My Grandpa died when I was 8. He seemed very old to me but
in reality, he was only a few years older than I am now. He left my Grandma a
widow at 54. Which, like I said – seemed old to me.
My Grandma Dorothy has always had a pure white beehive
hairdo. The hive’s height and helmet shape have changed slightly over the
course of the 45 years I’ve been alive – I know this because anytime Grandma
lowered the height or got it “cut short” in the back it was demanded that I
notice.
“Say, did you notice I got my hair cut?” She would always
ask me. A few times as a young, naïve girl I admitted that no, I didn’t notice.
She was so disappointed by my lack of fashion and beauty sense that to this day
when she asks me I immediately say, “Yes! It looks so nice, Grandma.” She’ll
then tell you a reason why she doesn’t like it – but it’s ok. Like, “Well, I
think maybe she got it a little too short in the back, but I think it’s ok.”
And then she will primp herself a little; satisfied to have been seen.
My Grandma lived just down the street from me when I was
growing up. I could see her house from
my front door. It’s where I sought sanctuary from my mom when she was mad at
me. It’s where I came to just be seen as “Nikki,” and not “Nikki who is second
in command in caring for Amy at home.” Many times during the week I would find
my time to escape and tell my mom, “I’m going to Grandma’s house!” and I’d run
out the door. By the time I would get to her house, I’d usually be crying or
close to it. In my memory she was always wearing some kind of fancy nightgown
set a ‘la Lisa from “Green Acres.” In fact, she’s kind of a mix between Lisa
and Flo from "Alice." Her sense of humor is quick and biting, but she was
always a lady.
I remember those days and she would sweep her flowing robe
up when she saw the state of me and we would sit on the loveseat on her little sun
porch and she would say “Tell Grandma your troubles.” Always. She would sit down
on that love seat, pat the seat next to her and say, “tell Grandma what’s
wrong.” I’d sit down and inevitably burst into tears as she hugged me close and
listened to whatever was weighing on me that day. She’s not much into dwelling
on things so after I’d tell her MY troubles, she would find a way to turn my
attention to something nicer. Usually candy. So I’d eat candy and she would
tell me stories about going to “Wrinkle City” (our local Moose lodge) where she
and her friends went to dance. My Grandpa had been a wonderful dancer and it
was a big part of their life together. We were all happy when she started going
back to Wrinkle City. She wasn’t as sad anymore and she was laughing again.
That made me feel happy and sure that she was going to be ok.
I don’t know why it didn’t occur to me that she would
eventually date. She was still young enough to be middle aged, no kids at home, funny,
and much more attractive than my hometown’s usual fare. Still, that first
afternoon I ran over to her house seeking solace and found a strange car in the
driveway I was totally shocked. I walked into the house (she didn’t meet me at
the door, hrmph!) and there she was putting food on some man’s plate. He was
just wearing a t-shirt; his “real” shirt was hanging on the back of a chair.
That’s weird. But what was even weirder was my Grandma!
She was a whirling dervish in that little kitchen. This way
and that way – the robe of her glamorous nightgown flowing in the breeze she
was creating around herself. She was talking in a voice I didn’t recognize.
“Oh Bill, this is my granddaughter, Nikki. Isn’t she
beautiful?” He grunted hello to me and grunted something to my Grandma. He just
kept eating. My Grandma was telling me how she met Bill at Wrinkle City and
mentioned what he did for living; I just sat there in silence. Who was this guy?
Why is he having breakfast this late at my Grandma’s house and why isn’t he
wearing his shirt?
As I was pondering these questions, Bill cleared his throat
pretty dramatically and straightened up in his chair. He looked at me and said,
“Have you ever been to Bishops?”
What? Had I ever been to Bishops? “No, I don’t think I
have,” I politely replied. He then went on for about 10 minutes telling me what
a great dining experiences he’s had at Bishops. We didn’t even have a Bishops
in my hometown so I thought that was a stupid thing to ask me. I didn’t spend
much time there that day; I walked home in a bit of a daze.
