A Picture is Worth a Thousand Words

It is said that a picture is worth a thousand words. But I believe a picture can sometimes actually speak louder than a thousand words. For instance, there’s an oversized framed photograph which hangs above the twin bed in our guest bedroom. This picture does that…it speaks louder than a thousand words…to me. This picture always gets me thinking about my late Grandpa Dregier.

My grandfather died June 7, 1974, at the age 55. You wouldn’t know that Grandpa had a rough childhood while growing up in foster care. In fact, he actually preferred you didn’t know. If you asked him about his bent left arm, he’d tell you that he tripped in a field as a kid and a cow stepped on his elbow, fracturing it. He never got the proper medical attention and so consequently he was left with a permanent crooked arm. As a result, he’s never been able to stretch out his arm. But he never talked much about any of that, either.

Grandpa was a quiet man. I wish I had plenty more stories to tell about him. When my grandfather married my grandmother, she had three daughters from a previous marriage. What he set out to do was build a simple life in Carleton, Michigan, to be a father to his step-daughters, build a house, working most of his life in a sweltering steel factory, and traveling some. He set out to live quietly — and then pass away just the same.

Cigarette smoke swirled around George Dregier’s everyday life in the sixties. At times, Grandpa chain-smoked unfiltered cigarettes. He’d light up 3 or even 4 cigarettes in a row, and puff away with tobacco-stained fingers. When a cigarette wasn’t dangling from his mouth, you’d often hear him whistling the same happy tune over and over.  

Grandpa had a ranch style home, a Lincoln automobile, a reliable riding lawnmower, a transistor radio that always played music, and a loving wife. The married daughters, and their husbands, along with 10 grandkids were enough to fill their house during Christmas holidays. The Christmas tree with a mountain of presents was the center of attention during those festive holidays. Grandpa and Grandma Dregier’s Christmas tree was always decorated with aluminum tinsel, also known as icicles, but oh my Lord, there was always so much of it!!! But there’s many more things that can illuminate the Christmas spirit and joyous occasion. This was true for Grandpa’s love for music. ♫ Sleigh bells ring, are you listening, in the lane, snow is glistening… ♪. I’ll always remember the song called “Winter Wonderland” because Grandpa always played it joyfully on their stereo console. ♫ Gone away is the blue bird, here to stay is a new bird, he sings a love song, as we go along, walkin’ in a winter wonderland ♪. Every time I hear that song, it transports me back in time. This song is forever embedded in my heart, and it resonates in my head constantly.

My grandparents talked of moving someday, after they retired, to either Florida or Arizona. Meantime they wanted to give all ten grandchildren an opportunity to see the Sunshine State. In 1966 they took a road trip with the first of their three oldest grandchildren, all who were 12-years-old. The following year they took another trip south with three more grandkids. A few years later, the remaining four grandkids were also fortunate to visit Florida, too.

A few years after that, Grandpa was diagnosed with terminal lung cancer. His doctors told him to get his affairs in order. They predicted he had twelve months left to live. One day after I returned to my apartment after working a grueling 12-hour shift in a factory Grandma called. My dear Grandmother planned to throw him a birthday party. It would likely be Grandpa’s last one. She wanted the party to be a celebration, not a reminder of the grim prognoses. I found choosing a gift was very difficult. After all, what should you gift a terminally ill person? I wanted a gift that would provide joy and comfort. Ultimately, I purchased a purple parakeet and a bright orange birdcage.

For the remainder of that year, cancer slowly drained my grandfather’s life. But “Pepper” (the parakeet) was very friendly and bonded with both of my grandparents. This social, outgoing little bird brought an immense amount of joy to my ailing grandfather. It wasn’t long before Pepper had the ability to learn human words. Grandpa would often say, “Pepper is a pretty bird!” Eventually whenever the bird was preening in front of a mirror, we’d hear Pepper quip, “Pepper is a pretty bird!” Toward the end, Grandpa had a persistent cough and Pepper learned to mimic the cough to a “T”.

Grandma was a devout Catholic and always wore a crucifix around her neck. Pepper often sat on Grandma’s shoulder while he pecked at the chain of her necklace. One day Grandma took the necklace off and placed it in her lap. And just like that, Pepper carried the clasp of the necklace up grandma’s arm toward her shoulder. He knew exactly where that piece of jewelry belonged!

Four days before Grandpa passed away, he asked me to come and take Pepper. I thought it would just be temporary, like babysitting. I didn’t realize Pepper would be living with me permanently, from that point on. Anyway, during those first days in my apartment, I tried everything to get Pepper to talk. But Pepper remained mute. On the fourth day after I received the call of my grandfather’s passing, Pepper went berserk in his cage, “Pepper is a pretty bird! Pepper is a pretty bird!” That’s when I realized Pepper must’ve have known.

Do you like to take pictures? Or maybe you know someone who loves to take lots of pictures? You know that person who has to take snapshots of their food and numerous group photos when you’re out with friends. We take pictures to capture moments. Whether good moments or bad moments, a picture captures the moment. When we see that picture, we’re able to reflect on the moment and remember it, often with joy.

That oversized framed picture in our guest bedroom is a photograph taken on Easter Sunday in downtown Monroe, Michigan. It was taken to reflect on the moment, and to remember it. I was two-years-old when I stood next to my grandpa, while my grandma held my one-year-old brother right beside us. The court had appointed our grandparents as our legal Guardians. I don’t know why my brother and I were taken away from our mother. And I’m not sure exactly how long we lived with our grandparents. It was something never discussed. Remember, my grandpa was a man of few words.

Grandpa had a request before he died. He asked Grandma to make sure he was buried with his wallet in his back pocket. He told her he wanted only one thing in his wallet. Grandma told me that Grandpa had carried a wallet size photo of this picture since was it taken in 1956. This was the solitary item Grandpa wanted in his wallet. 

I figured the picture would never see the light of day, ever again. Amazingly, a few years after Grandpa’s passing, Grandma came across the photo negative, and she gave it to me. I had it enlarged and framed. 

“I’ve had a good life,” Grandpa said the day I picked up Pepper. I knew this to be true. He didn’t seem to have any “should haves”, a list of regrets, or any “what ifs”. Grandpa didn’t have a high school diploma. He had no interest to see his name in newsprint, or engraved on a trophy. But this life was the life, the very thing he and my grandmother, Luella, set out to make when they married in St. Michael Church in 1950. Grandpa Dregier will be remembered for all the love he shared with his family and friends. He truly loved each one of us. 

A picture is more than a thousand words, they say. But the memories are priceless