Introductions - Willard Edgar Chandler
Willard Edgar Chandler 1860-1960
By Helen Elizabeth Chandler
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| 1882 Beta Fraternity graduation photo, U. of Michigan, Willard is standing at left. |
Some called him Uncle Will...Some called him Pop, but I called him Grandpa. He was the father of my dad, Stewart Curtis Chandler 1899-1971. Grandpa was the youngest of fifteen children of Jonathan 1812-1879 and Vashti (Lamdin) Chandler—both born in England. Two of the fifteen died in infancy, and one more of the children died after being bitten by a rabid dog when he was about twelve. All the others lived. As all the Chandlers I've known were an asset to this country. Grandma and Grandpa had their bodies shipped to Oak Hill Cemetery, Pontiac, MI. Some of the others in that Chandler line are graves are in the plots of Jonathan Chandler. Willard and Ina Chandler are separate from them, but had their bodies shipped from Carbondale, Illinois, to be buried there.
Grandpa and most of his siblings, studied at the University of Michigan. Listing them by name, but Willard E. Chandler graduated from that university in 1882. The picture of the six young graduates with white top hats, was taken at the “Beta” Fraternity the day of graduation. That fraternity is still at the university. My grandfather is the first one the back left in the picture. “Sister Eva,” one of his older siblings, became a math professor at Wesley College in its first years.. She was there until she retired. The letter to her said they were looking for the “Cream of the Crop.” I have a copy of her application. When it got to the question of other family members who were well known or famous, she answered, “Too many to mention.”
Willard Chandler married Ina Blanch Curtis in Pontiac, Michigan,
in 1886 in the town where he was born.
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| The W.E Chandler family, circa 1897. |
His first job was principal at Fenton, Michigan, High School. Later, he became County Superintendent of Schools in Superior, Wisconsin. After he retired from that, he become an ordained minister, but I only knew him as a substitute in the country church, in Boskydell, Illinois, just south of Carbondale. I always went with him when he preached there. The church is still active after 100 years.
Grandma and Grandpa Chandler had a blessed relationship
between them and, with three children—my father and his two sisters. I don't think I ever knew a couple or family
that “fit together” better. My
grandmother wrote a valentine about Grandpa after the children were gone and I
have it in her handwriting. I found it in his things many years later. It is as follows: by Ina B. Chandler
Five and thirty years well nigh,
One day in May Sunshine
The bonny blue bird soaring high
Brought me “my valentine.”
The children with their sunny smile
And tho they've flitted many a mile
I have “my valentine”
Which later, we resign;
But as for me, what want I more?
I have “my valentine”
Grandma died when I was seven, but I remember her well. I stayed with them quite frequently. Every Saturday, Grandma made baked beans and
brown-bread. That's where we spent our
Saturdays. I also, stayed at their house
if anyone was very ill in my own home. I
had my own bed in the house that
my father built for them on the farm. We lived in a house next door on that property until we moved into town (Carbondale, IL). . My grandparents' house still looks new, because it is so well taken care of by the present owner.
Grandpa didn't live there alone very long after Grandma died in 1939. He came to live with us. His room and closet looked like a library. He read all of the books. His eyes sight was excellent, even at the end of his one hundred years. His striking blue eyes served him well. Some of his favorite books were the Chess puzzles. He was one of the best players anyone knew and passed some of the time playing the games/puzzles from the books. He played a Professional Chess Player who played with many people at once at the University. At that time, Grandpa was in his mid-nineties, but was the last player who hadn't lost yet--until the Professional Chess expert finally beat him. Like many of activities of Grandpa, the picture was in the local newspaper.
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| His room and closet looked like a library. |
Grandpa drove a Model A Ford into his mid-nineties. When he didn't renew his driver's license, it was in the paper. He was well known and easy to spot in his car named Jezebel. When I asked him why he called his car that, he told me it that because in the bible Jezebel was a wicked woman and that she made Ahab move faster than he ever had before. When I was in high school, I had to crank his car for him once in a while, when he got old and so did the car.
More bits and pieces of his life as I knew him are:
Fortunately, Grandpa was very interested in family history, and recorded information about all of the family members he knew of, and the names of the spouses and their addresses and many times, their occupation. I still have the papers. Little did he, nor anyone, know how important they would be so many years later. The amount of information he had in his memory, seems impossible for one person. I wish I could thank him. A lot of it could not be found now, if it weren't for his information.
