One of Daddy's last pictures...taken in the liquor store.
My daddy, Jerry Graham, was born February 10, 1942 in a small town in Texas, to Guy and Annie Mae Graham. He was their fourth child and first son. My grandmother, Annie Mae, passed away when my daddy was just 15 years old. By all accounts, she was a wonderful, kindhearted, Christian woman, and I have always wondered if all of our lives would have been different had she lived and been able to raise my daddy and his younger brother under her influence, the way she was able to raise their older sisters. My aunts are the most amazing, lovely women you would ever care to meet.
My grandfather was an alcoholic, as was his father before him. During my childhood, I heard many stories of bootlegging and other activities of which I am certain my grandmother would not have approved. But by the time I was born, both my grandfather and great-grandfather were elderly and not drinking much, if at all. I loved them them dearly. I always looked forward to the day that my daddy would be elderly and held out hope that when that day came, he too, would quit drinking and just be a funny little old man, who sat on the porch and told big tales. Sadly, he died long before my dream could be fulfilled.
My daddy was raised in Texas and lived in Oklahoma and New Mexico for the majority of his adult life. He worked for Otasco for many years when I was young. After living in New Mexico for several years, and after his divorce from my little sister's mother, he returned to Oklahoma, where he lived at the H.O.W. Foundation in Tulsa, when he wasn't living with my family. He went through their program several times, and often worked in the Foundation's Thrift Store. During his last stint there, the one time in my life when he was sober for five straight years, he managed their 3/4 house and was a cross between a drill sergeant and father figure to several men who had completed the program. Daddy was very proud of this job and I believe he took it seriously. Someday I would love to talk to some of the men that he lovingly referred to as "my boys".
My dad was smart and funny. He could impersonate just about anyone, especially Archie Bunker and Fred Sanford. He cooked amazing food and kept a house cleaner than any woman could. Daddy dressed nicely, always taking pride in a sharp crease in his pants and shined cowboy boots. His pretty white hair was always combed and sprayed with a ton of Consort For Men, unless he was on a binge and then he was a totally different person, almost unrecognizable.
Daddy died unexpectedly on January 15, 2011, just three weeks shy of his 69th birthday and still a very long way from being a little old man. He had been drunk for several days from what I was told. From the condition of his apartment, I am quite certain that is true. And now, six years later, I still have questions about exactly what happened to him, but I do know that he is in a better place and he isn't having to fight his demons anymore. I am thankful for that. I feel strongly that he would want his story told; the good, the bad and the ugly. Daddy would approve of this site, of that I am certain. His life may be over, but the lessons he taught me and my sister live on and need to be shared.
My grandfather was an alcoholic, as was his father before him. During my childhood, I heard many stories of bootlegging and other activities of which I am certain my grandmother would not have approved. But by the time I was born, both my grandfather and great-grandfather were elderly and not drinking much, if at all. I loved them them dearly. I always looked forward to the day that my daddy would be elderly and held out hope that when that day came, he too, would quit drinking and just be a funny little old man, who sat on the porch and told big tales. Sadly, he died long before my dream could be fulfilled.
My daddy was raised in Texas and lived in Oklahoma and New Mexico for the majority of his adult life. He worked for Otasco for many years when I was young. After living in New Mexico for several years, and after his divorce from my little sister's mother, he returned to Oklahoma, where he lived at the H.O.W. Foundation in Tulsa, when he wasn't living with my family. He went through their program several times, and often worked in the Foundation's Thrift Store. During his last stint there, the one time in my life when he was sober for five straight years, he managed their 3/4 house and was a cross between a drill sergeant and father figure to several men who had completed the program. Daddy was very proud of this job and I believe he took it seriously. Someday I would love to talk to some of the men that he lovingly referred to as "my boys".
My dad was smart and funny. He could impersonate just about anyone, especially Archie Bunker and Fred Sanford. He cooked amazing food and kept a house cleaner than any woman could. Daddy dressed nicely, always taking pride in a sharp crease in his pants and shined cowboy boots. His pretty white hair was always combed and sprayed with a ton of Consort For Men, unless he was on a binge and then he was a totally different person, almost unrecognizable.
Daddy died unexpectedly on January 15, 2011, just three weeks shy of his 69th birthday and still a very long way from being a little old man. He had been drunk for several days from what I was told. From the condition of his apartment, I am quite certain that is true. And now, six years later, I still have questions about exactly what happened to him, but I do know that he is in a better place and he isn't having to fight his demons anymore. I am thankful for that. I feel strongly that he would want his story told; the good, the bad and the ugly. Daddy would approve of this site, of that I am certain. His life may be over, but the lessons he taught me and my sister live on and need to be shared.