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. 

My Early Memories of Gumpy

Memories can be fickle.   They can be vivid one day and fleeting the next.  They can cause great sorrow and happiness without rhyme or reason.  

For me, looking through photos gets me headed down a sentimental path.  Going to certain places, eating certain foods and talking with family can trigger other memories.  Memories are full of fact and imagination since our minds do not like gaps in stories.  Ema reminds me of this on occasion because she remembers the childhood of her children in a very different way than they do.

I have been struggling with some of my memories lately.  Nothing bad per se, just the fact that I have few vivid memories of Gumpy from my early childhood.  The amount and varied hours he worked have something to do with this lack.  The big factor, the one I have been reconciling lately is the fact that my Dad was an active influence for me until I was 13 years old.

My dad was a pretty good father until the lure of pot, cocaine and alcohol proved to be irresistible.  There were endless games of "Monkey in the Middle" in our hallway, countless hours of playing catch and practicing baseball fundamentals.  We would listening to Ernie Harwell and Paul Carey announce Tiger baseball, interspersed with his memories of listening to Chicago Cubs games as a kid.  We use to have boxing matches in the living room until I learned how to knock the wind out of him.  I had a happy childhood filled with great memories.

Those memories have been causing a bit of pain lately.  It has been over 12 years since I last spoke with my dad and I had given up on him being anything but a junkie long before then.  When my dad could not be a father, my grandfather stepped in.  While he could never be my dad, Gumpy allowed me to grieve the loss of my father while giving me a steadying presence.  It was his influence that allowed me to escape my teenage years with minimal scarring.

The pain of my memories comes from wishing I had experienced those things with my grandfather instead because my grandfather remained steadfast in his love for me and our family.  It has been a year and a half since Gumpy passed away and the void left in my heart is sometimes paralyzing.  It is up to me now to provide that steadying presence.    

I do have great memories of Gumpy from my early childhood.  I was pretty young when he taught me how to test an electric fence without getting poked.  I do remember hearing WITL 100 blaring on the tractor radio when he would be pulling into the barn.  I was always pretty excited when I got to go back to the woods and help him get another load of wood to keep the fireplace warm.  There was a trip to Mackinaw with my grandparents that I am sure was more fun for me and my sister.  The irrational kid in me is begging for stronger memories right now, and I am left unable to satisfy that demand.

The strongest memories, though, are from when I was 13 years old until Gumpy passed away.  It was then I learned how to treat other people.  It was then when I learned about work ethic.  It is when I learned what it meant to love and want the best for each member of your family.

Memories are little more than movies of our lives that we continue to edit and view again through out our life.  The script has last minute changes.  Characters make appearances, some longer than others.  You are always learning different ways to tell the stories.  While some of my movie might leave something to be desired in terms of storytelling, I made myself an attentive apprentice to Gumpy.  I hope he approves of my production skills.  

An Open Letter to Gumpy

Dear Gumpy,

It's been almost a year since you passed away.  Life is so much different without you.  Of all the things I miss, it's being able to pick up the phone and hear you tell me you are proud of me I miss the most.  You always seemed to know when I needed to hear you say that.  There have been so many days lately that I've wished I could just call and hear you on the other end of the line.  I get through by reminding myself that I have big shoes to fill for our family now that you're gone, and you would want me to stop crying in my beer.  You would probably tell me to stop acting like a suckling if you saw my tears as I'm writing this.

Yesterday was Mothers Day.  I think you would have been thrilled by the day.  Ema loved the new place that Gladys and I are living in now.  She liked it so much she started joking with us about making a place for her to stay.  While she thinks I am just being polite by saying this, I hope you know that she will always be welcome in my home.  Gladys is very supportive of this too.  All Ema needs to do is ask.  I know you wanted me to live at the farm to take care of her, but I hope you understand that my heart is in Detroit.  So even if she doesn't stay with us much, I will always watch out for your Chickadee.

