They always saved the day, or at least the girl. They rescued the kids. They made the other fellow back down. A few of these stories actually happened more or less the way they were told.
The best of these were personal anecdotes that fit into a general context of local history. Like my grandpa prosch’s story about tarring the roof of the Lutheran school, a building now long gone. Or Grandpa Erickson (seen above ca. 1962) recalling the early days of Wausa, Nebraska.
When I tell stories about my life, I’m usually the butt of the joke.
Not my grandpas. Most of the time they pulled it off with a kind of underlying humility that didn’t seem too full of hot air.
Most of the time.