My Grandpa walked around several blocks every evening for exercise and pleasure when many old people were sitting in a chair (at best) just “twiddling their thumbs.
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| Grandpa on way to St. Louis to take a flight for experience of flying. |
He was an avid reader.
There were very few days in his life that he didn't learn something, and
often pointed it out to me.
He never missed Sunday School or church--and never missed a
meal. Sunday dinner was special.
He was easy to live with and a pleasure to me every day.
He called me Lovey, and it always made me smile.
He went from no cars to riding on a plane. He wanted to make sure he didn't miss anything,
and took his little satchel and went by himself on a commercial plane flight from our town by train to the
airport and back again.
He and our family followed WW2 on maps on the wall in the
dining room. We all listened intently,
to the news.
He had many businesses—and then would sell them and start
another one.
We lived in a coal mining area he had a coal delivery
business. He sued a big coal company, representing himself because of a bad
batch of coal--and won—again, in the paper.
He was a Notary and had a small office downtown, that he
drove to and from every day.
His biggest business, probably, was owning and selling land
in Cuba on the Isle of Pines to Americans before Teddy Roosevelt's
presidency. At that time they thought
Cuba would belong to United States. He
wasn't happy with this president, because it was the end of his biggest venture
when Teddy Roosevelt destroyed his most profitable time, when Cuba didn't
become part of USA.
Grandpa was a sharp business man. I could ask him for a small amount of money
(a nickel or dime)and he'd give it to me, but if I asked to borrow it, and
hadn't paid him back, he'd ask me if I hadn't forgotten something.
He loved to chat with me, and when I'd pass his door, he'd
say, 'Won't you come into my parlor, said the spider to the fly.' We haven't had our little chat in a
while.”
When he was in his 80's, I asked him if he could whistle
through his fingers. He said, he
supposed he could, but he hadn't done it in about fifty years, but guessed he
still could. I told him I wanted to
learn how. He put his fingers to his
mouth and whistled so loudly that people came to see what was going on. He was a good teacher. I can still whistle loudly at 85.
There were very few days that he didn't learn something new.
There was never a chat that wasn't amusing, as well as informative.
He had a hereditary type of colorblindness. Red was green and
green was red to him. It was passed down
to, at least one of his grandsons.
Grandpa picked green raspberries and it peeved Grandma every time he
brought them in.
He cooked quite well and reminded people that the major chefs
were men. He took good care of Grandma
her last year when she was not very strong because of her heart condition. She
just didn't wake up from her regular afternoon nap one afternoon and had died
in her sleep.
He lived in an era when people thought that if things were in print, it was probably true. He was having a discussion with my mother and they didn't agree. She was supposed to put it in the paper the next day, and did. Grandpa came out of his room and told her, “You were right. It's in the paper.” He, certainly, never learned how it got there.
The newspaper reporters interviewed him on his 97th and 98th birthdays. The picture of him typing was taken in his room was by the reporter for the Carbondale Free Press. They must have thought that each birthday would probably be his last one and gave up until the 100th.. On Grandpa's 97th birthday, the paper said the family would go to the University (SIU) cafeteria to celebrate, and that Mr. Chandler (Sr.) would stand in line like all the others—and he did. We never thought otherwise. The 100th birthday was commented on in the paper, of course—as was his obituary a month after that. At 100 his sharp wit and mind were still intact. A month after his 100th birthday, he was lying down and my mother was sitting beside him, talking with him. He said with a smile, “I almost made it last night!”. She asked him, “Made what?” He answered, “I almost died in my sleep.” A few hours later, he reached up and patted her on her arm...And he died.
He will always be in my memory and heart, of course. Anyone who knew him would not forget him, but the difference is—he was my Grandpa Chandler.
There is a moral to this tale...if you are still young enough to have living grandparents, know them and ask them all the questions you might think of—and record the answers afterwards. They will add things you never thought to ask them, when they know you are interested. If you are a grandparent, be sure that your grandchildren know you. It is a treasure for both of you.
If there is anyone you know that could be in this line of my
father, Stewart Curtis Chandler 1889-1871 and my grandfather, Willard Edgar
Chandler, 1860-1960, son of Jonathan 1812-1870, son of James Chandler, I778, or
knows anyone who is, I have more pictures and information and would be glad to
share.. My email is…
Helen Chandler, the author of this piece, passed away in
Miami, Florida, in 2022 at the age of 90.
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