As a family, we have tried to make sure she wasn't alone during the big holidays.  Gladys and I were in Tampa for Thanksgiving, so she had dinner with us at Gladys' mothers house.  Mary made sure Ema was home for Christmas.  Jim and Char visited her right around your birthday.  Mom and Rebekah took her on a cruise.  She really did not have too much time to sit and mope.

You wanted me to make sure my Mom and Rebekah are taken care of too.  Just so you know, I try but there is no taking care of Rebekah.  She takes care of herself and will tell you how you can help.  So I do when she lets me.  On the flip side, Mom has enjoyed our new apartment.  She's been over almost every weekend for something, usually with Haithem.  It reminds me a lot of Sunday nights at the farm, watching 60 Minutes, playing cards and eating popcorn.  Mom even calls when she gets home, the same way Mary would call when she made it back to Lansing.

By the way, I wish you were healthier when you met Haithem  He's kind, patient, an excellent carpenter and very intelligent.  Just who Mom deserves.

I'm not sure if you heard, but Gladys and I did get married.  She's the right girl for me.  I knew it when I met her and I think you knew it when you met her too.  August 7 will be our first anniversary and I couldn't be happier.  Hell, we went to a Toledo Mud Hens game the night we got married!  If that doesn't speak to how well she fits in, I don't know what would!  Ema gave me your wedding band.  I was honored that she let me have it because it gives me a symbol of your marriage and the sacrifices you both made to stay together for 58 years.

Of those promises I made to you, I work all the time to try taking care of the ladies in the family with varying degrees of success.  I'm sure you understand.  You left me with a hard-headed lot.  The keeping the rest of the family together is a little tougher.  It has been great to get the occasional message from Frank Walter.  The rest of us keep up by phone calls, Facebook (I know, you still don't get it) and from this journal I'm keeping of memories I have of you.  We all needed time to grieve and figure out how to live without you Old Boy.

That has been the toughest part.  We all knew you would not be here forever.  There is just no good way to prepare.  I keep trying to keep you alive in my heart by acting a little more like you.  I walk into the kitchen in the farm and declare, "A little faster if you can stand it," just like you did.  I'll cross my arms and pat my forearm the way you would in the middle of a conversation.  I love our family enough to do things that hurt me greatly to try keeping them safe, just like you did for me.  I'm still working on the patience and tact you practiced with me.  Someday I'll be good at it too.

We will make it.  Sometimes that doesn't seem as obvious as other, but I know we will be alright.  You left each of us with great memories and a fine example to live up to.  You left us all well prepared.  I love you, miss you and happy for you that you were finally able to make it home, where you deserve to be.

Love,

David

  

Gaining a Friend in Heaven

Tuesday, Gumpy gained a friend in heaven.  Ernie Harwell passed away after a nine month battle with cancer of the bile duct.  He was a true gentleman by all accounts; a man who was generous with his time, enjoyed life, worked tirelessly and had a wife who admired him until the end.  Kind of like Gumpy.  While they never met, I am confident they would have been fast friends.

I didn't have a portable radio as a kid, so I couldn't sneak a listen to Ernie and his broadcast partner Paul Carey very often.  In the early 80's, I was a bigger fan of George Kell and Al Kaline doing the occasional Saturday television broadcast of Tigers Baseball because it was an event that my dad and I would watch together.  Ernie's book, Tuned To Baseball was my first real introduction to the man.  My Aunt Mary gave me an autographed copy in 1985.  I don't think I slept much until I finished reading it for the first time.  I have been a big fan ever since.

It shouldn't come as a shock that I cried a little when I found out Ernie had died.  I cried a little when I found out he had cancer too.  Some of the tears were for the recognition that another piece of my childhood is gone forever.  Most of my tears were because just how much Ernie reminded me of Gumpy.  In a small way, I lost Gumpy all over again.

Both men were humble.  I don't recall hearing either of them talking about how much they had accomplished, instead they let other people do the talking for them.  They just did the accomplishing.  Both men were great at making people feel like they were the most important person in the room.  Neither of them were prone to critising people, although they both faced plenty of situations where normal humans would have felt justified criticising the Hell out of someone.

