Richard Scott Chubon - Memories of Grandpa and Grandma Chubon

As the first grandchild, I spent many summers on the Highland farm while I was growing up. “The farm” was my home away from home during the late 1960’s and early 1970’s, and I looked forward to every visit. I spent a lot of time with both grandparents and hold many vivid memories of my time there, even after all these years.

My first memory of Grandpa was that I was afraid of him. To a little kid, he was big, and loud. I remember being coaxed into his lap while he sat in his chair at the end of the kitchen table, the only place he ever sat in the kitchen. There was an unspoken rule that the end chair was exclusively Grandpa’s, and I don’t believe anyone else ever sat there, certainly not me.

One of my earliest memories was of their collie, “Sparky”. As a little guy I would occasionally attempt to ride on Sparky like a horse, but as I recall that was discouraged. One summer Sparky turned up missing. Grandpa figured he had been spooked by a severe thunderstorm, which seemed to be a frequent event at the farm. I remember driving around on nearby back roads with Grandpa, calling for Sparky. It’s ironic that Uncle Bob recalls a previous dog, “Thunder”, that was also afraid of storms.

As a little kid growing up in the 60’s I always had a “brush cut”. In 4th grade I was finally allowed to grow my hair long enough to run a comb through it. At that point Grandpa was certain that I was going to become a hippie. Because Grandpa was very outspoken on matters involving politics and hippies, it was a pretty uncomfortable situation. I guess he gradually accepted it once he was sure it would never be more than two inches long.

Scott and Grandpa unloading silage during the fall of 1968.
(Photo provided by Scott)

Since Grandma didn’t drive, Grandpa went “uptown” to do the grocery shopping, and I always tagged along. It was during these shopping trips that I discovered Grandpa’s affinity for YORK Peppermint Patties, which would always appear during the drive home. He would try to get me to eat one because “they’re good for you….”. I didn’t like them, so Grandpa would eat them both while he was driving. To this day I wonder if Grandma knew about this as the evidence (wrappers) were always disposed of before we reached the farm.

One of the few disappointments of visiting The Farm was that I was not allowed to get up early and tag along in the barn for the morning milking. My instructions, which I followed without fail, were to watch Captain Kangaroo in the front room until they both came in from the barn for breakfast. The routine was that I would go to a certain window in the front room and wait for Grandma to carry the next milk bucket into the milk house. That way she could see that I was up and safely watching TV. I guess she must have checked for me on every trip, because I never waited in that window for long before Grandma would appear with a smile and a wave, and I would return to the chair to watch the TV.

The TV was a big deal, even though they only got 2 or 3 channels, depending on the weather. It was unplugged at the slightest hint of an approaching thunderstorm out of fear that it would be damaged by lighting. It was also the focus of the evening routine. With Grandpa reclined in his leather easy chair, Grandma would bring him a sandwich while we tuned in to Hee Haw and Candid Camera. I remember these two shows because both grandparents laughed a lot. I think Grandpa laughed more during Hee Haw, while Grandma seemed to enjoy Candid Camera more. Eventually, Grandpa would start snoring so loud we couldn’t hear the TV, so Grandma and I would “hit the hay”.

Aside from actually driving the tractors, the next best thing was helping Grandpa work on the farm machinery in the garage. This often coincided with the afternoon “polka hour” on the local AM radio station. Grandpa had an old AM radio in the garage so we listened to polka hour while he disassembled whatever was broken, which was usually his International Harvester 340 tractor, which he often proclaimed was a “lemon”. Once a teacher from the school stopped by while we were working in the garage. Apparently there was some sort of trouble and she was appealing to Grandpa the school board member for help. I also remember Grandma’s occasional reminders when there was a School Board Meeting. Grandpa would prepare by showering and getting dressed up in a suit and tie, which seemed unusual at first but I eventually got used to the idea.

Grandpa and Grandma hosted occasional visitors including Matt Mishic, and “Old man Ogrin”. Mr. Ogrin’s visits always ended up in the kitchen and involved bottles of whiskey. Once I found a small pocketknife on a chair cushion in the front room, not long after a visit from Mat Michic. Because I believed in finder’s keepers, I was excited to have acquired my first pocketknife. Grandma knew otherwise, and insisted that we return the knife to Mat, which we did. Sensing my disappointment, Grandpa gave me a brand new Case (made in Bradford) pocketknife, which I still have today. The year was 1966, and I used the knife to carve my name and the year in the new concrete sidewalk leading to the back porch of the farmhouse. The last time I checked it was still visible.

Grandpa also bought my first two bicycles at a bike shop in Kane. The red Western Flyer came with training wheels but they soon came off resulting in a few crashes in the driveway. The second bike was a green Murray with built in headlights. I couldn’t wait to try it out in the dark, so that night I somehow convinced Grandpa and Grandma to let me ride it to the railroad crossing. I must have been very persistent, because they allowed me to go even thought it was dark and foggy. I had barely left the driveway when I was immersed in fog so thick even the new bike’s headlights were useless. Grandpa thought it was pretty funny when I returned within moments for fear I would become lost in the fog.

I was lucky enough to ride along many times when Grandpa drove his cattle truck to pick up cows at other farms, then on to “The Sale”. I don’t remember exactly where it was, but I do remember the drama involved in climbing and descending Boot Jack Hill in the old Chevy cattle truck. Once the truck stopped running and Grandpa had to borrow tools from a house along the road. I was instructed to hold my foot on the brake while Grandpa did something under the hood. He had it running in no time, and we were on our way again. Another time Uncle Paul came with us, and on the way home they stopped at a bar, which meant I had to wait inside the truck for a very long time. When we arrived home Grandma had made her wonderful homemade spaghetti sauce, and I was so excited they called the Kane radio station and had them play “On Top of Spaghetti” for me.

My recollection is that Grandpa sold the dairy herd in 1977 while I was away at Navy boot camp. I believe Grandpa was proud that I was in the Navy and on a submarine, even if it was “nuclear”. While I was away Grandma routinely wrote to me, and kept me up to date with the happenings around the farm and with cousin Jeff. She would almost always include a few cartoons clipped from the newspaper, and clippings from “The Reader’s Digest”.