Grandma Swartz: “Never Trump Your Partner’s Ace” and Other Sage Advice

Great-Aunt Lois and Grandma Leta were one of two sets of twins in their class (on the left above). I do not know who the other twins are.

Grandma Swartz was a warm, loving person with a great sense of humor. She was exactly what a grandmother should be—interested in your life, full of wise counsel, a terrific cook, and a pleasingly plump hugger.

She was my mom’s mom, and her full name was Leta Elizabeth Green Swartz. I wonder where her parents got the idea to name her “Leta”—it’s not a very common name.

Grandma’s fraternal twin sister was Lois Parker. I barely knew Great-Aunt Lois because she and Great-Uncle Lloyd lived “Out West” all my life. But I was often told how different Leta and Lois were. Lois was what we called “a corker.” Blunt, profane, a smoker, masculine in her manner, and not in the least bound by propriety. I’ll bet her parents went through times of despair during her growing-up years.

My mom told the story of visiting Lois and Lloyd one time before I was born, and as the adults were having a conversation, Lois went into the bathroom and sat down on the commode in full view of everyone and just kept talking.

So, yeah. Not bound by propriety.

My only memory of Great-Aunt Lois is taking a walk with her somewhere when I was very, very small—so young I couldn’t read, because I saw a sign alongside a gravel road where we were walking and asked her what it said. “‘No trespassing,’” she said. “That means if someone finds us here, he can shoot us!”

Grandma Swartz wasn’t like that at all. I mean, she wasn’t prim and proper, but she wasn’t intentionally shocking or crass either. That always surprised me, because she worked many years at Rubbermaid on the factory floor. I worked there a couple of summers, and the women I worked with were all likeable and loud and as bawdy as they could be. Somehow she didn’t let all that affect her.

She did almost cuss once, though. We were shooting off fireworks on the 4^th of July (maybe it was the Bicentennial?), and Dad had rockets that were supposed to zip into the sky and explode. One of them, though, zipped but didn’t explode. An anticlimax. As Grandma watched it, she said, “Well, look at that duh . . . doon thing!” The whole family burst into laughter at her and razzed her mercilessly. “‘Doon thing’! What’s that mean, Grandma?” “Yeah, I never heard that word before!” Grandma laughed right along with us. And of course, the phrase “doon thing” thereupon became an established part of family vocabulary.

Bathrooms and Quirks

And speaking of bathrooms (see Lois story above)—many was the time we’d be coming back with Grandma from an errand, and she’d say she needed to use the bathroom as soon as possible when we got home. She would hurry through the door (Grandpa had hung sleighbells at the top of the door, and they jingled pleasingly every time the door was opened or shut) and head for the bathroom as fast as she could. THUMP, THUMP, THUMP, THUMP, THUMP, THUMP, THUMP! Her heels would pound the floor with each frantic step.

As far as I know, she always made it in time.

She had some other quirks as well. Watch TV with her, and she would sit with her feet (in little ankle socks) on the couch, twitching them back and forth constantly. And she could be a prankster. If you had a hole in your pants, she might stick a finger through it and say, “What’s this?” and rip it bigger. One time when she was waiting in line to clock out at Rubbermaid, a man in front of her had a hole in his pants. She said, “What’s this?” and started to reach for the hole. The man looked at her and said, “If you rip that hole bigger, I’ll knock you on the floor!”

So she didn’t.

She could tell funny stories and enjoyed laughing at them as much as her hearers did. One time she related the story of a double-date she and a girlfriend had gone on. “All day long before the date, she and I were being silly, and we were starting all our words with ‘ch.’ Like, ‘Chello, chow char choo?’ When we got on the date, I was sitting with my date, and she and her date were sitting behind us, with their backs to us. I guess she didn’t like the guy too much because at one point she turned around and said in my ear, ‘Chutta chuke!’” Grandma had dissolved into laughter then, and she did so now too.

We were bemused. “‘Chutta chuke’? What’s that mean?”

“‘What a puke’!” And she burst into laughter again.

Sometimes her mouth got her in trouble. Grandma and Grandpa made friends with a Jewish couple. This was very unusual in our circles—there were no Jewish people living in Fredericksburg then. Amish people we felt comfortable with. Jewish people, not so much. So I’m sure the couple’s heritage was often on Grandma’s mind when they were together.

Once they were all four talking about how much Grandma and Grandpa had paid for some item of furniture. Grandma volunteered, “Well, he was asking more than that for it, but we Jewed him down!” To fill the awkward silence that immediately ensued, she added, “Oh, now why’d I say that?”

I loved watching TV with Grandma. Of course, we watched The Lawrence Welk Show. (When the old couples would get up and dance during some of the numbers, Grandma would smile and say, “Oh, look at them all having such a good time!”) But she also let me watch scary stuff too. For awhile there was a TV show called Ghost Story, hosted by Sebastian Cabot. Oh my word. I would sit skwunched as close as possible to her as ghosts crawled out of graves and phones that had been ripped out of the wall continued to ring. I loved it! But I was also scared slap to death.

Boxers and Euchre

Here's another story about her from many years later. Grandpa always wore boxers. Always. But for some reason one time when he needed new underwear, Grandma bought him “tighty whitey” briefs. He tried them on and threw a fit! Oh, they were so constricting! So uncomfortable! How could anybody wear these? They were awful! Etc., etc., etc.

A few days later Grandma was telling my mom about the underwear fiasco, and she added, “And you know what? He’s right, they are pretty uncomfortable!” and pulled at the waistband of her pants while adjusting her hips.

