- FOREWORD
- Chapter
- Wayne State University Press
- pp. xi-xiv
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- View Citation
- Additional Information
The James Couzens in Independent Man was not the James Couzens I knew. I was his first grandchild, born in 1924, and probably because I was a first grandchild I received a lot of attention and many favors. My grandfather loved all of his grandchildren, and we loved him. We knew him as Daddy Jim.
In the summer, our family lived at Wabeek Farms, as did my aunt and uncle and their children, the Yaw family. On Sunday mornings I looked forward to my grandfather picking me up for a ride in his station wagon. He would show me his fields, the cows, the chickens, and the creamery. One Sunday he drove by the little cemetery on Middlebelt Road and told me that was where he would be buried. This was not where they buried him.
He had a smooth and effective way of correcting my poor manners. One day while having dinner at his home, he observed me trying to cut my meat with my elbows up in the air. He asked, “Are you trying to fly, Frank?”
Once he took us grandchildren to the Bloomfield Hills Country Club for lunch, as a treat. My grandfather didn’t think that anyone should have to eat spinach, so he was really perplexed when we all ordered spinach. He didn’t know how much we wanted to be like Popeye.
From the Senate he wrote to me in his beautiful handwriting. I did not fully appreciate those letters at the time. My mother, Margaret Lang Couzens Slattery, would see to it that I would write him back, usually when I was trying to listen to a Detroit Lions game. The writing had to be neat, the lines straight, and the spelling perfect. This required many rewrites, which decreased my appreciation for my grandfather’s thoughtfulness.
Four generations of Couzens men. From left to right: James Joseph Couzens, Frank Couzens, Frank Couzens Jr., and James Couzens.
I truly looked forward to being with him; he was fun. On a couple of occasions, I was invited to go on a Great Lakes cruise with him, my grandmother, and my Aunt Betty. During each of two summers in the late 1930s Grandfather chartered a beautiful yacht. One was the Buccaneer and the other was the Trudeon. These yachts were too large to dock in most harbors. They would drop anchor and we would go ashore in one of the launches. Once we went ashore in Green Bay, Wisconsin, to meet one of my grandfather’s colleagues, Senator LaFollette. This was before ship-to-shore radiotelephones; each yacht had a radioman or a signalman, and Morse code was the way communications were received and sent. We knew by flashing signal lights when to meet the Senator on shore, and Morse code radio transmissions were how my grandfather received the morning news and communications from shore. It was also very exciting, especially for a teen, to be in the Chicago harbor in 1934 the night John Dillinger was shot. We wondered the next day if the shots we heard in the night were the same that killed the infamous gangster.
We did not hear about my grandfather’s business dealings or his Senate agenda. He loved his farm and his Ford station wagon. The lesson from Daddy Jim was, “Do it right,” and “Fulfill your commitments.” I am still working on these lessons.
Frank Couzens Jr.
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