In Memory of Floyd "Grandpa" Dahl

March 21, 1923 - December 22, 2011

Last night my Grandpa, Floyd Robert Dahl, passed away. It was sudden and unexpected, as he was healthy (or as healthy as 88-year-olds are), and we had just seen him looking well not two weeks ago. We don't know the official cause of death yet, but my Dad suspected it had something to do with his heart.

I always thought of my Grandfather as a bit of a curiosity. He had a keen sense of humor, which he would demonstrate through the toys, gags and puzzles he would craft in his garage (more on those later). But he certainly wasn't an entertainer, at least not in his older years, not around us grandkids. He would tell jokes and stories, but never in a boisterous way. I always saw him as a pretty serious man; a man who was soft-spoken and chose his words deliberately. He wasn't loud and attention-starved, like most of us who make an effort to be funny in public are. He could definitely command a room though. I don't really recall anyone ever interrupting him or trying to talk over him when he spoke - when he talked, you listened.

I suppose I should thank (blame?) him for instilling in me a love for sweets and treats. When he and Grandma would take care of us we could always count on doughnuts at breakfast and ice cream at night. And, like all good Grandparents, they had a candy jar in their kitchen that was always full of hard candy or gumdrops. When I went off to college, stopped swimming and gained a lot of weight, he seemed to delight in ribbing me about the new tire sitting around my midsection. I found it oddly endearing, probably because he was a bigger guy himself, and he never really stopped. Just last month I told him I wouldn't be able to make it to Thanksgiving because I was going to my Mom's side's celebration and then to work. He gave a dry smirk and said "That's alright, it doesn't look like you need two dinners."

But besides doughnuts and Raisin Bran, there was one thing that breakfast at Grandpa's wasn't complete without: Grandpa's Famous Juice. Every morning Grandpa would exclaim that people from all over the world had heard of his juice, that it was a beloved breakfast beverage from nation-to-nation. He would rattle off a list of peoples from all over the world and what they would do to get his juice. I don't remember specifics, but a good example would be "The Russians fly to space for it!" (the basic formula was "The (noun) (verb) for it!" and I distinctly recall Indians and Russians being used often). It was always entertaining, though I had my suspicions that he was exaggerating (why weren't we selling it in grocery stores? We could be making a fortune off this juice!). Turns out, "Grandpa's Famous Juice" was just equal parts orange and cranberry juice mixed together, and if you've never tried those two juices combined, do yourself a favor and mix some together when you wake up tomorrow. It's the most delicious way to start your day.

He might not have actually been famous for his juice, but he was famous for the toys, puzzles and games he would make in his garage. He would craft clever little puns out of wood (all given the prefix "Norwegian"), like the Norwegian Walleye, chainsaw, compass and quarter (a shell from .22 linked together with three pennies). He would make little puzzles or word games and watch coyly as you struggled trying to figure out how to put it together, take it apart or decipher its meaning. I loved all the puzzles, but it was maddening trying to figure them out. If you were ever feeling smart and cocksure, my Grandpa could humble you within minutes with his tricks.




Grandpa was an outdoorsman, and loved hunting and fishing. His trophy room held the heads of animals he took down, including (if my memory serves me correctly) a couple deer and a giant moose. There was also the hide of a black bear, that (again, if my memory is correct) had the bear's head attached. He once told me that while he was growing up he didn't think reading or writing was important, because he wanted to be a trapper and all he would need to spell were words like "beaver" or "rabbit". He had a small fishing boat named "Dahlfin" (get it?), a name which I appropriated for myself when I got my first email account. On a couple of occasions he and my Grandma took me and my cousins Ian and Megan up to a cabin where we would fish (or rather, they would fish, I would just complain about having to touch the bait) and play BINGO for prizes (candy, or the kinds of little toys you might get out of a gumball dispenser at the grocery store for a quarter).

He was also a painter, and would make oil and watercolor paintings, usually of animals - moose, deer, lynx, a mountain goat and various birds. Much of his art adorns the walls in my house, including a portrait of me as a child which hangs in our living room.

He was a decorated WWII veteran and a prisoner of war. He never talked about it when I was younger. The one time he ever mentioned being a prisoner to me was while we were driving in his big red van. He always had Mentos in his van and we would have contests to see who could keep the mints in their mouth the longest. I would always lose; my mint would be long gone and his would look virtually untouched. When I finally accused him of cheating, and he told me that when he was a prisoner he had to conserve his food, and he taught himself how to keep food in his mouth without swallowing it.

When I was a young teen, we sat him and my Grandma down to video tape them talking about their lives and when we got to WWII, things got very serious and he insisted we move on without detailing those years. So I grew up not wanting to broach the subject, despite being very curious to hear his recollections from those times. In recent years he'd begun talking about his experience at high schools. He was reportedly asked back each semester because of his great storytelling. I always wanted to play him the song I posted below, "The War" by Lucero, to see what he thought of it, but he was never much for rock music and I was always paranoid I'd trigger some depressing thoughts by bringing it up. I wonder if any of the classes he spoke at taped what he said; I'd like to hear his version of WWII.



I don't know if I've really processed that he's gone yet. When I woke up to a missed call from my Dad and a text from my brother telling me to call him, I was expecting an update about the upcoming holiday parties or an idea for Christmas presents; a death in the family was the furthest thing from my half-asleep mind. I loved my Grandpa, and I'll miss him forever. I hope wherever he is looks a lot like his old garage with all of his wood-working tools parked next to the Dahlfin, with easy access to a big lake for fishing.

I love you Grandpa. I think I'll head to the store to mix some of your Famous Juice right now.