The Story of Grandma Newlin

This is what my mother told me about Grandma Newlin and what I remember about her. She graduated from high school, which was a rarity in those days. She was considered to be very smart. She was an only child and her immigrant parents relied on her for things requiring "book learning," like reading and doing figures. She fell in love with a neighboring farm boy. Her parents did not approve because he was not Irish. So they ran off to get married. The Justice of the Peace stalled them at his house and sent word to her father who promptly retrieved her and put her under "house arrest." They quickly married her off to Mr. Newlin who was from the old country and worked on their farm. He was much older than she. (I think my mother said he was 20 years older, but I'm not sure.) They had four children, 3 girls (Shirley, Mona and Lila) and my father, Grant, second born. When my father was 8 years old, Mr. Newlin had a stroke. He was downtown and people around him thought he was drunk. A friend of his said, "That is Mr. Newlin. He does not drink a drop. He must be sick." He was brought home in the back of a wagon, paralyzed from the neck down and unable to talk. He lived another 40 years in that condition. I remember visiting him as a child.

Once, my father told me what he remembered about that day. He said that he always worked along side his father on the farm. When the lunch or dinner bell rang, they would go to the pump and wash their hands along with the other farm hands. He saw that they worked the bar of soap back and forth to lather it up. He could not do that as his hands were too small, so he rolled it around and around in his hands so as not to drop it. He complained to his father that he wanted to be able to rub the soap back and forth in his hands like the men did. His father told him that he did not need to worry, that he would be able to do that when he became a man. When they brought his father home after his stroke, the doctor took my father aside and said very gravely, "You are the man of the house now, Grant, and it is your job to take care of your mother and sisters and this farm." After everyone left and it was time to get the children in bed, Grandma Newlin went looking for my father after dinner. She found him at the pump. He had been practicing working the soap back and forth for hours. His hands were red and raw. Soap was not gentle in those days. He refused to come indoors until he had mastered this skill. He had to be a man. My father was so somber when he told me that story. From that day forward, he worked on the farm and at paying jobs to bring in the cash his family needed. His mother insisted that he continue school as well. He never "played" again. He said that was when he became a man with responsibilities. My father was hard-working and responsible his whole life.

Grandma Newlin did sewing for paying customers. She taught me how to sew and do needlework. She taught me how to darn socks and do embroidery. She taught me how to tat and crochet. She had cancer of the larynx when I was a young girl. She lived the rest of her life with a tube in her throat that she had to put her finger on in order to speak. I always thought that was fascinating. She worked at Goodwill when I was in high school and she always brought us kids interesting stuff from work. (Mandy, that is where she got the old clock you have in a box upstairs.) She had that clock for years and as far as I can remember it used to work.

When I was in high school, Grandma Newlin would often drive to our house in Palm Springs from San Bernardino where she lived. Her car was always covered with dents and scratches. She often complained about what terrible drivers people in California were compared to drivers in Iowa and Nebraska. Once, when she was visiting, she took me to a friend's house to spend the night because my parents were gone somewhere in our car. When my father came to get me the next day I told him about my harrowing drive with Grandma. She thought that if you turned on your signal, that gave you the right-of-way to turn and oncoming traffic was supposed to stop. She pointed out to me all the terrible drivers in California who just had accidents all around her. My father took a ride with her that afternoon and that was the end of Grandma driving. I don't think she was as old as I am now, but she was very confused about the modern turn signals. She learned to drive with arm signals and attributed too much power to the new electric signals. Grandma protested that she would stop doing that now that she understood, but my father was still the man of that family and she had to do as he said. I don't think Grandma Newlin ever forgave him for that.

Eventually Grandma Newlin's cancer returned in her throat and she had to go to the hospital for an operation. She "died" on the operating table and the surgeons had to revive her heart. She was very angry when she finally awoke from the surgery. She described a very typical near death experience of peace and complete happiness, a white light she was drawn to and no wish to return to her body. She was ready to leave this life. Shortly she took her own life by an overdose of insulin that she injected daily. She was a woman of her time. Her father had control of her and who she married. Her husband had control of her until her son assumed that role and kept it for the rest of her life. Her last act on this Earth was to take control of her own death. I admire her for that.