My grandfather was a bodyguard for Frank Sinatra when he toured North Africa with the USO during WW2.

Now, Frank Sinatra did USO Camp Shows, and my grandfather certainly fought in WW2, but I have no proof he didn't just make it up. He was the son of Italian immigrants and he worshiped Sinatra like first and second generation Irish immigrants worshiped Kennedy.

So, did his huge fandom of Frank Sinatra cause him to pretend he had met him? Or did he become such a big fan after admiring him during his service? Who knows? I'm not going to call my dead grandfather a liar, though.

Well, supposedly my grandmother's family Penn is related to William Penn. You know, of Pennsylvania. (He has no descendants named Penn, by the way -- only daughters, or stepdaughters, if I recall correctly.) So far all I've been able to do is trace it back as far as some Penns who apparently lived in Maryland with a bunch of other Penns nearby. Those Penns were planters, and slaveowners, but my Penns -- like William -- were Quakers and abolitionists, and when they left Maryland they moved to a Quaker settlement in Ohio called Pennsboro in honor of William. There two siblings (one male, one female) married into a prestigious Quaker family tree.

Anyway, I've never quite sussed whether they were really Penns, whether they were once slaveowner-planters, or whether these links to William Penn were sentimental or possibly sort of trading on a name that wasn't really connected.

OK, that's not really a cute legend. And the only others I can think of are also sort of genealogical. I know there are a few actual stories, though.

My grandmother's mother brewed beer throughout the Depression to bring in some money for the family. In the early years this coincided with Prohibition. Apparently a lot of people stopped off to purchase her beer, including men on the baseball circuit. When the men came in and hung their hats in the foyer, my grandmother, then a young girl, would cut the ribbon ties from inside the hats and paste them in a scrapbook. One of them supposedly comes from Ty Cobb.

We're somehow connected to the Barrymores and the Vaudeville scene through my great-great-grandmother, who was somehow related to the stage act the Seven Little Foys . I don't quite know all the details, and at best it's a tenuous connection.

My great aunt claimed that one of her husbands witnessed the Fatty Arbuckle-Virginia Rappe incident, and the Willam Desmond Taylor murder, but I think this has to be taken with a handful of salt.

My grandmother hid fighters during the civil war (this is Ireland) in the local mental institution (she was a laundress from a very early age)and smuggled them out in the milk churns in the morning. Apparently if the Black & Tans had found out she'd be minus ears, eyes and other choice body parts and I wouldn't be here.

They must have been bigger than modern day milk churns is all I'm a-sayin'....

My grandfather was a soprano saxophone player and played jazz during the twenties and early thirties in New York. Eventually his parents made him get a real job selling newspaper advertising. But family legend has it that he played in Ozzie Nelson's band for a while although I've never found any documentation of that.

Legend has it that my great uncle George made bathtub gin and took a bath in it, causing temporary blindness. He played honky tonk piano and got a job playing for the Chicago railway. Legend has it, he convinced his brother Byron to buy a saxophone so he could get a job playing too. Byron never knew what key the sax was in. He left it on an island in the South Pacific during his stint in WWII. Everyone agrees that was the best thing that ever happened to the instrument.

My great-great-grandmother, Octavia, came across the country in a covered wagon (that much we know is true). According to her, they had been travelling a long time when they came across a boarding house. The owner greeted them outfront and encouraged them to stay, as the next stop was several days away. My G-G-Grandfather wanted to stop, but Miss Octavia had a Bad Feeling about the place for some reason. The longer they talked to the guy, the more she just wanted to get the hell outta there. They argued about it for a while, with the owner of the house insisting they stay. She finally told her husband, "You can stay if you want, but I am sleeping out here with the horses!". She won, and they left, probably with him mumbling something about her being a damn fool woman while slapping his floppy hat on his knee.

Turns out, the people running the boarding house were sneaking up on people while they ate dinner, bashing their heads in, robbing them, and dumping the bodies.

Lesson here kids, trust your gut!

I had heard this story as a kid, and we all assumed it was just a family legend, but a few years ago I actually came across information about the exact same crime taking place in the area my great GGG had said it happened, so who knows. I wish I could find that book again, I have it somewhere.

My great-great-uncle, a middle-aged Catholic priest, left his cushy parish in the U.S. to train and fight in World War I, becoming a colonel in the Polish Army in France (there was no country called Poland at the beginning of WWI). He was said to have led troops in battle. He was awarded the (Polish) Virtuti Militari and (French) Croix de Guerre, which we still have in our family.

He was revered within our family as a hero of the battlefield and pulpit, and was also a published essayist and poet. But after the war as a parish priest he was less than popular, at least in one of the parishes he served (although the parish's website is more charitable).

I also understand that the Canadian cemetery in which he is interred has been declared to be Polish soil.



But the truly legendary part of the story is this: He had a dog named Paczki (pronounced "Poonch-kee"), a name that means "Donut."

My exhusband and I bought a house in Keansburg, close to the water (views of the bay from our second story). While sitting on our front steps one night, an elderly gentleman stopped by and informed us that Frank Sinatra had stayed in our house in his early days, while performing at a local bar/club.

True? False? Who knows? But it made our night!

I didn't read this thread first before posting - I see that Juliet Banana has a Sinatra story, too!

evilcupcakes: Was it the Bloody Benders? I read a comic book about them!