by Denise Calaman

Created on: April 26, 2008   Last Updated: September 06, 2010

Myrtle

My grandmother was the most amazing woman that I have ever known. She was a blessing in not only my life but in the lives of everyone who knew her.  She was appreciated and respected by everyone for who she was and what she did for others, thinking of them first, always before herself.  This tiny woman, standing not even five feet tall, exuded humbleness and compassion from her head to her toes. 

 Her name was Myrtle and she was born in 1917 in southern Pennsylvania, not even one mile from the Mason Dixon line. Her family came from Baltimore where her father worked as an engineer on the B&O railroad.   She was four years old when her mother died during childbirth and she was “put out among strangers” as so many children were in the early part of the century upon the death of one or both parents. She maintained a relationship with her father and her siblings but they were never close.

 She mystifies me in part because she grew up without knowing what a parental/child bond was but she was such a terrific mother to all of her children. All eight of her children grew to be hard working, loving individuals.  They all love one another and remain close even today as adults. I have never seen children who respected and loved one another and loved their parents more than my dad and his siblings do.

 Raising eight children is tough enough but to have seven of those children be boys requires a stern hand. God blessed Myrtle with eight children because he knew she could handle it.   She was the disciplinarian.  My grandpa was a mellow type fellow which was good because she occasionally got the broom after him too!

 They were quite the opposites, my grandmother and grandfather.  She was mostly of German descent although part of her bloodline can be traced back to the Campanus family.  The Campanus family is of Italian descent and this is where I believe that she got her “fiery” nature.  She was quite a spitfire.  My grandfather never got excited.  Ever.

One of my favorite memories of her was when she’d let me stay up late way past my bedtime.  She was a real night owl.  She’d make my brother and me popcorn the old fashioned way in a skillet on top of the stove.  My brother would stand on a kitchen chair, too small to see the action on the stovetop otherwise, and I would stand beside him, nose on top of the stove, and we

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