Full Disclosure: I'm Stanley III

StanleyDad tells me that StanleyGrandpa googled his name recently, without the suffix that distinguishes his name from mine or StanleyDad's. He was livid. (Of course, comparatively, he's also livid when the Bears fumble, when it snows, when it's hot, when the pizza's not well-done enough, and, well, probably right now, too.)

"LittleStan [as I'm called] is famous!!!! There's tons about him!!!" he told StanleyDad [a.k.a. "Junior"]. "There's nothing about me, even though I brought all this about!!!"

It reminded me of this post by teofilo, and I wish I could do justice to my grandfather the way teo spoke so eloquently about his dad. Alas, I simply don't know that much. StanleyGrandpa ["Senior" in the parlance of the family] is a tight-lipped dude. And I don't talk to the grandma all too often either. What I can tell you:

• Senior was a mailman in Southside Chicago in the 40s and 50s.
• He delivered mail to the home of my grandmother ["Marie" we shall call her] several times a week.
• Marie watched out the window for Senior and would often meet him to get the mail, and to enjoy a brief respite from a depressing life of raising her younger siblings while her parents filled their emptiness at the local pub.
• When Marie was 16, she and Senior eloped, running away to Canada for awhile.
• Marie and Senior are still married, and they happily eke out a living on Chicago's Southside; she cleans houses once or twice a week; he works at a hardware store, now semi-retired after working his way up to Postmaster.

I wish I could say more. I really should bust out that tape recorder and subject them to interviews, google-able or not.