Don Roll has heard the chimes his entire life.
As a kid, curled on the sofa, reading a Scrooge McDuck comic book.
As a teen, shoveling coal into the furnace.
The sounds emanating from his father’s treasured grandfather clock – always set to the regal Whittington chime – summoned him awake and lulled him to sleep.
The 8-foot-2-inch clock, with creatures carved into the mahogany, was the centerpiece of the home. His father wound it faithfully every eighth day.
People asked Roll’s father, Earl, about its worth. “He always had the same response: ‘What difference does it make? I’m never going to sell it,’ ” Don Roll told me.
He never did.
Then Earl died of a stroke. It was 1976. Don Roll was 38. His stepmom told him he should have it, so he packed it in a custom-built box and drove it to a farmhouse he and his wife had bought in western Wisconsin.
Years later, they later moved to Denver, then Centennial. The clock came along.
Eleven days ago, after living with the clock all of his 68 years, Roll said goodbye.
He and his wife, Joanne, are downsizing to a small ranch home in Denver with 8- foot ceilings, and the clock won’t fit. None of their four children could take it.
The clock now stands towering above other grandfathers at Rocky Mountain Clocks in Englewood. Valued at $13,000 it is the most expensive item in the shop.
Already, Roll has visited.
“I wanted to let it know it hadn’t been forgotten,” Roll said.
This isn’t a story about the heartbreak of parting with an heirloom. This is about a painful transition that is taking place all over the country with our growing senior citizen population.
Like many older people, Don and Joanne want a simple, more manageable lifestyle.
To achieve that, they must give up a big, two-story house for a smaller one-story. It means purging themselves of unnecessary things: furniture, knickknacks, a large backyard.
“We’ve come to that point in our lives where we need to disengage a little bit,” Roll said. “We want to simplify. We’ve come to realize that the possessions in our life aren’t that important.”
That’s why Roll believes he is now able to let go of the grandfather clock that his father purchased in Chicago sometime in the late 1920s.
He admits it’s hard.
“I miss it, but I am determined to go through with this plan” of selling it, Roll said. (The shop didn’t buy the clock but is holding it, and once it’s sold it will make a hefty commission, according to store owner Pat Downey.)
The clock is a marvel to look at. At the base, two carved griffins – those mythical half-
lion, half-eagle creatures – seem to snicker. Near the gold plated dial, a sultry goddess-
like figure smiles while a serious-faced sentinel stands guard.
Store manager/clock maker John Hathcock said it’s the kind of piece that only mature people could appreciate.
“You get used to these things real fast. When they’re gone, you know they’re missing,” he said.
Roll feels the void. He misses seeing it, but more so he misses the sounds.
“I stay awake listening for it,” Roll said. “It’s like listening to your heartbeat … I notice its absence.”
Part of him hopes that would-be customers will scoff at the price tag and it will never sell: “I think my dad might be looking down and smiling, smiling over the dilemma he’s given me.”
Cindy Rodríguez’s column appears Tuesdays in Scene and Sundays in Style. Contact her at 303-820-1211 or crodriguez@denverpost.com.
