Gilliom Heritage, pt. 2

[Compiled from various posts on the Gilliomville message board, contributed by various Gillioms and Franks]:

Here’s how I understand my lineage - I am Todd, son of Jon, son of John, son of Orel, son of Isaac, son of Abraham, son of Adam.

Uncle Ralph was able to speak and read German during WWII. While stationed in Germany, he spent the night with a female circus performer, “to watch over her tigers.”

Jon, do you ever remember dad telling about working in the hay mow and one of the brothers was to come up to help him?  Before the brother came up, he threw the pitch fork into the mow and it ended up stuck in the calf of dad’s leg.

They had a game of hide and seek in the basement consisting of hiding and then the seeker would heat up a nail red hot on the coal stove and with a pair of pliers start poking into the corners trying to find a body.

Grandpa [John] Gilliom and some of his friends used to play a game which involved drinking a laxative. The general idea was to see who could be the last man holding it, but they learned real quick it was a better trick to go in the bathroom first, lock the door, and hole up. We asked Alvin Gerber and Uncle Rog about it, but they denied involvement pretty quick.

The story of the liquid laxative is Gospel according to dad. He told me that story so many times that I know it is true. He laughed so hard when telling it. He got the biggest kick about someone wising up and going into the bathroom first and taking up stool space. I asked Rog about it a few years ago and he played totally stupid. He tried to pass it off as being dad and Alvin. I wish dad was alive to refresh some minds.

Grandpa John, Son of Orel and father of Nancy, Jon, and Rick.

The story of the mink in the tile is quite clear in my mind. Dad always told the story, but I heard it straight from Uncle Ralph. The boys saw a mink on the way to school and chased it into a tile. Someone guarded the tile and someone else went home for traps. Uncle Ralph was the master trapper. He exposed a trap at the entrance to the tile. The second trap was cleverly concealed behind the first. The mink later saw the first trap and jumped over it. The mink landed with both front feet in the concealed trap. The story was always told with Ralph being quite the hero.

At recess, some of the boys started chasing and teasing a skunk and ended up getting sprayed and sent home.

Jon, do you remember a bull dog we had (I think it might have been when we lived in Vera Cruz) and we tied it to the clothes line and he hung himself? I surely didn't dream that, did I?

No, it was not a dream. I hated that dog. I remember we had Pug at Raymond Miller's farm. He was given to us with pedigree papers and all. He was a registered Boston Terrier. He used to go out in the pig lot and eat pig shit and then throw up in the yard and on the side walk. I used to wear shorts in the summer and he would bite me. He would just break the skin, but would leave big bruises. Don't you remember it? He used to bite you too. I remember the time he was barking at the cows and the whole herd stampeded, after him. Do you remember that? We lived in Vera Cruz, when he was chained on the clothes line run and got tangled up and hung himself one night. I never shed a tear. I hate pug-nose dogs of any kind to this day.

John, Jon, Nancy, and Hazel Gilliom.

John had a maiden Aunt. Aunt Sarah. She was Grandma Gilliom's sister. She made her home with Grandma & Grandpa. Those of you who remember mom know she did not take criticism well and being ordered around by other people even worse. She wanted to call Jon, "Barry," and Aunt Sarah did not like the idea one bit. Mom said if it had to be John, at least she would spell it the way she wanted to. Hence, the "Jon."

Dad used to get pissed off that Grandma wanted to name him Barry. He hates that name. I imagine he's over it by now, because he hasn't mentioned it in about 20 years. Maybe it's just too sore a topic.

I was going through photos here and found an autobiography Uncle Jon wrote for a class in grade school. It was a fun read - he said when he grew up, he wanted to be a barber, "so I can meet a lot of new people in a well-ventilated shop.”

Q:  To all relation of Gilliom roots:  Are we French?  Folks think my last name is French??? Are we French ... Guys I have to know. It’s really been bothering me. Yes or no - is this true?

A:  No, we are not French. Basically we are Swiss. I think there was a French Grandmother somewhere back there but Grandma Gilliom and all the Aunts and Uncles spoke Swiss. Mom (Grandma Hazel) could not understand Swiss so when we were at Grandma's everyone would speak English.

"Gilliom" does sound French. Uncle Jon says we were based in Alsace-Lorraine for some years. Alsace-Lorraine went back and forth between German and French occupation. We could've picked up a French spelling of the name there. I'm not sure where all that fits in the timeline though.