When my dad’s father’s dad — we called him Granddaddy — closed down his cotton business, this article ran in the Drew, Mississippi newspaper. Granddaddy probably really did grow up in a house without a ceiling, a house so cold that “when papa would talk through the hall to the other side of the house his mustache would freeze.” And . . .
I’m coming down with a cold or something, so in lieu of the great-grandfather story I’d planned to tell, here’s a shot of Grandpa, my dad’s father, standing with the rest of the committee to welcome Mary Ann Mobley, Miss America 1959, home to the Mississippi Gulf Coast. (Larger version here.) Grandpa stands to Ms. Mobley’s right, wearing sunglasses.
Of everyone in his family, my dad is said to be most like his grandfather (above, right). In personality, I mean. Not in appearance. The elder Newton apparently was so severe and domineering that his wife, Louise (above, left; not to be confused with Great Aunt Louise), rejoiced when her hearing started to go. No longer did she have to . . .
My mom was about 26, and her father, Robert, was in his 50s, when this photo of the two of them with their spouses, her first and his 12th(?), was taken at Las Vegas’ now-demolished Stardust in 1965. They were estranged for most of Mom’s childhood, partly at her stepfather’s insistence. But they got back in touch sometime before one . . .
I used to wonder why my mom stayed with my father for so long when they were so ferociously ill-matched, but she always said it was better to have an overbearing father than no father at all, and when I look at this photo, of her own dad, Robert, holding her as a baby, I think I understand the marriage . . .