I still aspire to be Papa Grousman

Raymond K. Grousman is near the top of the list of heroes I've had in my life.

A career railroad man with the Union Pacific, he was dignified, honorable and could be quite funny. He had a dry sense of humor, so much so even close family sometimes had to wait for a tiny smile to creep up the corners of his mouth before determining he was trying to pull your leg.

He was also an inventor. After retiring from the railroad, at a time in his life when others his age were looking forward to slowing down, Grousman was at his local patent office. He invented the MediCard (a medical history card for the wallet), the Tush Cush (a foam pillow that allows a person's spine to float and relieve back pain) and many new games for gambling fans.

For casinos around the country, his ideas were seldom a gamble. He invented the keno system in use by most casinos today, and his final passion was blackjack. His innovative new blackjack layouts have found their way onto tables in many states. The next time you belly up to a Double Action Blackjack table you'll know who invented the game.

Raymond Grousman was also my grandfather. He passed away seven years ago today, and hardly a day goes by I don’t think about him in some way.

"I have some bad news," the conversation began. It was a Tuesday, and usually I love it when mom calls to check up on me (even in my 30s I'm still her little boy). This call was different. As soon as she uttered those words, I knew Papa was gone.

He had suffered a stroke the week before, mom said, and on Tuesday he died quickly. He was 88.

He wasn't gramps, grandpa or grandfather. He was always Papa. And Papa had a mind for details.

Growing up in the Denver area, I always looked forward to visits from Nana and Papa. Whoever coined the term opposites attract must have known Nana and Papa. Papa was tall and handsome, always looking 20 years younger than his age. Nana Gene was short and pixie-like with silver-gray hair. Papa was Jewish, Nana a Mormon. I loved to watch their good-natured bickering (they never fought, just pecked). And they enjoyed more than 50 happy years of marriage.

Nana was also special. She always seemed to shrink (although I'm sure now that's partly because I was growing up) and was a wonderful artist. Her hand-painted china and oils on canvas are beautiful. I have four of Nana's masterpieces hanging from my walls.

Papa would always bring the most thoughtful gifts and we'd run out to his car and make him open his trunk right away.

On one visit he noticed that when I would ride my bicycle I would have to frequently stop to pump air into a leaky tire. On the next visit, he unveiled his newest invention — a bicycle tire that never goes flat. Another time I was showing him some fishing flies I had tied. Two weeks later I received a package in the mail — Papa had sent me his collection of hand-tied flies. He spent a lifetime tying these little beauties, but upon seeing my interest in fly-fishing his only thought was to give these to me. To this day, afraid of a snag or snapped line, I have never used one of Papa's flies.

Papa wasn't the same after Nana died, and I suppose that was to be expected. He still invented, filed patents and looked for ways to market his latest games. But some of his spark was gone.

Because of his health, Papa, who lived in Oceanside, Calif., was unable to travel much, so we would keep in touch by telephone. I'd tell him the latest in the news business and he would detail his latest inventions.

I remember my last visit with Papa about six months before he died. We both knew this might be our final time together. We never spoke it out loud, but we knew. It had been several years since I saw Papa, but for some reason I felt compelled to visit. He showed me dozens of old family photographs I had never seen before and was curious about the news business.

Papa was a remarkable man who never took the gifts God gave him for granted. I can only hope that one day I'll have a grandson who will remember me the way I'll always remember Papa.