Like every family, mine has it share of old stories that are hard to believe but difficult to disprove.  There’s the one about a distant uncle who supposedly froze to death on his married lover’s lawn in December 1924.  And another about a great aunt who may have murdered her husband with a lethal dose of heart medicine.  But one of the more interesting tales I’ve heard in recent years involves my grandfather’s first wife and the roof of the Claypool Hotel.