An Amazing Gift
by Kathy (Grobbel) Canapini
For those of you that know me, you're aware how very
much I love my Daddy-O! You’ve heard me say it from
my little space inside this Facebook behemoth, time and
again. But if you will indulge me, I’d like to share one
more story about my amazing dad. One that I hope will
bring a smile to your face, as it did for him. And me,
too. :o) Alton “Oz” Grobbel, second oldest to
Marcella and Clement Grobbel, is a true admirer of the
written word. From the time he could get his nose into a
book, he was immersed in the wonderful world of
storytelling. Even the nickname that he still answers to,
was given to him from one of the greatest books of all
time, the L. Frank Baum classic that would inspire one of
the greatest movies of all time. And as most would agree, he can be as iconic as the
Wizard himself. He spent decades teaching people to walk out of school,
and into the world of appreciating the written word, and
all its fascination. He developed a system and a style so
beloved, many students still credit him as being their
favorite teacher. Of all time. He cultivated a
library that, in it’s prime, filled room upon room
with a history so rich... I still envy the young me that
feasted upon the banquet of stories he shared. That library of his changed a lot over the years.
Bursting at the seams upon retirement, the move to
smaller digs saw many of his books find their way into
our homes. And to the library. And to the nursing homes
and the hospitals and everywhere else my dad was hoping
to donate the mountains of novels and screenplays and
magazines and every other piece of printed word known to
man, that he collected. He would be classified today, as
a hoarder. And while I imagine that time was tough for my
dad, he managed to slim that library down to one half of
one room. My mother breathed a sigh of relief, finding it
easier with a few thousand less books surrounding her.
But there is one thing I remember most from helping him
clear out that library of his... Going through those books one by one, I noticed how
much of himself, he left behind. And he did that by not
just reading the books, but my making a special point to
understand every word inside those books. He would
underline specific words and phrases to better understand
them, and not by simply drawing a line underneath; he
would take a red #2 pencil and a 6-inch ruler, and would
draw a perfectly straight line so precise, it rarely ever
went beyond the serif he was highlighting. He would
bracket the pinnacles. He would dog-ear the plot points
and write notes in the margin. He would make that book
look like a copy editor had a wild party, but he also
made that book useful and intriguing and, quite frankly,
easier to understand. Funny thing is, he still does that to this day. He
buys a book, and he makes it his own. So as the years went on, and the library dwindled, he
opened his love of words to the journalism side. He read
everything he could get his hands on, subscribing to at
the least seven periodicals delivered weekly and/or
monthly, as well as three local newspapers daily. All
three. For years. And when you spend that kind of time reading the paper,
you tend to enjoy the banter with the columnists that
fill those pages. It was very common to have my Dad read
aloud the latest blurb Bob Talbert had written about him,
because Dad found himself entering a contest or writing
Bob a letter, that now had a printed response. He often
kept in touch with the writers that inspired him over the
years... Ager, Rubin, Fitzgerald, McGraw, Falls, Pitts Jr.,
Dickerson, Albom... the list goes on and on. If Dad
wanted one of them to know what he thought of their
column, he’d let them know. Still does, from what he
tells me. Which brings us to the crux of my story. The part in
dad’s book that would be bookmarked with a red #2
pencil. Extensively. His library, or what was left of a library that can
fit into a one-bedroom apartment, is now gone. Lost to
the water that saved his life, and the lives of 87 of his
fellow tenants, as their complex raged with fire, one
week before Thanksgiving 2012. And while he is forever
grateful that he walked out of that horrific situation
alive, he was, quite understandably, saddened to see his
beloved books ruined. Warped with mildew and bleeding
with ink, he was only able to salvage a few. On the day that we moved him from his water-logged
apartment to the temporary digs my brother and his wife
so graciously offered, I could see the sheer
disappointment in his eyes. Not just the monetary loss of
such books, but also, his time. His hours of notations
were all gone, too. And I knew that kind of dedication
could not be replaced. But, I hoped, some things could. The few items I brought home to dry out and mend, were
slowly coming back to life. A bible-study book, rife with
red underlined passages, was salvageable. A 20x8
photograph of his WWII Army group shot (Company B, 151st),
complete with names and addresses on the back, was going
to make it. A short story he’d written while in
college, was looking every bit it’s age, but still
readable. And then, there was a small book... the first
of a group that was written by a writer that dad had
grown to appreciate over the years. It was Mitch Albom’s novel, Tuesdays with Morrie. I opened the pages delicately, trying hard to dry them
section by section. I lifted the book, and a ticket stub
fell onto the floor. I carefully lifted the soggy card,
and noticed it came from a book signing that dad had
attended years before. It was when Tuesdays was
first released, and Mitch was signing them at a luncheon.
I noticed the date on the ticket was almost 15 years to
the day of dad’s fire. I knew at that moment I was
holding a signed copy of what was more than likely, one
of the first prints of a novel that would go on to sell
over 14 million copies. I opened the second page to find
the inscription: “To Oz. Thanks for your
teaching.” --Mitch Albom There it was. Sitting in my hand. The book’s red interior
cover literally bleeding into his signature. This book my
dad cherished and adored, and even took the time to have signed,
was a complete mess. And I was not confident I could fix
it. It was then the proverbial lightbulb cast a nice glow
above my head. I had a friend take a photograph of the tattered and
bleeding book, and I fashioned a note detailing my
dad’s misfortune, and I went straight to Mitch Albom
himself. Well, I went straight to his Facebook page, and
I pleaded with him to hear my dad’s story. I asked
Mitch to help me give my dad a gift that he would never
forget, one that would rival a mere purchase at the local
Barnes & Noble. I asked him to replace that book, and
to please sign it again, in the hopes it would fill a
void my dad was now lamenting. Well, as it turns out, I have some good people in my
life that saw that post. They used their six degrees of
separation and that friend called a friend, which then
called another friend, and before you know it, Kath got
her wish. A signed copy of Tuesdays with Morrie
was being mailed, and the baby girl of Oz Grobbel was
well on her way to retaining her best-daughter-ever
status. ;o) But, that’s not even the best part. The best part was, these folks that took time out of
their day to relay a message from a daddy’s girl
from Center Line, to a writer that’s known from all
over the world... were not only going to replace one book.
They were going to replace many more. And so, it was with great pride, I sat with my dad
last week and watched him open a gift that contained all
four of the Mitch Albom books that he had lost that awful
November day. There was even a fifth book... Mitch’s
newest release. Better yet? Each one of them was
inscribed, each one containing a message to my Dad. To Oz.
The one and only. So, as you can imagine, I am incredibly grateful to
Mitch Albom and Company! Not only have they replaced some
of my dad’s favorite books, they have also replaced
a part of his heart. The same heart that has been holding
the written word near and dear to him for more than 80
years. And for that reason, these kind people have become
my new favorite human beings on the planet! Thank you to everyone that made this extraordinary
gift possible! It is a truly remarkable and completely
unexpected gesture that I will never be able to repay. I
cannot tell you how grateful I am to you for bringing a
much-needed smile to my father’s face. And when
Daddy-O is happy, there is nothing better, or more
deserved, in the whole wide world! Thank you! :o)
The original book.
The amazing gift!
The new inscription. Many thanks to
Steve Watz, for taking these beautiful pictures.
Daddy-O, getting his first glimpse
at his new books.
So very amazed and grateful for the
generosity!
My Daddy-O, so happy with his new
library additions! Thanks so much to everyone that made
this happen! :o) |