“Mom! . . . Are you wearing Dad’s underwear!?”

“Well, yes! I couldn’t take them back because he’d worn them, and it seemed like a waste of money to throw them out, so . . .”

When I was young the family would sometimes play cards at Grandma’s—euchre was our game of choice. Players were Grandma, Mom, Grandpa, and me, and Grandma and I were usually partners. I remember her oft-repeated words of wisdom when I’d make a mistake: “Oh, Stevie, don’t send a boy to do a man’s job!” That meant I’d played too low a card, and the other team had taken the trick.

Or, another piece of euchre advice: “Never trump your partner’s ace!” That is, if your partner already has the trick, save your trump for a time when it’s really needed.

She was right about those things, and she was right about a lot of other things too. When I was emotionally shattered by some event at home and couldn’t talk to Mom or Dad about it, I’d end up at Grandma’s.

When I Needed Comfort . . .

It was winter, and the snow was about a foot deep. Keith and I were waiting in the car for Mom and Dad to come out of the house and go to a party while we boys were to stay with Grandma and Grandpa. While we waited, I urged Keith to go out in the snow—wouldn’t it be funny to see his footprints in the deep snow?

Now, I don’t know whether we’d been told to stay in the car or not, but the fact that I urged Keith to do it but didn’t do it myself makes me suspicious that that’s the case. He did it, and we laughed at the big footprints he’d left.

Mom and Dad came out to the car. I don’t know why, but Dad took one look at those footprints and flew into a rage. He reached over the front seat and hit me right across my face. One of the nose pieces on my glasses broke, and the broken edge cut the bridge of my nose.

Please let me add—this kind of response was not typical of Dad. And I well remember the myriad stresses young fathers are under as they try to navigate marriage, a job, and child-rearing. So although it was wrong, I’ve forgiven him long ago.

I wailed, “Why did you hit me? Keith was the one who did it!” This is called “throwing the little brother under the bus.”

Dad angrily replied, “Well, you probably had something to do with it!” This is called “hitting the nail on the head.”

Even though Mom was very upset and said she didn’t want to go anymore, our parents dropped us off at Grandma’s and went on to the party.

I cried and bemoaned my ill-treatment to Grandma. I couldn’t wait to hear her tear into Dad and take my side! Clearly I was the innocent, injured party here, and my dad was a mean-tempered brute!

“Stevie,” she said, “sometimes these kinds of things happen. But your dad is a good man. He’s a hard worker, and he provides for your family. He’s not perfect. Nobody’s perfect. But he loves you and your brothers and Janice. He has you in church, and he’s a faithful man. He’s a good dad.”

Well. That didn’t go as expected!

There were other occasions where I went to her and griped about Dad. But I could never, ever get her to say one negative thing about him, even though he wasn’t her son but her son-in-law. That said more about her character than anything else she could have said, and I’ve often remembered it through the years.

Another time I was griping to her about something else. I forget what the issue was, but it was something I was going to have to do that I was dreading and wanted to get out of. I went to her to complain, hoping she would say something like, “Poor baby!” and offer me cookies.

After I finished telling her whatever it was and giving my reasons for not wanting to do it, she looked at me seriously. “Stevie, all your life you’re going to have to do things you don’t want to do. I worked in that factory for years because I had to, and I never liked it even one day. So it’s best if you just get used to the idea and do what needs doing whether you want to or not.”

“All your life you’re going to have to do things you don’t want to do.” How many times have I heard her saying that in my mind when faced with a task I was dreading? And those words have always helped me to move ahead and get through whatever it is.

Maybe a little bit of Grandma’s character rubbed off on me. That would be great.

Copyright 2023, Steven Nyle Skaggs

Grandma and Grandpa Swartz and yours truly, 1961.
Notice the look of intelligence on my face even at this young age.

May 1989: Great-Grandma holding my son Ben.

The Daily Record - Friday, April 21, 2006 - B3: FREDERICKSBURG - Leta Elizabeth Swartz, 91, of Fredericksburg, died Thursday morning, April 20, 2006, at Wooster Community Hospital, after a period of declining health.

Services will be Saturday at Murray Funeral Home in Fredericksburg, with the Rev. Don Rossiere officiating. Burial will be at Fredericksburg East Cemetery.

Leta was born May 7, 1914, in Fredericksburg to Louis and Mabel (Swinehart) Green and married Byron Joseph Swartz on June 23, 1934. He died June 23, 1996.

She was a 1933 graduate of Fredericksburg High School and had worked for 26 years at Rubbermaid, Inc. She had made her home in Fredericksburg most of her life and was an avid reader.

Surviving are daughters, Mildred (Russ) Brinkerhoff and Janice (Nyle) Skaggs, both of Fredericksburg; grandchildren and their families, Peggy Brinkerhoff, James (Mary) Brinkerhoff and children, Craig and Nathan, John (Amy) Brinkerhoff and children, Jessica and Sarah, Steven (Cindy) Skaggs and children, Matthew, Ben, Kristie, Jason and Caleb, Keith (Diana) Skaggs and children, Weston, Bethany, Seth and Irena, Eric (Aimee) Skaggs and children, Jonah and Daniel and Joel (Betsy) Skaggs and children, Lauren, Luke and Caitlen.

Her husbands [sic],* brothers, Louis Green Jr., Glenn and Clarence Green and sisters, Mildred Apperson and twin, Lois Parker, died previously.

* This is a mistake. She had only one husband.

 Below: Twin sisters Lois and Leta. They don’t even look like sisters, much less twins!