Buckeye Bob

Gumpy had a number of colorful friends over the years.  He had a knack for making friends quickly that he  honed as a kid.  It was an ability that never left him, although sometimes the choices in friends did cause some consternation within the family.  His mother always seemed to be particularly concerned, although he never hung out with a dangerous crowd.  Gumpy's friends just tended to be mischievous.

One such friend was Buckeye Bob.  They met when my grandparents decided to start spending winters in Port Charlotte, FL after retirement.  The park Ema and Gumpy found was a little isolated, sandwiched between  Port Charlotte to the east and Englewood to the west.  It reminded them a little of Vermontville with little traffic, a relatively short drive to shopping and at least a two hour drive to a major metropolitan center.  It was also filled with Midwesterners.

Bob and Gumpy hit it off immediately because they had Toledo in common.  Bob lived in the Toledo suburb of Sylvania for most of his life.  Gumpy's home town of Waldron was only an hour away, so they both had many memories of Toledo to share.  They were also both consumate bullshitters.

After Ema and Gumpy's first few winters in Port Charlotte, Buckeye Bob's wife passed away.  After what he felt was an appropriate time, he started dating again.  Which brings me to my favorite Buckeye Bob story, one that will make Ema blanch with embarrassment when she realizes I've told the story.

Every few years my grandparents would pay for me to come visit them for a week in Port Charlotte, which is how I came to know many of their friends.  As was our custom, Gumpy and I would get out for at least one round of golf at a local links when I visited.  We usually ended up with a few foursomes of friends in tow, all eager to have someone's grandson in town to have a beer or two with.  On the way back from playing at a local par 3, Buckeye Bob began spinning tales.

It seems that Buckeye Bob got a little sweet on a clerk at the 7-11 store back in Toledo and decided to finally ask her out on a date.  To his delight, she accepted.  He picked her up, took her out to dinner and they had a fantastic time.  This is the part in my humble story where I would like to point out that Buckeye Bob was quite unhealthy himself.  He was quite undertall for his weight, loved to drink, ate whatever he could and had a bad ticker.  His wife normally kept those things in check but left to his own devises, Buckeye Bob's health became a little more tenuous.  

Now this date of Buckeye Bob's was a pretty young thing, at least in her mid-60's.  Dinner went swimmingly.  Both of them unattached and they ended up  doing the unthinkable.  They went back to Buckeye Bob's for a nightcap.  Things progressed well when they got back to his house, so well that Buckeye Bob excused himself to the bathroom for a little self pep talk.

In the pre-Viagra world, your options for making sure you would be up for the job of impressing your newfound girlfriend were limited to either still having the ability to do so or prayer.  Buckeye Bob decided a threat to himself might work a little better.

"So I got in the bathroom, opened up my shorts and said, 'Look.  You had better work or I'll shoot you.'  Needless to say, I pee a little funny now!" Buckeye Bob exclaimed.  

Buckeye Bob passed away soon after that visit.  Even in death, he managed to regularly entertain Gumpy and I.  We both missed him.

The Best Buddy Contract

I first learned of this Best Buddy Contract I signed with Gumpy around the age of 10.  There must have been some conversation I had with him where I was trying to get out of doing something and he told me I was contractually obligated to help him.  Whatever circumstances that surrounded the conversation have been long forgotten, but I will never forget the amount of consternation this caused for me at such a young age.

Our initial conversation, and several others afterward, always went something like this:

"Well, where is the contract," I would say.
"It's in a safety deposit box up town," Gumpy would reply.
"Let's go get it," I would retort.
"It's Saturday.  The bank's closed."
"Fine, when did I sign it?"
"When you were six months old."
"SIX MONTHS OLD!  THAT'S ILLEGAL!  I DIDN'T EVEN KNOW HOW TO WRITE!  HOW COULD I SIGN A CONTRACT!"
"You put your X on it!"

At this point in the conversation, I had usually gone off the deep end while Gumpy would be howling with laughter.  He was the consumate bullshitter and I had only begun to build my bull shit detection skills.   They were primative and I was prone to being easily manipulated by a persistant story.

