My grandfather was a NYC Policeman from 1909 – 1939(ish)

His proudest boast?  In his career he never had to discharge his gun.  He had his throat cut from ear to ear, transporting – on foot – a criminal.  What saved his life was his club… and the echo it made on the city streets of lower manhattan.  The other policeman – two blocks up – heard the club.  It saved his life.  In 1941 after retiring, he became a night watchman at Fort Dix.  That’s where he found what became my mother’s first baby – Freshie.  A six digit kitten who had a really bad attitude.  My grandfather used to dawn gantlets to play with him – hence the name Freshie.  Freshie also dragged a turkey off the dining room table, and decided to beat the crap out of a great dane.  My grandfather I never knew.  I do know he used to bring home men from the Bowery (as it was called) if he felt they had fallen on bad times and just needed a little help.  My grandmother, according to history, would take care of them until they could stand on their own… and many of the men gave thanks in sweet ways.  They were considered, by many, good Samaritans.  I never met these people, but I was given insight to them by their actions, as told to me by non-family sources.  My grandfather never liked being a cop.  He needed a steady job to support my grandmother, their children – and my grandmother’s nieces and nephews because her brother was a drunk and his wife died.  My grandfather raised 5 children plus his own.  he was a unique soul.  He stressed to his offspring to select a position they will enjoy working at. 

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