Popaw Riggs

Marion "Mac" McKay Riggs
October 16, 1924 - March 2, 2009

My grandfather could wiggle his ears. It's something I would look forward to witnessing every time we went to their house for a visit. I would wait until after dinner, while the plates were being cleared and coffee was being made, and beg him to wiggle them. He would hem and haw and then finally give in and sternly instruct me to pay close attention. Then to my delight, those massive ears would wiggle up and down. He could also pull the tip of his thumb off in a magic trick that flummoxed my young mind for many years. Grandfathers can do the most amazing things.

My grandfather was a stern and rather imposing figure that I only saw a couple of times of year. I can't say I was particularly close with him, but I will dearly miss his strong presence that was a key ingredient in the tight-knit mix of our small Riggs family. He had this uncanny ability to nurse a single shot of Bourbon on ice for what seemed like hours. He would gently swirl the ice around in the tumbler, occasionally tapping the ring finger of his right hand holding the glass, the massive ring on the finger adding a more staccato "tink" to the tinkle of the ice. This sound was an integral part of the presence of my grandfather - like the sound of his voice. His voice was a deep gravelly sound that liked to instruct the "Yankee" portion of our family and later my very "Yankee" fiance on the proper pronunciation of "bayou" and more importantly "pecan." He could tell the longest stories; the sound of his voice and the tinkling of the ice the tell-tale sign of a Riggs gathering.

Popaw hated commercials, a quality I absolutely love now, but didn't understand when I was younger. Each commercial break during Jeopardy! he would hit the mute button. Commercials were for talking, but woe to the person who talked during the television show. Once the mute button was flipped, talking was to cease. Yet he put up with, even encouraged and chuckled at, the elaborate horse jumping courses my cousin, sister and I would set up and for hours pretend we were horses, running circuits around the house, regardless of the state of the mute button.

Popaw had papery hands just like his mother, my great-grandmother. He does not have what I have dubbed "Riggs hands" which are in reality "Breit hands" a trait my grandmother seems to have passed on to all of us - huge wrinkled knuckles with skinny fingers in between. Popaw's fingers were thick and even. He would spread his hands on the table while waiting for coffee after dinner and use all his fingers to play a little roll off - like the drum cadence at the beginning of movies. He would fold those papery hands in front of his face while listening to Benny Goodman (another quality I could not appreciate until I was much older), occasionally tapping the tips of his fingers together in time with the music. Or those solid hands would rest on each arm of his easy chair, tapping occasionally in time to the music. He had the other uncanny ability to doze with his legs crossed, still always holding his drink up, occasionally tapping those thick fingers in time to music.

My grandfather also hated the saxophone and I absolutely love that about him.

My impressions and memories of him, even as an adult, are still that of a child remembering a loving grandfather. I often think of some of my baby pictures, me on Popaw's lap, usually dumping something in his morning coffee, and him just smiling, happy with his first grandchild.
I never knew my grandfather in a professional sense or in any adult way that most people in the world knew him. But I do remember staring at the wall of the guestroom/office my sister and I would stay in when spending summers at my grandparents. It was filled with plaques from various civic clubs, Rotary, the many square dance clubs and federations he served in various offices for and engineering degrees and distinctions. I remember being filled with awe by a person so active and so seemingly important. To this day it inspires me just how involved he was with his community, not to be today's super-mom or dad, but just because it was the right thing to do.

Eighty-four is a good long life; I'm very fortunate to be 29 and still have grandparents in my life. But his passing still makes the time seem too short. I will miss him dearly.

* * *

My biggest nightmare when travelling is the death of someone back home and not being able to get back. My grandfather died on March 2, 2009. I was sitting in a hut in Nelson Lakes National Park waiting out the rain in order to have a clear day to hike the alpine section. We were hiking for six days and it had been well over a week since I had checked my e-mail. In that time my grandfather was admitted to the hospital with a blockage in one of his bypass arteries from his previous heart attack. He also had pneumonia at the time. Early Monday morning he went into cardiac arrest and had to be resuscitated leaving him on life support. The fortunate thing was that the whole family was in Fayetteville, AR (where my grandparents now live) to see my grandmother who just got out of the hospital for hip replacement surgery. My grandfather did not wish to be artificially kept alive on life support, so later that morning they took him off and surrounded by his family he died shortly after. I did not find out about all of this until two days later - 16 hours before the memorial service. It would be physically impossible for me to get back home in time.

My family is very practical and even if I could get home, I think we would all feel it would financially be an unwise thing to do. So it leaves me here in a small town in New Zealand feeling a little lost. Normally I would be with my family, I would meet other people who had been in Popaw's life. I could hug my grandmother. But instead I'm sitting in an internet cafe debating if I should send flowers. How weird to send flowers to your own family?

So I'm writing this tribute to my grandfather. I'm sure he's a like a lot of other grandfathers out there, uniquely wonderful in the way only grandfather's can. I hope I can do justice to the truly wonderful person he was.

Goodbye Popaw. I love you and will miss you.