Jesus, I can’t believe how weird my nose looks like. But that’s him right here.
My grandfather passed away after a decade fighting Parkinson’s. Apparently, he woke up as usual and went back to sleep, forever. That’s how we all wanted him to leave. 91? I’m not sure, we all suck at birthdays in my family.
Born in Dunkerque in a modest family, he was enrolled in the Air Force despite the fact that he hated flying, let alone jump from the aforementioned flying plane but he made it through WWII.
That probably changed him forever because he always hated conflict. He’d do anything to fix anything.
He started to fix radios and TVs in the north of France and met my grandmother there -her dad had a coal business and most coal plants were up north- if I recall before they moved to Paris to open a shop on Boulevard St Germain in the heart of Paris.
They started to sell music, music instruments,, music sheets while he was on the road fixing electronics or delivering pianos in the 60s and 70s, probably the most beautiful time to live in Paris ever.
They virtually met all the jazz musicians from that time, French or Americans who were going to play in the neighborhood. I was blown away that they had had freaking Tina Turner and Ike buying stuff, that Manu Dibango was a good friend etc.
When I landed in the family they had just started to retire, the shop was still theirs and my parents attic had TONS of instruments clients didn’t pick up, which made me try sitars and guitars and trombones and turn knobs and press buttons etc.
He was very calm. I loved how he would talk to me like a normal person and not try to baby talk me. He would never judge, always make me feel that it’s too easy to judge and that you should always step back a little bit. He was right. He was the first to make me understand that regardless of what history books say about Europe’s colonization of Africa, it’s messy and he wasn’t proud of what France and Belgium had done.
Self made man, colossal culture, he knew so many things from what year that bitch ass Louis XVII died to who built that Parisian neighborhood to how to repair a TV tube I could ask him anything. That was before the internet and Wikipedia you young assholes and basically that was awesome. He would go to the store and take me with him to buy magazines, I would sniff around and start reading one and he would always ask, “would you like to get this one?” and I would nod and know that videogame knowledge was going to come through those pages. At the same time, he knew that I would sit hours and hours in the living room and not do stupid stuff. Good trade.
He made me laugh so much. He loved dark comedy and English humor. I so wish I had some audio recordings.
Dat ninetiesness. Also I think she’s about to smash my face.
Dude knew how to handle a bottle and a nice meal too. I kind of wish I had known him earlier but in the end, he had a good run and Parkinson’s a bitch.
See you, wise man.