Me & “Grandpa”

Last week, I celebrated what would have been the 120th birthday of my grandfather, Clifford McPherson, the most influential man in my life growing up, my grandfather.

A very close second was someone I also called “Grandpa.” Everyone did, like his granddaughter Arlene, who sent me this amazing photo of us together at my home away from home growing up.

His name was Harry Lieberman. He was born in Gniewoszów, Poland, in 1876. In 1906, he emigrated to the United States, and within a few years became the owner of a wholesale confectionery business.

But Grandpa’s story truly began after his retirement.

Boredom set in quickly, so he enrolled in an art-sketching class at a local Golden Age Club. That class led to painting, first watercolors, then oils. 

In his mid-70s, Grandpa began what would become an extraordinary second act: he emerged as a widely recognized painter, best known for religious scenes inspired by stories from the Bible.

Throughout my childhood, Grandpa’s paintings were exhibited across the country—including, remarkably, in several of my classrooms. On more than one occasion, I had the honor of “showing him off,” as he would visit with several of his works and lecture on their meaning and symbolism.

People marveled at both his talent and his age. Grandpa, however, was as modest as they come. Age was simply a number to him, and painting gave him purpose.

In 1976, just a month and a few days after my seventh birthday—Grandpa turned 100 years old. He didn’t slow down.

He would live to be 106, passing away in June 1983. It was the first significant loss I ever experienced, and it took me a long time to truly process.

In Jewish tradition, family gathers one year after a death for the unveiling of the headstone. It was at Grandpa’s unveiling that the loss finally hit me. I wept uncontrollably for what seemed like forever. At least that’s how it felt.

I miss him to this day and think of him often. I know there were moments in my life when he might have been disappointed in me, but I like to believe that the man who started my very first college fund would be proud of the person I’ve become.

He wouldn’t want me to say I did it because of him. So instead, I’ll say this: I did it because of the many lessons he taught me.

And every now and then, when I miss him especially deeply, I’m grateful that I can turn to YouTube and watch a documentary I had the privilege of seeing parts of it being filmed—when he was 101/102 years old. In fact, I wrote a Blog about the video back in 2011, when I first found it online – https://reparteeroom.com/2011/07/20/hundred-and-two-mature/. I watch it at least once every year…just to hear his voice.

It’s called “Hundred and Two Mature: The Art of Harry Lieberman.”