CNJ+ November 2025

GRANDPA MABEY’S LAST THANKSGIVING By Richard Mabey Jr.

Now, at 71, I find myself dreaming more and more about moments that I shared with my paternal grandfather, Watson Mabey. I walked the forest path with Grandpa, from the end of Mabey Lane to the tow path of the old Morris Canal, over a hundred times in my childhood and youth. During the Summer of 1965, when I was just 11 years old, Grandpa and I came across the Magnificent Buck, on one of our walks to the old Morris Canal. It was a moment that, to this day, holds a dear and precious place in my heart. I grew up in the old Mabey Home stead, that my great grandfather, Wil liam Mabey, built in 1890. On Thanks giving Day, Dad’s sister and seven brothers, with their spouses and chil dren, would gather at the old farm house, to feast and have heart-felt fel lowship. My paternal grandmother, Bertha Mabey, would peel apples for apple pie, very early in the morning. While the women cooked in the kitchen, Dad and his brothers would gather around in the big, enclosed front porch and tell

This picture was taken on Thanksgiving Day of 1967. Grandma and Grandpa with their dog, Little Pixie, seated with their nine children behind them. Standing from left to right: Carl, Gerald, Edward, William, David, Dad, Violet, Earl and Harold.

tales of deep-sea fishing excursions, grand adventures of hunting, and fond remembrances of growing up together. And, in this mist of all this, Grandpa would sit in his easy chair, in the living room, with all of his grandchildren sit ting on the floor at his feet and tell stories of working on the old Morris Canal. There was something very different about Grandpa’s tales that he told in the morning of the Thanksgiving of 1967. I was 14 years old at the time and in my freshman year at Boonton High School. I was a sensitive boy and was gifted with a certain amount of intuition about things. Grandpa had just had a stroke, a few months prior to that Thanksgiving Day. For all practical purposes, the stroke left his left arm almost useless. But Grandpa did his best to hide it. Usually Grandpa would tell stories of his remembrances of working as the Chief Engineer of Incline Plane Ten East, which was located at the Towaco and Lincoln Park border, along the old Morris Canal. But this particular Thanksgiving morning, Grandpa talked a lot about Heaven. He told us that he had a good friend in Jesus. And he talked a lot about his brother Earl, who was killed in battle in France during World War I. Grandpa spoke of angels, how they would visit him at nighttime. There was a solemn, reverent quality to Grandpa’s stories, during that Thanksgiv ing morning of 1967. It was mixed with a bit of sadness. I remember Grandpa spoke of the Majestic Buck, as he called the wonder ful, magnificent, mystical buck that walked the forest behind the old Mabey Homestead. He talked of a time, when he was younger and had the giant buck lined up in the scope of his rifle but could not find it within himself to

pull the trigger. Grandpa would often say that the Majestic Buck was a true mystical beast. We used to eat our big Thanksgiving feast at about two o’clock in the after noon. Grandpa always sat at the head of the dining room table and the three or four additional folding tables that were set up, from the dining room and onto the formal living room. I remember that halfway through his Thanksgiving prayer, Grandpa be gan crying. It was the one and only time that I ever saw my grandfather cry. As tears flowed down his cheeks, he asked God to bless each and every one of us at the table. On the seventeenth of May of 1968, the angels called Grandpa Home to Heaven’s Gate. That was over 56 years ago. Since the day Grandpa passed, I don’t think a day has gone by that I haven’t thought about him. I loved him with all my heart. Now at 71, I still mourn for my beloved grandfather. I still miss him very much. I would give up my entire collection of antique books and my whole comic book collection, to have just 10 minutes to once again talk with that dear, wonderful, kind old man. Love those near and dear. Hold them precious in your heart. Forgive them of every wrong they may have ever done to you. Cherish every moment with the people you love and care for. For none of us have a written guarantee for tomorrow. Richard Mabey Jr. is a freelance writer. He hosts a YouTube Channel titled, “Richard Mabey Presents.” He can be reached at richardmabeyjr@gmail.com.

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CNJ+ | FORMERLY THE MILLSTONE TIMES

NOVEMBER 2025