While there never was a physical document, in time we were able to joke about the alleged contract.  In fact, our pact turned out to be deeper than any piece of paper could ever capture.  There were the countless hours on the golf course he would spend with me when I know he would have rather hit the links with his friends.  When we moved to Traverse City, there were a few trips to talk with me for just a few hours before making the four hour trek home.  There were trips to Idaho to visit family and trips to Washington, DC.  All of these things were done at a time in my life where I was very angry with the world.  Gumpy had a hair trigger temper too and only lost his with me once that entire time.

In college, I was fortunate enough to be able to go back to the farm at least once a week when Ema and Gumpy were in Vermontville.  We did a ton of chores together, breaking concrete in the barn or sawing down a tree.  We were always fixing something together then driving to Nashville to play a little cow pasture pool at Mulberry Fore.

Since we spent a lot of time togther during those days, I heard many stories about years as a young adult as he tried to relate to me.  There was a culvert on the drive to Bird Lake where he and his two best friends would hide their beer to keep it cold.  There was the bar fight in Toledo.  There were tons of baseball stories and stories of his brother Vernal.  I learned about how much he loved his sister and how my grandparents struggled to help her raise her kids when her husband refused to try.  I learned about my grandfather as a friend and as a man.  The Best Buddy Contract turned from a noose around my neck to the best gift I could have ever recieved.

He stood next to me at my first wedding as my best man and he stood by me when I went through my divorce.  While it seemed that almost everyone in my life was busy condeming me, he told me he loved me and that I would get through this.  He loved me as a grandfather loves a grandson, as a father loves a son and as a best friend loves his best friend.

After his cancer diagnosis, I realized that it was my turn in the Best Buddy Contract to start doing things for him.  There were the few times I helped him shower.  There were several trips to hospitals.  In time, I learned his medical history well enough to give Ema a break when the hospital staff started with the questions.  There were trips to resturants for pie when Ema was not around because he just wanted something that tasted good.  There was the trip home from Florida the year after his diagnosis.  There were a few times I would hug him and let him know his fight was not in vein.  I had been given a chance to show Gumpy just how much I appreciated everything he had ever done for me and I tried not to waste an opportunity.

May 29, 2009 was the last time I was able to talk with Gumpy.  I reiterated my pledge to take care of Ema, my mom and my sister.  I was able spend a few hours with him telling him all of my favorite stories of our time together.  He would squeeze my hand at certain parts of stories, so I know that he heard me despite being in a pain medication induced haze.  Before Gladys and I left that night, I told him I was glad he made me sign that Best Buddy Contract and I was proud to have the opportunity to help him just as he had helped me.  I will always be his best buddy.

Close friends

Gump had a ton of aquaintences.  For that matter, both of my grandparents seemed to know someone everywhere they went.  You could be in a Publix in Port Charlotte, Fl with them and someone my grandmother taught in high school 30 years ago would stop her to chat.  Gump and I were walking Warwick Hills during the Buick Open and someone from the Grand Trunk Railroad stopped us to chat.  He remembered Gump from his early days in the union.

I say acquaintences for a reason.  While he knew a ton of people, he kept just a few very close friends.  Growing up there was Leonard Lester Peck, who will always have a place in our family history from the legondary stories Gump use to tell about Leonard.  Those stories often involved Harold "Tink" Farnum, his cousin and life-long friend.  When I was a kid, his best friend was Kenyon Peabody.  I remember Kenyon well, mostly for teaching me a the little diddy;

I went up on the stage,
My heart when pitter-pat,
When someone in the crowd yelled,
HEY, 
That's Lingholm's little brat!


Without realizing it, I became one of his best friends too.  There is no seminal moment I can point back to as the moment I realized my grandfather and I were best friends.  It just happened.  One of Dale Carnegie's timeless principle is giving someone a good reputation to live up to.  Gump gave me the title Best Buddy and Number One Farm Hand when I was a surley teenager and I finally began living into that title.

While having coffee this week with a good friend, I realized just how much Gump impacted the way I view friends.  He was always genial with everyone and really enjoyed the company of several different people, as do I.  There was an inner circle of friends, people he trusted without many questions.  People who's counsel he would accept and appreciate.  People you could admire.  I find myself doing the same thing.


He was the best friend a guy could have and I am proud to have been in his company.