Papa

Proud Papa and many of his grandchildren, 1961.

 My grandfather, Papa, was a jolly man. I've been channeling him a lot lately as I spend time with my 90+ dad. Together we traverse the roads of Worcester County and as we drive and hike, my dad tells me story after story about his life. Many of those stories involve his dad, my Papa. 

Papa's family with Laddie

Papa was born on December 28, 1899 in Worcester, Massachusetts. His Polish mom, Petronella, was a domestic for the wealthy Rice family in Worcester and his dad, Walenty (Valentine), was a laborer for a local company. Petronella, both due to her Polish/Lithuianian heritage and the Rice family's respect for education, was determined that her children would be well educated. Peter went to Worcester's North High School and then became a Postman for The United States Postal Service. His brothers had good jobs with the telephone company, a shipping organization, and the Merchant Marines while his sister became a nun who earned countless degrees and eventually became the head or her New Britain, Connecticut order, Sisters of the Immaculate Conception.

Papa and Nana

Papa took great pride in his family. As a child, his last name was Smith because his dad was renamed on his first day of work since the foreman could not pronounce his long Polish name. When Papa fell in love with my Irish Nana, all her friends thought she was marrying a man of English descent which held prestige at the time since those of English descent were generally wealthier and held more professional jobs. Later they learned of his Polish ancestry and his legal Polish name. When my Dad was eight, Papa shortened their long Polish name to make it easier for all of them. Dad remembers his teacher announcing his new name in school and the name change actually made the local news too. Just recently, in order to renew Dad's license, I had to go to Worcester City Hall to get that official record for Dad.

Proud Dad

My dad remembers Papa as a loving, adventurous and happy guy. One of his favorite stories involves a local dog later named Laddie who started following Papa on the postal route when his owner went off to fight in World War II. Laddie became a fixture in the family, and when the soldier came back, he acknowledged that Laddie was no longer his as he became so attached to Papa and my dad's family who took him in. Papa loved his car and was one of the few in the neighborhood that had a car. When he was ready to bring his kids to the local Lake Quinsigamond Beach, all the neighborhood kids would jump in the car to get a ride--Papa would bring as many as he could. He also used that car to bring his own family to Nantasket Beach often. Nana and the five kids would ride in the back while Papa and my dad's grandmother would ride up front. Nana, Papa, and the kids would

Nantasket Beach

spend the day at the beach while their grandmother played Bingo and relaxed in the amusement area. On the way home, Papa and the grandmother would stop for a beer, while the kids and Nana waited for them. 

Papa, like me, would drive all over Worcester County exploring the lands. Dad remembers that after the Hurricane of 1938, they witnessed all the fallen tress that filled the local ponds and rivers. Papa often drove out to the newly created Quabbin Reservoir showing his family how the reservoir was created, and he helped out at the Boy Scout Camp Treasure Valley. Dad remembers being there and hearing about the Pearl Harbor Assault on the car radio in 1941. 

Papa lived in a three-decker on Worcester's Grafton Hill. When I was little we lived on the second floor while Papa lived on the first floor. I remember the doll house and big swing he built. I also remember his wonderful, big garden. He always had a smile on his face and was ever loving to me. Papa loved to fish too. I had my first taste of lobster after one of his Cape Cod fishing trips at his table at 209 Pilgrim Ave. I remember him sitting in his easy chair watching TV and eating black licorice as well. 

Recently as Dad and I drove through Hubbardston, Dad recounted our family blueberry picking trips. Papa, Nana, and many of our aunts, uncles, and cousins joined us to spend the day picking blueberries, eating blueberries, playing, and picnicking. Dad told me that one of Papa's brothers learned of the spot when he worked on the railroad, and Papa and his brothers would take a train ride from Worcester to pick the berries. Later Papa took his family by car to the spot, and long after that we gathered as his grandchildren to continue the tradition at White's Farm. 

Sadly, soon after my family moved to a single family home in Worcester, my mom got a call that made her cry. I remember the moment vividly. The news came that Papa had died while shoveling snow in his driveway. My dad had gone over there the night before to do most of the shoveling, but against doctor's orders, Papa went out to do a little more clean-up the next day and had a heart attack. This was a very sad time for the entire family. Papa was well loved by so many and he lives on today via my dad's stories and the great legacy of good living and strong family values he left for all of us. Thanks Papa!