A Roosevelt Smile Christmas reflections

Growing up, Christmas time brought much joy and more family than I often realized I had. Every year, I'd drive with my parents to one of my aunt's or uncle's houses for a special Christmas meal. My grandfather was always there, his voice echoing through every room, easily elevating above any other whenever a point needed to be made.

After we'd exchanged gifts, ran around outside, and filled our stomachs to the brim, my mom would start talking about the traffic and the need to head home. Just those words signaled the forthcoming forty-five minutes of goodbye hugs. 

As we were getting ready to leave one year, my grandfather stopped us. He'd forgotten the gifts! 

The gifts? I thought with delight. Why I'd almost left without one of my favorite parts!

My grandfather emerged from his bedroom, his arms overflowing with small white boxes. All the grandchildren hurried over with delight at the trinkets he handed out- a years worth of credit card rewards! Mikey got a flashlight, and Lauren got a mini radio. I got a small clock. The best part was that it came with batteries!

Now, he wasn't a stingy man. He generously bestowed Christmas, Easter and birthday gifts that helped all of us cousins line our piggy banks. But sometimes, the best things really are free!

As I hugged him goodbye, feeling the scruffiness of the whiskers on his cheeks, my glee over my new clock faded away when I thought about what had happened to him this very day seventy something years before. His strong hug reminded me of just how tough he was inside. 

His mother, Frances, was very ill, he'd said. She couldn't care for him any longer, he recalled from the depths of his memory with no more words. 

On Christmas Eve, 1923, Frances brought him to a police station and never returned. He sat on the second-floor balcony, swinging his feet between the balusters, waiting. Waiting for the door to open, waiting for her to reappear. But she didn't come.

At shift's end, a police officer brought Walter to Saint Joseph's Orphan Asylum. He handed him a small peppermint candy as a parting gift. For as long as my grandfather lived, he couldn't enjoy the taste of peppermint again. 

As many times as we asked about the orphanage, my grandfather's words were few. He shared he played the piccolo in the band, but the nuns thought he looked silly, being so tall and holding such a small instrument, so they switched him to a flute. 

He shared about the day he was in so much pain that he went to the nurse. Everyone thought he was faking, as he crawled to her office, unable to stand. Fortunately, he made it to surgery before his appendix burst. 
He also spoke of the gifts he received on his birthday- though the nuns claimed his birthday was October 16th, but he was vehement it was the 9th. On Christmas, he unwrap an orange, while other kids fought over the peels. 

The nuns would tell him how he looked just like Franklin Roosevelt. I can't imagine what that meant to him? Did it feel like a coincidence, like when someone remarks that you look like a celebrity? Or did it feel more intimate? Did he know Franklin? Hear stories from his mother about working for him? Or was he just a foreign name associated with a newspaper? 

After ten years, the nuns arranged an internship for Walter, first in a patent office and then working in sales. He started off selling granular soap to businesses; the orphanage being one of his first customers, and through the decades advanced high into the company. 

When he left the orphanage, the nuns handed him a huge sum of money that was leftover, after they'd taken out of it for his gifts and ten years monthly room and board. Thinking back on it now, I'm impressed he had the wisdom to use his money wisely and not blow through it. An orphan spoiling an inheritance sounds like the plot of many nineteenth-century novels. But, an orphan given a large inheritance- allegedly from the Roosevelts, that's the starting place for much of my writing. 

Hug your loved ones close this year!

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