I may have mentioned “Bill” to my mom but no one really knew
what to think. Time passed and my afternoons with Grandma went back to being
just us and so life was normal and good again. But then, just when I had convinced myself that Bill had never happened, there the car was again. I
walked into the same scene. No shirt
Bill eating this weird Grandma’s eggs. I sat there just staring, trapped in the
déjà vu of the scene when again, Bill cleared his throat and asked, “So…(longest
pause imaginable) have you ever been to Bishops?” I couldn’t help it. I burst
out laughing. But my Grandma gave me “a look” and so I disguised it as a cough
and again listened for a good 10 minutes about what a fine, fine dining
experience one could have at Bishops.
I saw Bill a few more times after that and other family
members met him, too. He always asked them about Bishops, too, so now it’s
a family joke. And just so you know – we’re really more of a Perkin’s family
anyway.
So, we survived my Grandma’s first boyfriend and it wasn’t
THAT bad. There were a few more – Harry, who drove for a limo service and some
I never met. And then came Ralph.
Ralph Zeien was unlike any other person I had ever met. My
Grandma met him at Wrinkle City, of course. Ralph immediately caught her
interest because he wasn’t from our town – he lived a couple hours away in
Cedar Rapids. He was a traveling meat cutter and would go from one Randall’s
supermarket to another - cutting meat, I guess. I had never heard of a
travelling meat cutter, I’d never met anyone who swore every other word like
Ralph did and I’d never met anyone so full of shit in my life.
“Ralph, this is my granddaughter, Nikki. Isn’t she
beautiful?” she’d say. And Ralph would say hello to me but quickly it would
turn into him chasing my Grandma around the kitchen telling her what a fox she
was.
“Goddamnit, she’s a fox! Isn’t she a goddamned fox?” he’d
smile and ask the universe. He was in love. She was in love with how in love
with her he was. He showered her with compliments and cubic zirconia and in his mind – she was
perfect. She teased him mercilessly, made sure we all knew she didn’t
necessarily find him “good lookin’” but she couldn’t contain her affection even
when she called him a “stupid son of a bitch,” which she did. A lot. He was
fun, mysterious and a good dancer. That was enough for my Grandma.
We all reluctantly and with caution began to allow Ralph
into the family fold. My mom, her two sisters and brother were all a little
shell shocked by the whole thing. In their minds, they just lost their dad. And
like me – Grandma seemed old to us! None of us had any idea how young 54 really
is.
My Grandpa died in 1978 so this was probably 1980 that Ralph
entered the picture. The more time he spent with my Grandma, the more
suspicious his comings and goings got. I mean, sure – there’s a lot of glitz
and glamour to the travelling meat cutter’s life – but Ralph just wasn’t
sharing much. And what little he did share always sounded made up. He said he
had an ex wife and a son. The big joke between he and my Grandma was that his
“ex wife’s” name was Dorothy, as well, but she wasn’t good lookin’ at all! Mrs.
Zeien therefore became known as “Big D.” A nickname that has become synonymous
for “ugly and mean.” Ralph also earned his nickname during this time. We always
referred to him as an “International Man of Mystery.”
This was all before the Internet so I don’t know how we
tracked down information on Ralph, but we did. Turns out he wasn’t divorced. He
was still married to Big D. When my Grandma found this out she packed up
everything he had at her house and family lore has it that she met him at the
door with a gun in her hand and told him not to come back until he had divorce
papers.
It was all very dramatic and my mom, Grandma and my aunts
were all consumed by his duplicity and so happy he was GONE. Well, everyone
except my Grandma. Two weeks later, I spotted them strolling up to our house. I
yelled at my mom “Grandma and Ralph are coming! Grandma and Ralph are coming!”
and then I hid in a closet. My mom hid in the basement. Grandma and Ralph
knocked forever while our dog went nuts. Finally, they just walked in. My heart
was pounding out of my chest. This was the most exciting thing EVER! Pretty
soon they found my mom in the basement and called her up. Man, was she mad!
My Grandma started talking, saying how Ralph was in the
process of a divorce and then Ralph jumped in, “Lindy…” uh oh. My mom absolutely hated it
when he called her “Lindy.” That’s what my Grandpa called her. NOT this man.
One "Lindy" is all it took for my mom to get her meanest voice on and say to him,
“You get the hell out of my house and don’t come back here until you have your
divorce papers.” I remember feeling excited by the exchange – adrenaline racing
through me. I was also scared because I’d never heard my mom sound so mean. When
I finally came out of hiding and looked out the window, I saw Grandma and Ralph
walking back to my Grandma’s house and both of their shoulders were slumped.
