About 9:30 last night, a message popped into my Facebook inbox telling me when and how my grandfather died.
“He was walking along Landis Avenue, and a car hit him. The man in the car was arrested, and he told police that a light from another car blinded his vision momentarily, and he heard a noise, and stopped, and went back and saw your grandfather on the street. He was rushed to the hospital, but he had a skull fracture.”
The date was Dec. 26, 1930, in Vineland, N.J. He and his 16-year-old bride had a 6-month-old baby boy at home, my father.
I’ve learned a lot about my family’s history since writing a blog about the mysterious death of my grandfather. There were several family versions of his death, and none of us had ever found his grave.
The message I got last night was from a Facebook friend. Her mother-in-law and I share a distant relative, a great aunt.
My friend works for the Vineland Historical and Antiquarian Society. She was able to find a newspaper story about my grandfather’s death.
My friend ended her e-mail with this:
“I'm sorry you never got to meet him. :(”
I’m sorry, too.
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