Father Of The Tribe

Every father has a grandfather.

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My Grandfather, Robert Billups was father to an ever-growing tribe of offspring - children, grandchildren, great-grandchildren, and now great-great-grandchildren. Whether intended or not – a tribe

We all called him, not Grandfather, not even Grandpa, but Grandad Bill.

The “Bill” part came about because mine and my cousins infant tongues couldn’t quite manage the entire Billups. The “Grandad” may have come about because “Grandad” has a jaunty sound to it that seemed to fit his personality.

He was a rake and a rambler – a little wild and a little unbuttoned, with an aptitude for mischief. Nonetheless, despite the gleam in his eye, and the joke up his sleeve, his manner was courtly and good-hearted.

Much like Will Rogers, he never met a stranger.

Ironically, He is probably a stranger to the later members of the tribe. Modernity is not good at remembering. Many of his progeny will have traits that can be traced straight back to Grandad Bill, though they probably won’t know that.

One of Grandad Bill’s children was my Mother.

Grandad Bill fathered ten children, directly.

Those children produced more children, that then produced more children still. The exact number is becoming ever more uncertain. I can account for my aunts, uncles, cousins, and their children, and some of their children.

The original ten children produced thirty-four grandchildren. Thirty-four grandchildren produced fifty-four great-great-grandchildren. There’s likely more than fifty-four great-great-grandchildren, but the trail has been obscured.

My cousin Donna’s mother was also one of Grandad Bill’s children. Donna is a careful chronicler of family history: she supplied the known numbers.

There’s certainly many more great-great-great-great-grandchildren – even though they’re no longer being registered.

Still, the known total of ninety-eight, plus, is a substantial tribe.

I recall a Billups family reunion from many years ago. Even back then, there were so many relatives attending, the event had to held at the central park in Cainsville, Missouri. I didn’t recognize a lot of those attending.

I’m not sure how many Grandad Bill recognized.

By K. L. Shipley

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