They were sad. I felt sad then, too.
We didn’t see Grandma or Ralph for a few months. Then one
day, they appeared at the front door. Ralph had his divorce papers in hand. My
mom took them, read them, and when she was convinced they were real she said “that’s all I wanted” and he was welcomed into the family.
Just because we accepted him, didn’t mean that we were
always happy about it, though. Ralph was goofy. He was a conspiracy theorist.
He hated the government, insurance companies and fat people. But he loved
dancing, he adored my Grandma and as it turned out – Ralph fell completely in
love with my severely handicapped sister, Amy, and the feeling was mutual.
Amy had a way of sussing people out. With no regard to
personal space, she would get right up to a person and look deeply in their
eyes. If she sensed they were afraid of her or uncomfortable, she would walk
away. But when she met someone who was open to her – it was one of the most
beautiful things to witness. She would look you directly in the eye and get so
close to you her nose would almost be touching yours. Sometimes when she
would look into a certain person's eyes she would find something that made her so happy. She'd look even deeper into that person's eyes. When she did this to you, it was like you could feel her looking at your soul. Her eyes would be twinkling, her smile and laughter would fill the room – she would look around at everyone in the room like
“Look who I found!!!” And then she would rub noses with her new person. She was
really affectionate and loved to give hugs and kisses.
I don’t think Ralph had
ever experienced anything like Amy. And when she looked deep into his eyes –
she literally couldn’t contain her excitement in being with him. She would start by kissing his forehead and then end up
messing up his whole head of hair. Ralph always walked away from Amy as if he
had gotten caught up in a windstorm with a St. Bernard. Theirs was a love for
the ages, so true and pure. As a result, we put up with all the weird
things Ralph did or said because Amy loved him so much. All the rest of us grew to love Ralph too – it
just took us longer.
When I was in college, I loved showing them off when Grandma and Ralph came to visit me. I was always telling stories how Ralph was an International Man of Mystery disguised as a traveling meat cutter and my Grandma was his foxy sidekick.When they would come to visit me they never disappointed.
One of the only things Ralph loved almost as much as my
Grandma was a good Cadillac. And by “good,” I mean OLD and BIG. I think because
of his life on the road, Ralph liked to create moving living rooms out of his
cars. An old caddy with the seats going all the way across was perfect not
only for taking a quick nap, but also for having his foxy lady sit real close
to him while he drove.
The backseat would always have hand towels folded across the
bar behind each of the front seats. There as ALWAYS potpourri and always some
kind of fancy Kleenex cover thing. In reality, Ralph’s cars were pimp mobiles.
But in his mind, they were the height of luxury travel. If he saw another Pimp Mobile/Living Room he would always say, "that's a goddamned beautiful car." And before you knew it - the old living room was out and a new, bigger Caddy replaced the last. He felt like a king driving those cars. Even when the bumper was held on with duct tape.
Speaking of duct tape, one can’t talk about Ralph
without mentioning his love of duct tape. If ever there was a PERFECT
invention, for Ralph, it was duct tape. Not only did he use it to hold his cars
together but when he could no longer find his favorite white patent leather
dance shoes, he duct taped and spray painted his old ones white. He thought we
didn’t notice. Or wouldn’t notice. But we ALWAYS noticed. My grandma would roll
her eyes and say, “Oh Jesus Christ, you goofy son of a bitch.”
Anyway, when Grandma and Ralph would show up in Iowa City in
the Pimp Mobile Living Room, all the kids came out to see. He would get out, looking
chic in salmon pants, his white patent shoes and belt and his big rose colored
sunglasses. Then he would walk around the Living Room to open the door for my
Grandma who would gracefully slide out of the car with her hair high and her
sunglasses arms even higher (so they didn’t mess up her hair). If Ralph was in
salmon you can bet Grandma had on her favorite salmon shirt that made her boobs
look really big and her white skirt with the belt cinched so tight I don’t know
how she could breathe. She would exit the car like a movie star, Ralph holding
out his hand to help her out like she was Mariah Carey. Once out of the car,
she would stand there – looking more like 6’0 tall than 5’5, poof her hair up
and take a step forward while Ralph presented her to the world. It didn’t
matter if they were somewhere fancy or at the gas station. He always presented
her as if she were royalty. To say she loved this is an understatement.
