My Grandpa Martin died when I was eight years old. I remember that the last time that I saw him was when we went to the hospital after I had fallen down on a fishing trip with my Dad and Brother and cut my side open. I had to have stitches so we went to the hospital to get it sewn up and then visited Grandpa when we were there.
Grandpa Martin was in the hospital at the time recovering from a heart attack. He was a smoker of cigars, worked at his bank all the time and didn’t lead a very healthy lifestyle. I always loved being around Grandpa Martin because he always seemed to be In a good mood. He died too soon.
I’ll write about Grandpa, even though my memories are not all that plentiful about him. I seem to remember more general characteristics than I did specific events.