Both men enjoyed life.  You could hear Ernie's smile on the radio.  Gumpy's laugh was never far away. They adored their wives, their families and the people they cherished.  They loved the game of baseball and had plenty of stories to share.  They took the time to mentor the men who worked with them.  They were men of great faith, hopeful that they had done enough to please their maker.  

For them, I think their great faith was well placed.  I'm hoping they get a chance to finally meet over a cup of coffee at some dinner in Heaven so they can chat a little Tigers baseball.
 

Political Rhetoric

I was a little disturbed yesterday when listening to the Craig Fahle Show on WDET in Detroit.  He was discussing the violent rhetoric that runs rampant from both the left and the right of America's political divide.  Everyone who was interviewed or who called in was more interested in getting in their zinger than they were in engaging in substantive talk about the issue at hand.  The entire debate reminded me very clearly of a conversation I had with Gumpy when I was young.

When President Reagan was elected for his first term, I was seven years old.  All I really remember of that election was how upset Gumpy was at the outcome, yet is was my first memory of politics.  Gumpy was open about his politics with me, even at that young age.  Dinner at Ema and Gumpy's was always accompanied with the Sony Trinitron TV blasting the CBS Nightly News, followed by the McNeil/Lehrer Newshour on PBS.  I would end up with many questions and receive many answers from Gumpy.  He was certainly passionate about his politics!

One day, Gumpy was completely exasperated by something he read in the Lansing State Journal.  It was probably something to do with the PATCO (Professional Air Traffic Controllers Organization) strike because it was Reagan's shot across the bow to unions that he intended erode the gains unions had fought hard to win.  This was always a sore subject given the amount of work Gumpy did within the union to help his fellow members.  I had commented to him that I wished the President would just hurry up and die.

Gumpy stopped everything, turned to me and exclaimed, "Never speak that way about anybody, especially the President!  I might not agree with him but you NEVER wish death on anybody!"

It was the first and one of the few times, I remember Gumpy ever scolding me.  He was always a praise first type of person.  For him to address me like that was completely out of character and was absolutely sobering for me.  He really had a lot of respect for the office of the President, even when he did not agree with the person in office.  I watched him over the years always criticize an action a politician rather than criticize the person.

From then on, Gumpy and I would focus on the political issues.  Informed debate was the order of the day when politics was the subject.  There were several times we did not agree, President Clinton and the North American Free Trade Agreement (NAFTA) was one of those times.  Our national security was one of those topics where we rarely found common ground.  Yet the debate was not personal, and that is what spurred my intense interest in politics.

That is what disturbed me about what I heard on the radio.  Callers on both sides of the aisle were more interested in getting off pot shots than about making a meaningful contribution to the conversation.  The guests were more interested in steering the debate toward issues of their interest, not the issues they were on the air to discuss.  All seemed to refuse to directly answer questions.

People venting their spleens do nothing to move our country forward; it serves only to further divide and enslave us.  People engaging in honest, informed dialogue can kick start ideas that help us create a more just society.  I am glad I had Gumpy to teach me that lesson.  

Career Advice

The first time I was unemployed, Gumpy advised me to go right down to General Motors headquarters and apply for a job because they are always hiring college educated people.  Mind you, this was in 1999 where only an advanced degree in engineering or business would get you in the door.  My degree in Political Science just did not seem to prepare me for anything.  He was pretty insistent on this, which perplexed me until I realized that when he was my age, his advise would have been very accurate.

Although his answer to my dilemma seemed out of touch, his intent was pure.  He just wanted to see me succeed in whatever I chose to do with my career.  In fact, he wanted that for all of his kids and grandkids.  That is why he was so insistent on me learning to play golf.  When he was the General Secretary Treasurer for the Brotherhood of Railway, Airline and Steamship Clerks; this is how he saw business executives get ahead and he wanted to give me the best opportunity.  In the economy we now face, this piece of advise seems a bit dated too.

What he did not realize was that he had been teaching me all along one of the most important tools for succeeding in life.  Getting along with all types of people from all types of backgrounds was a strength of his.  He excelled at making the people he talked with feel like they were the most important person in the room.  It was this advise, received because of his unconscious competence in this area, that I heard loud and clear.  I have tried to emulate his success and it has served me very well.

