Both of my grandmothers grew up in South Central Illinois. My mom’s mother, Amy Clarice Hastings Cook, had three sisters—May, Blanche, and Elsie—and five brothers—Ray, Earl, Iris, Ralph, and Ernest. My mom herself (Rilla Elizabeth Cook Oliver) had two sisters, Jane and Blanche, and two brothers, Hastings and Ed. I don’t know how many brothers and sisters my dad’s mother (Gaynelle White Oliver) had, but she had nine or ten children: the boys were Charles (my dad), Elmer, Raymond, Bill, Morris, Scott, and Bob, and the girls were Marjorie and Helen; there may also have been another girl, Reba, who died as an infant.
My grannies were alike in two ways. One was that they were both hard workers who largely raised their families alone. In my mom’s case, her father disappeared when she, the oldest child, was nine. Her father was traced to California and Saudi Arabia in later years, but he never, as far as I know, returned to Illinois. In my dad’s case, his father was an alcoholic who didn’t, I gather, contribute much to the family for most of their time together. The other way the grannies were alike was that they loved their families very much. It’s a great pity that neither lived to see their great grandchildren.
Granny Oliver and Granny Cook were mostly different, however.
Granny Oliver was a quiet, somewhat drab, bird-like woman who never uttered a harsh word; I think the strongest thing I ever heard her say was “Oh, heck.” Looking back, I now realize that she was in some ways surprisingly progressive, though: she was one of the first in our little town to have a TV, for example, and even though her house was somewhat ramshackle, she had indoor plumbing when outhouses were still common. One of my favorite memories is of the times she made apple butter outside in her big black “kittle”: it perfumed the entire neighborhood. She also made memorable breaded tomatoes, “stretch burgers” (hamburgers that were about 50% cracker crumbs), fatback sandwiches, fried rabbit, fried river fish, squirrel gravy, and blackberry cobbler.
My mom’s mom had two personae. One was that of a sweet old lady who was generous, accomplished at caring for the sick, a wonderful cook, and very fond of all children. The other was that of a kind of rebel who had been the first woman in her family to bob her hair, learn to drive, and get a divorce—and who was loud, loved to laugh, could swear like a sailor, could tell a good story, and enjoyed making people feel uncomfortable. One of my favorite memories is of when she and Aunt Blanche and Aunt May were chatting: they all talked at the same time, one looking down, one looking up or away, and the other looking alternately at the other two. I also remember some of the special things she cooked: “lizard” (a kind of pudding), slabs (fried bread dough), divinity (a kind of candy that I didn’t really like), light rolls (large, high buns), fried chicken, and home-made french fries. Another thing I remember is what she told us about family history—which family members had moved to Illinois from “Back East,” which had sided with the Union and which with the Confederacy during the War Between the States, which had seen Abraham Lincoln, which had seen Native Americans when they still lived in Illinois.
How I miss my grannies! What a gift it was to know and be loved by them!
