Week 28 of 52 Ancestors in 52 weeks covers the topic of Character. There's no shortage of characters in my family tree, but the first person who comes to mind is my Nana Connie – Constance (Meloche) LaViolet. She’s already been the subject or partial subject of three other posts – one about my grandparents’ wedding, one about her and her sisters, and one that wasn’t actually about her, I guess, but was about her meat pie recipe. I’m sure this won’t be the last time I write about her. I have many stories tucked away for the right moment.
I have an album from my grandparents’ 50th wedding anniversary, and family and friends were asked to write letters to include in it. Several of my grandmother’s siblings wrote about young Connie, a wild girl with twinkling eyes who hated doing the dishes and loved to sneak into a back room or over to the neighbor’s house to smoke cigarettes. Her brother Leclerc aka “Uncle Johnny” wrote the following:
I am quite sure it is written somewhere in the Gospels, that a woman who smokes is a lost woman…that is what was strongly believed by my dear sister’s father.
Wanting to taste the pleasure of smoking, Connie who had (soit dit en passant) a very charming and pleasant nature, exercised her charms on a family next door (the Lahaie, I believe) and with their help and in their own home she could enjoy her vice whenever she wanted to. Rest assured that France followed very shortly.
To go next door was also Connie’s way of avoiding to do the dishes, or else it was a long stay in the bathroom at home.
Errors in the above should be tolerated as the narrator is quite, quite old and a born liar (en plus).
Her sister, Pierette, shared a similar memory:
One thing I did not forget is that after supper you locked yourself in the “pipe” room and came out laughing when the dishes were done to go to Mrs. Lahaie’s so you could smoke in peace. Well guess who had to do the work and wished she could kill you? You could surely have wished the same for me when at 935 Brandon Ave where we shared a room, I opened up the door to get something in my drawer not noticing Dad following me and he saw or smelled your cigarette and gave you hell. You started crying. Boy, did I hate myself!
Nana was a cute, and tiny, and a completely shameless flirt. She adored being adored! Before my grandfather, she had many boyfriends, and undoubtedly left more than one broken heart behind. Her string of former suitors didn’t bother my grandfather in the slightest. If anything, he considered himself a lucky man to end up with her. He even created this album page for her scrapbook dedicated to all of her boyfriends.
Depending on who you ask, people describe my grandmother in many different ways – anywhere from “adorable” to “a pain in the ass” but I think everyone who knew her agreed that she was funny. She came from a big, noisy, boisterous family, and was happiest when surrounded by a crowd of people – especially when she was the center of everyone’s attention. I think her brother, Johnny, summed it up best:
I am sure of one thing: Connie is “unique” in telling, acting, or miming a joke.
Her repertoire of stories is huge and very variegated.
She is never to be let loose at a party unless you want to laugh till your sides hurt. Any occasion is a chance for her to do her bit. On one occasion she ran around (a poil)….actually that is not true….she ran around dressed as a naked man…(which would have made the envy of every male). Boy! Was that worth a laugh!
The rest of the MELOCHES are certainly not like that. We are generally very reserved and serious.
P.S. I did tell you once, I believe, that the narrator is a “bloody liar.”
You’re probably wondering about the naked man Uncle Johnny mentioned.
Nana was an active member of the Eagles Club. One year, she decided to dress up as a streaker for one of their conventions. Being the creative soul she was, she crafted her enviable manhood out of some pantyhose and faux fur. Her streaker act was a roaring success at the convention, so she decided to take the show on the road and visit some of her neighbors. With the addition of a dirty old trench coat and hat, the streaker became a flasher. She knocked on the neighbors’ doors and when their doors opened, so did her trench coat! They all knew who it was – only Connie would be crazy enough to do something like that! The Roys lived across the street in an apartment building. Two sisters married two brothers, and one Roy family lived in the upstairs apartment while the other lived in the downstairs apartment. Nana visited Eva Roy first -- the fun sister on the bottom floor. Eva and her husband thought Nana’s flasher act was a riot and talked her into flashing the more prudish and reserved sister upstairs, Alda Roy. When Alda opened the door and saw what she thought was a naked man flashing her, she screamed and chased Nana down the stairs with her broom, while Nana and the downstairs Roys howled with laughter! It’s a wonder Nana didn’t trip running down the stairs on her short little legs!
Nana Connie wasn’t much of a drinker but spent quite a bit of time at the Eagles Club, which had a bar. She had an arrangement with the bartender. No matter what she ordered, he’d make her a virgin drink. She loved to ham it up and act as crazy as she wanted, all while letting people believe she was plastered. Nana relished telling me that story – how she’d down glass after glass of “orange juice & vodka” that was really orange juice with seltzer. Each time she reordered she gave the bartender a wink. It was their private little joke.
Speaking of jokes, she delighted in telling them– the dirtier the better! She could remember tons of them. Her delivery was always flawless, her timing perfect. I have a list of jokes she told while emceeing an Eagles Club convention. They include such gems as, “What did the girl say when she sat on Pinocchio’s nose? ‘Lie to me, you son of a gun! LIE!’”
Looking back, I think Nana may have lacked spatial awareness like I do. She was always bruised from running into things. At least she knew she was clumsy and was able to laugh about it. I found pictures of her learning to roller skate sometime in the 1960s. She had a pillow strapped to her ass for two obvious reasons: she knew she would likely fall, and she knew she would get a laugh out of the neighbors. My great grandfather ran in front of her, sweeping pebbles from the street to increase her chances of staying upright. Other pictures from the 60s show her at the beach with her foot wrapped up to keep water and sand away from her broken toe. She broke it when she dropped an ashtray on her foot. I broke my toe in a similar way, only with a heavy aluminum water bottle.
Nana didn’t get her driver’s license until she was 40. I don't remember her driving, though my mom said she didn't stop until she was in her 60s. She eventually grew to enjoy being carted around more -- which I completely understand. She was always a fun traveling companion on road trips. While traveling to a wedding in New Hampshire with my aunt, it started raining and the sunroof began to leak. Nana solved the problem by popping an umbrella open through the sunroof. She held onto it while my aunt drove the car. It’s a wonder they weren’t stopped by the police, but if they had been, I have no doubt she would have charmed her way out of a ticket.
There are plenty of stories I’m holding back for another time (including our family-famous burned boobs story) and I’m sure there are other anecdotes I’m not thinking about that will come to me later. Not a day goes by when I don’t think about Nana Connie, often while chuckling about some crazy thing she did. She may have been a tiny woman, but boy, did she have an overabundance of personality and character!
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