I think the best example of his ability came after his memorial service.  A few weeks after the service, Ema started giving his clothing away.  His fight with cancer had been an ugly three year ordeal and I am sure she wanted to distance herself from the ugliness as quickly as possible.  After the family had the opportunity to take a few articles of clothing we selected, she started giving things to friends of his around Vermontville.

One gentleman in particular was very grateful.  He is a very proud man, worked very hard and lived a rather hard life.  He did not have a good relationship with his kids.  His wife was not doing well in her fight with cancer either.  Yet, he showed an uncharacteristic amount of generosity toward my grandparents.  Especially after Gumpy's cancer diagnosis.

Ema decided to take a few of Gumpy's neckties to him even though she was not sure if he would ever wear one.  He became pretty emotional while she was there and talked for quite a while about Gumpy.  It seems that he never felt like many people in town really liked him but Gumpy always had time to talk with him.  Gumpy made him feel important, so he felt like he needed to help when the chips were down for Gumpy.  He was truly grateful for Ema's gesture and grateful for Gumpy's friendship.

I titled this post career advise because all the advise Gumpy gave me for my career were usually a generation or two old for the job marketplace I was facing.  The advise he gave unconsciously through his actions spoke the loudest and has been the key to the modicum of success I have achieved.

A Man Worthy of Adoration

When Gumpy decided I needed his help, I think his intention was to help me learn how to enjoy life again. As a toddler, I was the type of kid who would walk up to strangers at the Big Boy Resturant and tell them I was shy before asking if I could have a bite to eat. This mortified my mother because I was quick and effective with this little trick. So while I was busy becoming a sullen teenager, Gumpy was busy trying to help me remember how to enjoy life again.

He didn't have a plan. Few things were taught with specific intent. Lessons were learned mostly through my observation. Becoming a distracting backseat driver is the perfect example. So is becoming a man worthy of the adoration of his wife and family.

I recently realized just how much I learned from Gumpy in this part of my life. I was slow to realize his influence on me as a husband for a number of reasons. Part of it was my grandparent's penchant for bickering. They both loved it, regardless of their denial. We use to joke that you could make a killing sell tickets to the Dot and Elb show. What I did not realize for years is that they always made up. Always. And the plain truth is that I was not ready to become this type of husband until I met Gladys.

Ema and Gumpy also spoke with one voice with big family issues. We all knew that Gumpy was the softy, but when the chips were down my grandparents responded together. Sometimes this became annoying, like when Ema would say, "We love you." I just wanted to hear she say that she loved me but they both took the commitment to speak with one voice seriously.

My grandparents were also really affectionate toward each other. Gumpy regularly chased Ema around the house until his heart was too weak to continue. He had his pet names for her. He enjoyed teasing her and she enjoyed being teased. He enjoyed buying her gifts and surprising her. When he knew his cancer would take his life, he focused all of his strength on making sure Ema would be well cared for.

Gumpy prized loyalty and it started with my grandmother. In private conversations, there were occationally complaints although I really cannot point to one in particular. If anything, he was concerned that she was not taking care of herself and wanted his little Chickadee to be a happy, healthy person.

Was Gumpy a perfect person?  No.  He had his foibles and I picked up a few of them.  Was he perfect for me when I needed him to be?  Absolutely.  He was loving, caring, patient, truthful and trusting.  A guy could not ask for a more loyal friend.  He was one of my role models while struggling through college.  He is one of my role models as a married man.  I know he will continue to be a role model when I'm a dad too. 

Knocking Down the Shed

My grandparents had 80 acres of the original farm when I was a kid and we lived on the back 40. Tucked away in the woods was our little trailer that we called home for years. Having no basement or garage for storage, we kept a steel shed along the fence row that was used to keep the horses on the property.

After my dad left, mom decided to do a few things to improve the look of our home. The summer I was 14, she bought a new aluminum shed, complete with a roof that did not leak. Our task was to cut apart the steel shed so it could be easily hauled off. Hacksaw in hand, I began to slowly reduce our shed to easily disposable pieces.

