King of the Road

My grandfather’s sister, Fern, married a guy named, Johnny. I called him Uncle Johnny and although he was a bit gruff, he was the kind of man that looked you in the eyes (even when you were six) and told it how it was. You believed him and when he smiled at you, you know it was because you were awesome. Or at least he thought you were.

My Grampa told me a story about Uncle Johnny’s Uncle Pierre (Jean Pierre Origer). Uncle Johnny (and Uncle Pierre) were from Illinois. Uncle Pierre was a sort of a hobo in those days, living wherever, doing whatever. He would disappear for months, even years, and then just pop up again.

During this time, Uncle Johnny and Aunt Fern had an orchard in Cupertino, California and one day while my grandfather was visiting, Uncle Pierre just popped in on them in California after months of being gone from Wisconsin. He said he was in San Jose and heard the name “Origer” in “Origer Orchards” and so decided to see if he was related. He stayed awhile and told some tales.

The kid in me finds this tremendously exciting. I think it did to Grampa, too, as he mentioned him a couple of times and then got as excited as I did when we found a picture of Uncle Pierre.