My grandfather, Erwin Packhiser, had a reputation as an accomplished sportsman. He loved to hunt and fish. His mounted trophies tastefully enhanced the decor of their lovely Monhagen avenue home. Deer heads hung on the wall and colorful, soft feathered, Pheasants were frozen in motion on end tables. I remember a large Snapping turtle shell on the sunporch as well as a couple of large dried up open mouth bass. I don't recall other mounted fish trophies, but I do recall once when I was ten or twelve years old discovering his fishing poles and tackle in the attic. It was like discovering Aladin's treasure. A forbidden treasure too, because we could not touch Grossies things, even though, up to that point in my life, I don't ever recall him using them.
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| Erwin and Lydia Packhiser In California circa 1932 |
When I was born in 1958, my Grandfather turned 60. He owned a successful and thriving Dry cleaning business, was active in church and civic organizations and well known around the relatively small town he lived in. He worked long and hard. He wasn't doing much fishing then, but neither was he ready to retire. Whenever I visited, he was long gone before I ever woke up. His car would pull in and he'd come in the back door ready for breakfast around 8:30 or so, after getting the dry cleaning "plant" up and running.
My grandmother, Ami, would always tell us stories. She was actively involved with the girl scouts and taught nature courses at the girl scout camp. She knew everything about nature, and always had funny stories about why certain leaves were shaped the way they where or why certain flowers bloom when they do. Her sometimes nonsensical stories come back to me even now when I see a aspen leaf quaking in the wind, or see a forget-me-not's bright blue pedals.
One story she used to tell us was about the time when Grossie took her fishing. They were young, and still dating. She had gone along with him even though she had no interest in fishing, but she did have an interest in him. What he caught that day was more than he bargained for. He was casting his line when the hook caught Ami's ear lobe. He took no notice of this since she was some distance behind him and he was looking forward toward the water. As he completed his cast Ami ran forward yelling in pain for him to stop.
"Irv! Irv! You've hooked my ear!" she yelled.
He stopped just in time to prevent any serious damage and sheepishly removed the hook. Even in the picture you can see he is a big, goofy, oaf! Although in many other photos he could easily be a handsome leading man.
Anyway, as a result, they fell in love and lived happily ever after...or something like that.
Even as kids, we had our doubts about this story, but she told it to us many times, until we got a little older and more inquisitive.
"Did it Hurt?"
"How did you get it out"
"You're lucky it didn't go into your eye!"
What started as a tale of romance became on object lesson for us to be careful when we went fishing. Of course growing up on a daily diet go the Three Stooges, it became just the opposite. Whenever we went fishing we would "accidentally" try to hook each other. We ARE lucky we didn't put an eye out!
I had forgotten about this story and those sunny summer days of fishing along the Wallkill River with my grandfather and my brothers. Recently while scanning some old family photos from Dee I came across the one pictured above. I have lots of fishing photos of Grossie and his catches, but none that back up Ami's story. Look what she wrote on the back:
"Grossie and Ami fishing in Calif. Grossie was fly casting and his fishhook got caught in my earlobe."
Maybe her stories aren't all fiction. You got to wonder what happened in the woods that day 82 years ago. Did Grossie catch Ami, or did she catch him?
I welcome comments from family members who recall this story or may have something to add. If you already have a Google account you can sign in and add your comments directly.
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