My Papu

 My papu, Enrique Clausen, was born to Danish parents in Argentina in 1933. As a kid he worked in a bicycle shop. He trained to become a diesel mechanic and built his very first car, a model T. He worked with his father in the mountains of Peru building roads. At eighteen he went into the army. When he got out he re-met my grandmother, Beatriz Vignali (they used to roller skate as teenagers), and dated her until they got married. My grandmother wanted a big church wedding, but they settled for a ceremony at city hall. She wore a pink dress. They came to America in the 1950s. I always remember my papu telling me how happy he was when he got off the plane and they shook his hand and said “Welcome to America!” Speaking very little English, he went looking for a job in Baltimore and got hired by Gravely Tractors. He worked there for a long time until he opened up his own bicycle shop in Randallstown, Maryland. My grandparents had three boys: Ronald, my father, and my two uncles, Maurice and Omar. They worked in the bicycle shop, too. Then my grandfather ran an Amaco transmission shop in Aberdeen, Maryland. At the same time my grandparents were renting out apartments in Baltimore City. Then came grandchildren: my cousin Kayla, and my sister Justine. My grandparents bought a house in Baldwin, Md, and turned it into a paradise, with a garden and fig trees, flowers and a fish pond. I spent a lot of time there growing up. There was lots of good food and lots of love. And dogs. So my grandfather always stayed busy, weeding the garden, feeding the chickens, and even raising emus. He became a Jehovahs Witness and went to church in a suit and tie. He loved bread and cheese and sweet stuff, like strawberry ice cream. He said grace before meals. He could drink coffee all day and sleep like a baby. The garden had zucchini and squash, asparagus and tomatoes; he would bite into the tomatoes like they were apples. He would ask me “what do you know?” and I would say “nothing” and he’d say “ ah bullshit!” He was funny like that. As I got better with my Spanish I’d try to have conversations with him; I think he liked that. In 2007 my grandparents celebrated their 50th wedding anniversary with a big party. They eventually moved to Florida and lived on the water in Ormond Beach until Hurricane Irma flooded their house. They bought a big house in Port Orange and had a beautiful garden there, too (my grandmother loves orchids), and two chihuahuas named Rosie and Taco, plus their pit-lab dog Robert. My grandfather’s health declined and his kidneys failed and he passed in 2024; he was 91. I will always remember the man he was.