The end of a shaving era

Gumpy's electric razor finally stopped working a few weeks ago.  It was a decent razor.  Nothing fancy, just a plain electric razor with a small trimmer.   It couldn't have cost more than $40 but it was always good for a decent, quick shave. 

So it's back to the disposable razors that seem to last for two shaves before my baby face painfully lets me know I need to get a new razor.  Regardless of shaving implement, I still chuckle a little every time I shave thinking about Gumpy.

Any discussion about my grandfather and shaving has to start with his mustache.  He loved that mouse-pelt under his nose.  When I was a kid he favored the handlebar look, complete with goose grease, otherwise known as mustache wax to those outside the family.  As he got older, the mustache transitioned from a Rollie Fingers-esque creation to something more subdued.  Every so often, he would talk about trimming it off for good but he kept the mustache for at least 35 years. 

The mustache was more than just facial hair, it was the mark of a man who knew that a well-kept appearance was key to being successful in whatever someone wanted to do.  And God had given him one body to take care of during his time on Earth, so it was part of his covenant with God to keep a neat appearance. 

Staying true to that covenant led to the first time I remember feeling that I was finally able to help him.  He was in the Cleveland Clinic recovering from heart valve surgery and my sister and I drove out to visit.  We arrived during a heated discussion between my grandparents about what Gumpy would eat for lunch.  Ema insisted he eat the fried chicken and Gumpy insisted she was trying to make him worse by feeding him chicken.

When the peanut butter sandwich arrived and he ate a bit, we were able to talk Ema into taking a break from her diligent care giving.  That is when Gumpy asked me to help him shave.  That little electric razor, the same one that recently gave its life trying to fight through my stubble, was charged up and ready for the task.  But Gumpy had been sick for months before his surgery and was a little too weak to get the job done without some help.

I don't remember the old boy ever having a beard, just the mustache.  He disliked the way stubble felt on his neck, so he was vigilant in his daily shaving routine.  We started there and finished the job in a few minutes, leaving the mustache in tact for trimming later. 

As I finished, you could tell he felt like a new man.  He felt just a little more normal that afternoon.  He felt like he was doing his best to keep his covenant.  And I felt like I was finally able to do something meaningful for Gumpy. 

When he passed away a few years later, Ema asked me if I wanted the razor.  As a practical matter, I really needed one at the time.  Disposable razors are expensive, especially when you have a baby face like mine, so part of me was happy for the gift.  And the razor could be looked at as a good allegory for his life.  Dependable, easy going, great at what it was designed to do and purposeful.  So I accepted it without hesitation and did what any good Midwestern grandson would do with it.  I shaved regularly.

Alas, now it is time to purchase a new razor.  I think I might spend a few extra bucks and get something a little fancier.  Maybe one with a trimmer that always works.  Or maybe one designed to help men with sensitive skin keep from feeling like another layer of face has been removed. 

I am going to miss that little razor.   

My new suit

Until very recently, the work I do rarely requires wearing a suit on a regular basis.  As I become a better writer and my reputation within Detroit social media circles grows, I find myself in more situations where I need properly tailored suit.  With somewhat of a heavy heart, I realize my days of being able to go to every meeting in jeans with a t-shirt and sport coat are numbered.

I have a few suits but only one of them has ever fit properly so I end up just wearing one suit everywhere, which isn't a good look when you start having more than one meeting per month that requires better attire.

Since Gumpy took me suit shopping for the first time, I have gone for a few on my own with mixed results.  Finding a good tailor is the difficult part for me, so I was more than a little hesitant to go this time.    

Walking into Sam's Tailor Shop, I could hear Gumpy's voice in the back of my head reminding me of his guide to buying the right suit.  Make sure it is 100% wool, worsted wool if you can because it will last longer.  Make sure the sport coat does not pucker up between your shoulder blades, it is a sign of poor tailoring and lack of attention to your appearance.  A well tailored suit is always a handsome suit, so spend the money to make sure it is tailored correctly.  It is better to be conservative with style and color, this is an investment that should last several years so don't make your suit choice too trendy. 

I walked right over to the suits and Ali, the tailor, starts showing me different looks.  I decisively chose the third suit I looked at, a nice Navy blue with a subtle medium tone blue pin stripe.  We measured for tailoring, I paid and left with my claim ticket to pick up my suit.  

Yesterday I picked up my suit.  It looks great and I couldn't ask for better tailoring.

More importantly, purchasing this suit gave me the chance to replay a few memories of Gumpy in my head.  It gave me a chance to remember just how much he enjoyed exchanging the cowboy boots for dress shoes or a golf shirt for a dress shirt and tie.  I was able to enjoy the memories of the day we spent shopping together and chuckle again at some of the stories he loved telling about his days negotiating contracts for the union. 

I can't wait to buy another suit. 

Gumpy meets Ema, her version

For many years, my understanding of my grandparents relationship came through Gumpy's stories.  We spent many hours on the golf course and many more working around the farm together.  Since his passing, I've prodded Ema a bit more to get her version of things.

Gladys and I stopped by the farm a few days before our second wedding anniversary to spend some time with Ema.  It had been a few weeks and she wasn't feeling her best, so we were all hoping a little company would help revive her spirits.

We talked about a lot of things that night, like the vacation she took with her parents her first year of teaching in Waldron.  And the subject of Waldron took us to the subject of how my grandparents met.

Ema had been teaching in town for a few months.  She lived with Kate Fox, who was the owner of the Waldron Telephone Company.  Her house was a few blocks from the school, which convenient because everyone at Waldron High School had the same lunch hour so they could go home for a proper meal before the start of afternoon classes.

This particular day, it had been raining.  She started walking with an umbrella in hand when a car pulled up.  Inside the car were a few of her students including Mary Lou Farnham and her older cousin Elbert (Gumpy) Carpenter was behind the wheel.  Ema had been warned about him, he did have a reputation for enjoying barley pops and a good bar a bit too much.  Her students insisted she ride with them, so she got in the front seat.

As she walked into the house, she could feel Kate's look of disapproval.  Ema decided to leave a little early so she could avoid the inevitable ride back to school.  With a block to go, she hears a horn blaring.  The car that was approaching was Elbert's, and the girls insisted she get in to ride the last block to school.

A few weeks later, he asked her if she would go with him for a cup of coffee.  Reluctantly, she agreed.  When he arrived, Ema saw her four squealing students in the back seat, excited that Ms. Hallenbeck was going on a date with Elbert.  Unbenounced to Ema, Elbert had made it a routine to take Mary Lou and her friends to a teen dance in Fayetteville, OH every Saturday, where he would drink coffee in the back with several other chaperons.  They sat in a corner and talked for much of the evening.

And as the saying goes, the rest is history.