Jack Berry

My Grandpa Berry was one of my favorite people. My Grandpa always smelled like Bengay and Winter Green lifesavers. I could talk to him about anything. I credit my Yankees addiction to Jack Berry! Every morning at 9 am, The Price is Right was on at Grandpa’s television. We knew all the games (Pinkco was my favorite) and when Bob retired in 2007 I did cry...more because of the memories I have with my Grandpa with this show than because of Bob, but I still did. It was no secret that I was Grandpa’s favorite. I could talk him into doing anything for his Jessie Faye. He is the only person that would call me, Jessie. Even to this day, other than Sami Jami, no one calls me Jessie. I would always call him on the phone in the morning and he would come up from the plant or from his house and drive me two blocks to school. Yes, spoiled rotten! He and I would talk about everything; it might sound crazy that people whose age difference is almost 60 years could be best friends. I remember when he’d get mad he’d say “go get me a willow so I can swat your rear”. I’d go outside, but I wouldn’t come back in the house for awhile (by the time I came back inside he had forgotten why he was mad), instead I’d sit on this wooden swing in their front yard. I spent a lot of time on that swing. I would pretend like I was studying nature, but in reality some of my best thinking was done on that swing. When I was 13 years old, my softball team played for the championship. Now my Grandpa had been on oxygen since before I can remember, but he came to that game. We won the game; my mom (the coach) was talking to Grandpa (who was sitting in the car) after the game. Well some of us decided to throw the water jug over my mom, we went to throw and she moved, so the water covered my Grandpa. He started saying “Oh my Hell, Oh my Hell”. That has to be the funniest memory of my Grandpa. The funny thing is he never really got mad about being soaked. My Grandpa had some very colorful language too! One of my favorite Jack Berry quotes that I’ve heard on so many occasions, that the first time I heard my Uncle Richard use the quote in softball practice, while all the other girls looked mildly shocked, I simply took the advice to heart again and listened. “Spit in that in damn mitt!” My Grandpa provided me with my first taste of Berry Oil. I was his “admin”. I’d file invoices while he would make up a deposit, wait on customers, etc. and then he’d open up the drawer of his large desk and pull out a candy bar for us. He is definitely to blame for my sweet tooth. I loved those afternoons in his office; I think that is where my veins changed from blood to oil.