As goofy as Ralph was, sometimes you would catch him in a
reflective mood and he would tell you something about himself. He mostly just
liked listening to other people talk or he wanted to only talk about my Grandma
or Amy– but as time went by, real stories about Ralph started to surface.
Like most men of his generation, Ralph had served in World
War II. And like most men of his generation, he didn’t talk about it a lot.
When he did, it was incredible.
Ralph joined the Army in 1941. He saw lots of action as a
tail gunner (during WWII the Air Force was still a part of the Army). In 1943, while flying over Germany on a
mission, his plane was shot down. The plane crashed, killing all on board
except Ralph. He got out of the plane and started searching for survivors. He
quickly realized there were none and he was now a Jewish American soldier in
Nazi Germany. Surely someone would be
there quickly to assess the damage to the US plane. Ralph did the only thing he could think to do
– he switched dog tags with the Irish Catholic pilot of the plane. Just as he
thought, the Nazi’s quickly found him and made him a prisoner or war. For two
years “Flannigan” cooked for these Nazi soldiers. They liked Ralph so much he
became a friend to them, never suspecting their “Flannigan” was actually a
non-practicing American Jew. To his dying day, Ralph referred to the Germans
who held him captive as “good guys. Goddamned good guys to ME,” he’d say. The
thing about Ralph is – he was always willing to cut a guy a break. To my
knowledge, Ralph only shared this story twice in the 30+ years I knew him. He
would much rather talk about how foxy my Grandma was.
Time wasn’t as kind to Ralph as it has been to my Grandma.
After 3 decades of dancing and countless days filled with laughter, our Ralphie
was starting to fail. His once razor sharp mind was fading. And as his mind
faded, so did he. Participating in conversation became difficult for him. He
could have days where he was fine, and others when he couldn’t even tell you
who the President was. With heavy hearts, it became obvious that my Grandma
couldn’t care for Ralph on her own and he needed more care than we could give
him at home. He went to live at a nursing home and just like Ralph; he made the
best of it. All the old ladies developed crushes on him and he played
Elvis in their holiday program! He even starred in a commercial for the nursing
home. He never made us feel bad that he was there.
When Ralph passed away in 2010, we were all sad. Knowing he
would NEVER want a fuss made out of his passing, my Grandma had him cremated
and the family gathered together to share stories about our goofy stand-in
Grandpa. My husband Craig wrote a eulogy for him that I know would make Ralph
so proud and it would tickle him to no end. It reads:
Rest in peace, Ralph Zeien
Fox Trotter, jitterbugger, the last traveling meat-cutter,
Dance shoe sprayer, Cadillac raconteur, WWII hero,
An International Man of Mystery and goddamned good guy.
The best, most prolific swearer I ever knew.
Rewrote the rules for duct tape use.
Amazing stand-in Grandpa to my
wife and boys. Born with the life force of 10 men.
Rest in Goddamned Peace, Brother.
For those of us who knew and loved Ralph, it was perfect.
His send off from this life was perfect. We laughed a lot, cried a little and
told so many stories. Anytime we burn a piece of toast we know to say “Good morning
Ralphie!” Burnt toast was his favorite.
Ralph has been gone for several years now but his memory is
always fresh in our minds. My family and I got our first puppy this summer. The
deal was, we were getting a girl and I’d name her Lillian Kim (Lil Kim). Then I
found out I was getting a boy – so I decided to name him “Biggie.” But as time
drew closer to go pick up our new puppy I knew I didn’t like Biggie as his name
anymore. I started searching everywhere for another name. I was stumped. Then
one morning I was remembering some silly Ralph thing – like how he would tell
me I looked “slim and trim” every time he saw me and then would always add,
“you were getting a little fat last time.” But he said that EVERY time! And as
I was remembering his body shaming before it was a “thing,” it hit me. Our
puppy. Ralphie. When I came up with it my eyes instantly filled with happy
tears. I came out and told my husband and the boys – who hadn’t been crazy
about any of the other names I picked out – that I had the perfect name. We all smiled. We had it. Long live the latest goofy sonofabitch to
join our family: Ralphie the Dog.
