One of the dearest men passed away last week, my precious grandfather Jack Allen Taylor. He was born on September 24th 1924 in Hollywood and grew up during the depression with the likes of the Little Rascals, getting into all sorts of mischief. He was resourceful though! Little Jack would go down to the pier and catch fish in the morning, stick them in his little red wagon and sell them in the afternoon to earn a few cents.
I remember one story he would love to tell about a time when he and his buddy "Boots" noticed that a local store had been boarded up. Curious as little boys are they decided to investigate, so they found a way in and discovered rows of slot machines (very much illegal at that time) and coins (even quarters!) scattered all over the ground! Back then a dime would buy you a pound of hamburger meat so a quarter was a big deal! So the boys filled their pockets as full as they would get, then they filled their caps, maybe they stuck a few coins in their shoes... and ran home as fast as their legs could carry them. Good, God-fearing children as they were, they were sure they would be struck dead if they were caught. This, however, did not stop them from going back to get whatever else they could! But, alas, by the time they got there the place was surrounded by police and blocked off with police tape. What an adventure!
As a teen he became quite the gymnast and used to work out and show off on Muscle Beach! Word on the street is he was quite the hunk... he could even do the iron cross!
When WWII broke out he enlisted as a conscientious objector and served as a medic. Among many major battles he was also in the Battle of the Bulge. A whiz with languages, after two weeks in France was made the lead translator for the battalion and later in Germany was placed in charge of an entire hospital because of his fluency in German!
After the war was over Grandpa settled down and married my Grandma Dorothy Elliott (whom he called Dotty). They had met at a church gathering during a game of "squeak bunny squeak"... and if I want to make Grandma blush I'll tell you about it. They were married less than six months later.
They had five children Lynne, Brian, Debra, John and Susan and if Grandpa was a rascal of a child he had nothing on his kids.
He became a dentist and soon had his own practice. His patients loved (still love) him and many of them came to his memorial last week. He was my dentist too, until he retired after his 80th birthday. He took away any fear of going to the dentist, he was warm and gentle. Always remembered everyone and asked after their families. Everyone loved him.
Jack's great love was his grandchildren. Nothing made him quite as happy as holding a new little grandbaby, admiring their tiny little hands, kissing their squishy cheeks, bouncing them on his knee, smelling that baby smell... heaven.
He was constantly quizzing us grandkids. Making sure we were getting a proper education and filling in wherever he thought we might be lacking. Any visit to Grandpa's was not complete with out a language or science lesson and of course a great story from the war or his childhood. I think I owe my own love of languages to him. He was also an amazing artist, I remember sitting with him at the kitchen table and having him show me the proper way to draw a face - "No no no, Julie, your eyes are way up by the hairline... bring them down... yes, there, right in the middle of the face, halfway up... that's right... much better..." He was never too busy to spend time with us, or with anyone. He was the best of men and he will be greatly missed.
Love you Grandpa.
