March 4, 2019: Bachelor Uncle

My paternal uncle, Edward F Joblinski (or Jablonski) was born 21 September 1904 and died on 17 April 1989.  My Dad was 13 years younger and really looked up to him.  Dad said he was very good to him.  But Uncle Eddie had a dark past.  As a young man he was a drunk.  This was in the 20’s and 30’s and there were no PC terms for his condition.  He woke up in the morning and hit the first fifth of whiskey for breakfast.  He made his mother cry.  He was a drunk.

I heard about a few ladies he dated, but there was nothing serious, to my knowledge.  The whiskey was more important than the women.  Until the day he had to go to the doctor. I don’t know what drove him there, but the doctor laid down the law and said if he didn’t give up the bottle, he would be dead in very few years.  I am sure he was told to stop drinking many times before this, but this time hit home.  He went to someplace in Detroit and got dried out.  He never drank again. 

He was the eldest of 3 sons in a farming family, but he didn’t like to farm.  When his father died in 1937 the farm went to the second son, his brother Bruno.  Whether Grandpa Frank willed it that way because of Eddie’s dislike of farming, or because of the drink, I don’t know.  But Bruno farmed the rest of his life.  Uncle Eddie lived on the farm for a while, then boarded with his sister Clara and her husband Ed (We never called Uncle Eddie Ed, and we never called Uncle Ed Eddie…) Then he lived in an apartment alone, the rest of his life.

He was a crotchety older man when I knew him.  He would often come visit my Mom and Dad.  My mom fussed over him with homecooked meals and deserts, my dad would visit long hours with him, discussing politics, sports, and life in general.  Uncle Eddie would get all excited and stab at dad with his index finger, which we found hilarious since he only had half a finger there. He lost the other part in an accident. Dad would often have a beer or two during Uncle Eddie’s visits, and Uncle Eddie kept some in his fridge at home for visitors, but I never knew him to take a drink. He worked for years at Excello.  He drove a brand new off the lot 1966 black Ford Mustang.  Everybody coveted that car.  Several of his nephews did body work, and they tried many times to buy the Mustang with the plan of restoring it.  Finally, in the 1980’s, Uncle Eddie took it to a scrap yard and insisted on watching it be crushed.  He just couldn’t give or sell it to anyone.

Like many men of his generation he wore a hat.  My mom would carefully place his hat out of danger of her six rambunctious children, but more often than not, it would be sat upon, spilled upon, or otherwise reduced from its formerly pristine state.  We would hear Uncle Eddie cry “My hat, Oh my hat”.  Of course, being the mean little monsters that we were, we would imitate him and laugh about the latest disaster, but only after Uncle Eddie went home.  Disrespect to his favorite brother would not be tolerated by my dad.

My first interest in genealogy came from hearing him and my dad talk about their background.  I would join them at the table and ask questions.  Dad would say the family came from Poznan, Uncle Eddie, ever argumentative, would say they were Black Russian, what ever that was.  Dad said they were always Catholic, Uncle Eddie said they were Jewish at one time.  Dad said his mom worked at a pickle factory, Uncle Eddie said tobacco factory…. They just loved to argue.

It turns out, they were both right.  That area of Poland changed rulers more often than most countries.  At one time it was the Kingdom of Poland, then it was under Germany, under Russia, then Germany again. There was a Jewish grandmother four generations back, but mostly the family stayed Catholic. My grandmother Lena worked in a tobacco factory.  I still have the handwritten notes I took at one of Uncle Eddie’s visits.

In his later years, in failing health, my dad would go to Romulus, pick him up, and take him to his doctor appointments in Detroit.  Uncle Eddie was too nervous to drive in the city then.  When he was diagnosed with prostate cancer, the doctor told my dad it was his choice whether or not to tell him.  He also said his heart would give out before the cancer would kill him.  Dad chose not to worry his brother with that news. 

Uncle Eddie was an ornery, aloof, and fussy old man.  He was careful with his hat and his car. He religiously visited his siblings.  He wasn’t a lovable, friendly old uncle, but we all loved him none the less.  His funeral was attended by some old neighbors, former coworkers, his siblings, and many nieces and nephews who loved their grumpy old bachelor uncle.