My grandfather

My grandfather, Samuel Everett McClure, was a very special person. Oh, I know… everyone says that about their grandfather, and to many of us, our grandfathers do have a special place in our hearts. I was fortunate (especially since I didn’t have my father in my life) to be close to my grandfather, especially when I was young, and he more than adequately filled my need for a father figure.

He wasn’t rich, and a historian would probably look at his life and say that he hadn’t made much of it, but they would be wrong. My grandfather had all the things that are most important in this life, and he shared them with us, his family members. He had a strong faith; he was a wonderful husband to his wife, father to his children, and friend to all he knew. His life was filled with work and simple pleasures, and he gave to all of us all a sense of worth, and of being special.

You could feel the love emanating from this man. A big man, he stood about 6’2” tall, and he seemed as big as a tree when I was small, and just as solid. He was a hard worker and as honest as the day is long. A handsome man, he delighted in dressing up, although his work clothes were overalls. He held many types of jobs when he was young because times were hard, but he always loved wood, and he and some of his brothers loved working with it. I can still remember watching him caress a piece of wood, his hands worn and lined with age and hard work, and it was easy to see how much enjoyment he derived from making something from a good piece of wood. He was a carpenter, and later a building contractor, and finally, a wonderful cabinet maker. He worked until late in life, because he felt you needed to work to stay healthy, and he loved it so. He built his last home, for him and my grandmother, when he was 82 years old.

A few years later he developed congestive heart failure, and his working days were over. Never one to just sit and do nothing and he was forbidden by the doctor to even take walks; he had a hard time with that, and finally, although his hands shook with age, he was able to learn to use a woodburner, and I taught him how to woodburn and then to color what he’d done, and he filled his days with creating wooden pieces of all the different types of wild animals that he loved to hunt, to watch, and to see. He was an outdoorsman in the truest sense of the word.

Early in life he raised hunting dogs, and much of his favorite times in Missouri revolved around hunting with his dogs. He loved bird hunting, coon hunting, and more. I can still remember him sitting around a table, discussing hunts they’d had in younger days. Fishing was another special love of his. He no longer hunted after the family moved to California, but he camped and fished as long as he was able. He helped teach many of his grandchildren and great-grandchildren how to fish, and he and my grandmother would go camping somewhere every summer.

Although at first glance he sometimes seemed to have a fierce look, because he had these great, thick brows above his eyes, and would be frowning ferociously, or so it appeared to me when I was small. He often tried to be gruff, but it never worked, but it didn’t take us long to find that it was just a pose. He was as kind as could be. It took little to bring the twinkle to his eye, and he had a wonderful twinkle.

The only thing you didn’t do, when I was young, was to make noise when he had his ear cupped toward the large radio, and he was listening to Gabriel Heatter and the news. We all tiptoed around then, because he was already hard of hearing, and he would definitely get “out of sorts” if he didn’t get to hear the news, and if he were interrupted he’d stomp off with a newspaper, hunting some peace and quiet. It must have been difficult for him, not only to have his own children, but another troupe of grandchildren underfoot sometimes. Their children were spread very far apart. Fourteen years between my mother and aunt, and another seven years between my aunt and uncle. My uncle was actually a year younger than I was, and my aunt only six years older, so we were a whole brood when we were together. Despite not having any peace and quiet, my grandfather loved to have all his family around him, and seldom did he complain about any of us.

My grandfather loved to sing, and he sang in a barbershop quartet made up of one of his brothers and two friends when he was a young boy in Missouri. Later he sang in the choir at church, and in another barbershop group, too. He had a wonderful voice and he loved to raise it in praise of the Lord especially.

My grandfather also loved to eat. He took eating very seriously, and I can still remember when my grandmother could no longer handle the big family holiday dinners, and I began doing them, how he would come in, and hardly visit with anyone until he’d had his dinner. He would make his way to the table, and sit there (although dinner was never ready) with a scowl on his face, waiting for his dinner. He wasn’t mad, that’s just what he did. You could sit down beside him to talk and he’d be very pleasant, but as soon as no one talked to him the scowl came back, and he went back to waiting. He loved big family dinners, and when they could still have them, we always had one at their house in August, because we had several August birthdays in the family, including his! For this celebration he always made homemade ice cream in a hand-crank churn, and it was wonderful stuff! I have his notes in my grandmother’s cookbook; notes for increasing the amounts he made. He also expected some kind of dessert every single day with his dinner, and my grandmother was kept quite busy just keeping him in desserts. If she was caught short, she was sure to have some canned peaches, or something. He loved peaches, and that was enough as dessert. For breakfast he loved to have leftover cornbread, which my grandmother made often for him. He tore it up into small pieces, putting them into a large glass of buttermilk, and ate them from there. The rest of us might talk and joke around while we ate our meals, but to him it was serious stuff, and he went about it seriously, until he had finished. Then he would be happy to visit and talk. You just didn’t mix it with eating as far as he was concerned.

There was nothing I loved more, when I was a child, than to climb upon his lap and snuggle in, it was the safest and most wonderful feeling in the world. I know now how extremely blessed we were to have him at that time, because my mother went through a difficult time of it, and without my grandparent’s help, we would not have survived as well as we did.

Just so you know, I did have a stepfather; my mother remarried when I was six years old and they stayed together for about 20 years. However, he wanted a child of his own (that my mother couldn’t have), and it led to bitter fights for many, many years. He became insanely jealous, and he always made sure we knew we were not his children. We were not close, although we got along “okay” until I reached puberty.

Born August 24, 1894 at the McClure Home Place, he married Lola Campbell November 30, 1915, and when he died December 12, 1988, they’d been married 73 years, and he was 94 years old! We have many photos of my grandfather, and I’d like to share some of them here.

This is the earliest photo of Sam I've seen. He was 14 years old here, on horseback.

Sam tried his hand at farming when young. He is front and center in this photo.	He also spent some time in the oilfields of Oklahoma He is at far left in this photo
This is the barbershop quartet he sang in with his brother and friends. Sam is on the left, his brother Jim is on the right.	This photo is of Sam and his siblings. He is in the back row, far right and I believe he was about 15 when this was taken on the family farm, the Old McClure Home Place.

This was obviously taken when he was "Out on the town," and most likely before he was married. I'm assuming all three of these lads looked spiffy early on, but they seem to have had a busy evening.	Doing one of the things he loved best, fishing...
Here he is with his lovely Lola, my grandmother.	Here he is with Lola later in life, after they've had a very good day fishing!

I don't think I ever called my grandfather "Grandfather." I was his first grandchild, and when I first tried to call him it came out "Bampoo." Well, it stuck. Bampoo he remained, and all of his grandchildren and all his great-grandchildren called him Bampoo the rest of his life. It was a name that was full of affection, and he took it as such. He and my grandmother were the "glue" that held our family together, and we've never been as close as when they were alive. I loved him with all my heart, and I still miss him a great deal. I can still feel the touch of his rough, hardworking hands as he'd take my small hand in his, to help me over the rough places.

After moving to southern California when I was small, we would all drive "way out" on the desert, where there was nothing and no one (approximately where Hesperia is, today) on weekends to have a picnic, and we'd target shoot. He was very proud when I was able to come close to matching his shooting skills, and so was I.

As I recall other stories about him I will add them to this page, so that all our children, and their children after them, can come to know this wonderful man. He would love that.

Marcie Foley

Page graphics and design: