Back in June, as Gary and I cleared out my parents’ home for sale, I phoned my cousin Suzanne about one particular wooden chair.

“The chair with the lions. That was from Grandma and Grandpa’s house, right Suzie?”

You mean the Frankenchair?

Up until that moment, I hadn’t realized the chair in my folks’ music room had a story behind it.

Our grandpa was a policeman in New Haven, Connecticut, from 1926 through 1952. He loved to walk the beat and get to know each neighborhood.

But that wasn’t enough walking for Grandpa Cassidy. He’d also go for strolls in the New Haven neighborhood of Fair Haven, where he was born, raised, and now brought up his own family.

“Ray! Don’t bring anything home!” Grandma would call after him. Because Grandpa loved to bring back treasures that others might consider trash.

But once again, Grandpa brought home a little something.

“Oh, Frank!” Grandpa’s full name was Francis Raymond. I always got the feeling Grandma called him Ray when she was happy with him (which was most of the time) and saved “Frank” for when she wanted to be stern.

Grandpa was a very laid-back guy. He probably chuckled softly as he carried his bounty down the steps into the cellar.

Surely once Grandma saw what he’d found, she forgave him. He had indeed brought home a treasure.

It was this chair:

If you look more carefully than I ever did, you’ll figure out he only brought home half of the chair. The top half.

That would explain why someone discarded it. The legs must have failed.

But Grandpa knew where to get some chair legs and soon created a stunning new chair for their living room.

I remember it as a child in the ’60s. Especially the scary lions.

And now that I know it’s a Frankenchair, it’s even more meaningful.

My cousin wondered aloud: what if Grandpa had been born in a more recent decade – would he have been able to make a living repurposing discarded items? What a grand shop he could have opened down by the Quinnipiac River!

In the 1970s, Grandpa made Suzie a marvelous portable theater for her puppet and marionette shows. And he created decorative wells for all the relatives.

I guess it comes as no surprise that I was able to find one of Mom’s poems to fit this story.

The Backs of Chairs are Beautiful

The backs of chairs are beautiful. On camera
the violinists arms swim with their music. On stage
we hardly ever see the backs; the actors face us
in their friendly chairs. On holidays we sit in
family chairs and ladle dreams and memories along
with sauce, and sit as long as the musicians do,
making a kind of music with our words.

My father did two chairs for us when we were married.
These chairs were travelers about the country and from
room to room. Now in the living room they stand against
our walls and face us down, too delicate to sit on long.
But, ah, I dust and turn them out, and know again
the backs of chairs are very beautiful.

~ Joan Vayo 5 September 1971

The furniture pieces Grandpa refurbished for my parents’ new home so many years ago are now in Suzanne’s gentle care.

The Frankenchair sits in our library, scary lions and all.

“The Backs of Chairs are Beautiful” ©1971 Joan C. Vayo. All rights reserved.

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