My paternal grandparents moved west from Iowa in the early 1900's. I'm not sure when exactly, but my father was their fourth child, and the first one born in New Mexico, in 1909.
I believe Grandma came from a fairly well-to-do family, and she may have "married down" a bit when she wed my Granddad, who was a carpenter. In any case, they had a nice home with nice furniture, some of which he made. Their fortunes changed when he fell ill with tuberculosis and was unable to work. Doctors told them he might have a chance if they moved to a dry climate, and like many others around that time, they packed up their household goods and moved to New Mexico with three small children. With what little money they had left, they bought a small two or three room house.
Granddad was bedfast, and the family now had no money, so Grandma went to work in a laundry and in a bakery to support them. Between jobs, she rushed home to check on her husband and children.
"Oh, Vi," he groaned, "my back just hurts so..." He was unable even to change positions in bed without help, and the children were too small.
"Papa's not dead yet," they would say when they met her at the door.
Their father's health slowly improved. He was never again able to do a full day's work, but he found small jobs to do at his own pace, for the local lumber yard and for the city. Grandma was able to quit the laundry job.
The children contributed, too. They learned how to work at home, and as soon as they were old enough, they industriously sought chores outside the home that people would pay them to do. And every penny was brought home to their mother to help meet the needs of the family. It was this kind of work ethic that earned the family the respect of the community and a higher social standing than one would expect at their level of poverty.
Grandma also made sure that, despite their reduced circumstances, all of her children knew that they were "somebody", and more was expected of them in the way of character, hard work, education, and service. More was expected of them than of others. They must never forget that they represented the family in everything they did. I don't think she ever told them, you are a better "class" of people than some, but she made sure they knew they were not a lower "class" than anyone.
The oldest girl, after high school, went to work for the telephone company and paid for her sister to go to teacher college, and they both paid for four year college educations for their youngest sister and oldest niece. My father took his younger brother under his wing in a business partnership, and served his community in city government.
My much older brother was the last grandchild to grow up under the influence of our matriarch grandmother, who passed away about the time he graduated from high school, and I was about three. He attributes to her a feeling he refers to as his "superiority complex". He does have one, but not in a bad way, if you get my meaning.
I still have some thinking to do before I can say how much of my grandmother's influence trickled down to me. I think I'm often a character, but not always classy. It must be in the blood somehow, though, because my daughters are amazingly fine young women.
This week three of them were at my house for breakfast, for my second daughter to meet her new niece, my granddaughter, for the first time. The bookcase under the window was made by my father, the baby's great-grandfather, who was also a pretty good carpenter. And the table was shipped on the train from Iowa by my grandmother, the baby's great-great-grandmother, over 100 years ago.
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