbows and the rain. 

Love, 

Isaac