I’m so happy to get the opportunity to write about my friendship with Grant, nearly fifteen years after his death. He was named after the famous American Gothic painting by Grant Wood that I believe was a relative. This all came about because of a recent reunion with a high school friend and the related Facebook pictorial post that generated responses from Grant’s first wife, sister, and son. They asked me to recount some memories, particularly for the benefit of his son Grant who wanted to learn more about his father. I honestly don’t remember if I communicated appropriately with his widow at the time of his passing, since the only time I met her was at their wedding and certainly regret not being able to attend the funeral. I don’t think I’ve ever gotten over my reluctance to attend these uncomfortable things and vividly remember resisting my friend’s call to be a pall bearer at his dad’s, also named Grant, ceremony. I made the excuse that I didn’t have a sport coat, but thankfully he talked me into it. This was while we were both home from college. It might have been the last time that I saw his sister.

I met Grant in our Elkhart High School chemistry class in 1966. We graduated together in 1969. Mr. Joslyn was our teacher and we volunteered to be lab assistants – a couple of suck-ups, after we both realized how tough he was as an instructor and poor scores on the first quiz. I don’t recall if it was a joint decision or that’s how we actually met. Both of us were practical jokers – I do remember hooking up the Bunsen burners in the lab to the water outlet rather than the appropriate gas line and using it to squirt water in the windows of the building across the street. This was the last year that the high school was in its original building downtown.

As lab assistants we got extra credit and got to take equipment home for “mad scientist” experiments that we would conduct at each other’s houses. The beauty of his house was that there was often never any adult supervision, so it also came in handy for overnight parties for nerds like us that liked to play RISK, for example. We’d take home chemicals and glassware from the lab (with some permission) and make explosives. We’re lucky we never blew the place up! His younger sister had to deal with us for the next three or four years. Both of us were shy around girls so I’m not sure that I was ever able to engage in a conversation with her. More on explosives and girls later.

The first time I walked into Grant’s bedroom, I know he was an electrical genius. I’m not sure where he learned it, but I too had a knack for wiring and current. I think we both took the difficult test to be Ham Radio operators – more “nerdity” when nerds we’re necessarily cool. I was absolutely fascinated that he could operate almost anything from his bedside – this was long before the remote control ever existed. The only complaint that he ever had about his sister was that she was constantly on the phone and there was only one line. Eventually he solved this problem with a switchboard that would send calls over to the neighbor’s house, freeing the phone for his own use. I helped him dig the trench to bury the wires and watched him tap-in to the line leading into the old man’s house (probably about my age now). The neighbor apparently rarely used his phone but eventually did, and reported the problem to the phone company – GTE. I remember sleeping-over the morning that several utility trucks pulled into the driveway with lights flashing. Grant had cut the line with a shovel at the border between the two lawns and I thought for sure he was going to get in big trouble. I elected to cower inside. They had a discussion at the property line and to make a long story short, the serviceman recognized Grant’s genius and actually taught him how to hook-up an additional phone directly to the telephone pole. No charges were ever filed. I’m not sure that Grant, Sr. or his sister ever knew that this was why the phone was never tied-up in their house. 

I will continue with these stories over the next few days, as they come to mind. There are memories about cars, Nitro Tri-Iodine, wine-making, bicycles, more phone stuff, double-dating, Johnson’s Drug Store, and German class that are top-of-mind. I’m sure I’ll think of even more stuff to share in his memory. He was only 53 when he died at the desk in his Boston College laboratory, as a published bio-physicist. There were two other children. We all miss you, Dr. Grant.