I regret that I never got to know Grandpa Wilcoxen well. Even after an extended visit to their home when I was 9 years old and stayed with them for 6 weeks that summer, I returned home with very little additional knowledge of the man. He was a quiet man, with not much to say. Even when my brother went through a toy soldier phase and had left his troops strung across the floor and my grandfather stepped barefooted on their little plastic bodies, a pained grunt was his only comment. I never heard him raise his voice.
The Arthur Wilcoxen family, in the early 1940s.
Me and Grandpa, about 1955.
I think my grandfather was a good person. He was kind to me, soft-spoken, went to church faithfully, and if he had a red-head's temper I never saw evidence of it. He is responsible for my "Yankee" half. Born in Perrysville, Indiana, 110 years ago yesterday, he moved to Texas with his parents when he was a young man.
Grandpa, I hardly knew you. But I miss you.
Arthur John Wilcoxen
February 12, 1899 - January 2, 1976