This usually was an activity I undertook when I was bored. I guess the matter was not urgent at all but was probably more of a make work project devised by my mom to keep me from getting in more trouble. Whatever it's origins, one Saturday left me with a scar on my knee still visible 30 years later.

I was cutting apart one of the support beams for the roof. I am afraid this sounds more impressive than it really it, the shed itself was maybe 20' by 20' with a roof that was 6' high. As I cut throughout the final piece of steel, the beam gave way and the sharp edge I had just exposed slashed down my knee, leaving a nasty looking gash. Luckily, the cut was not deep and was fairly clean. A little self-administered first aid was in order because I had a golf game scheduled with Gumpy.

As soon as Gumpy pulled up, he saw my leg and I knew I had made a mistake. I should have worn jeans even though it was pretty hot out. He took one look at the gauze wrapped around my knee and panicked. I learned a few things about my Grandfather that day. One is that he would move heaven and earth to help me if he could. The other is that he was horrible in an emergency.

Immediately his panic set in. My mother went to a shower for the daughter of one of her friends. Ema's whereabouts was unknown. In this land before cell phones, we were unable to reach anyone by phone. This began the frantic run to the neighboring town of Nashville where I thought the shower was. When we could not find Mom, we made the mad dash back to the farm where we waited for Ema to come home. Meanwhile, all I wanted to do was go play golf. I felt fine.

When Ema and my mom finally came home, they determined that my wound was just a flesh wound that did not need urgent medical attention. It was only then, a few hours after he saw my knee for the first time, that Gumpy could relax. I think he really could have used a methignal!

Why I Golf

My grandfather loved golfing.  I think the impetus of his retirement was rooted deeply in the idea that he would have more time to golf more than it was the idea of no longer punching a time clock every day.  He observed that a lot of business was conducted on the golf course, so he encouraged all of us to learn the game.  This observation lead to my mom, her siblings, my grandmother, my sister and I to all learn at least the basics of the game.

For my Aunt Mary, this turned out to be a fairly useful skill while she worked for a law firm in Lansing.  It seems that she was just good enough to be a ringer for some ones winning foursome, earning her prizes at the annual company golf outing.  I ended up winning a few trophies in a youth league and played on the golf team my freshman year of high school.  As a family, our claim to fame was that we never completely embarrassed ourselves on the links.

My golfing education started when I was eight.  Gumpy had a set of clubs cut down for me.  He would take my sister and me to the driving range at Centennial Acres in Sunfield, MI to knock out a bucket of range balls.  Lessons came soon afterward but the game only held a slight interest for me for several more years.

Golf did not really make sense for me until the summer my dad left.  I was 13, confused about why dad left and angry.  I was pissed off at the world to be more accurate.  Gumpy had retired that February and had recognized I needed him to take a big role in my life.  My uncle Jim had moved to Idaho with his family by then, a move that devastated my grandfather.  I refuse to say I filled Jim's shoes, but Gumpy might have needed me just as much as I needed him at that point in our lives together.  That was the summer we started to regularly play golf together.

For the next few summers, he bought me a junior membership at Centennial Acres.  We were excited when they added the second nine holes on the east side of Dow Road because the original nine was in a flood plain.  Having the last few holes flooded out for parts of the season left a little to be desired.  

Gumpy and I played almost every day, Monday through Friday, when school was out of session.  We would play as long as my attitude would allow, with the ultimate goal being to make it through at least nine holes.  His rules were simple, play according to the rules.  If I threw a temper tantrum, he would start walking off the course.  I would follow because I needed the ride home.  The way the second nine holes were laid out left an easy walk back to the car after the second and seventh holes.  I know that well because we often left at those points in our game.  

Those few summers taught me so many things about being a kind, decent, respectful and loving man.  The patience my grandfather showed me every time we walked off the course after just two holes was incredible given his strong love of the game.  On the days we finished nine holes, he would treat to a snack at the clubhouse where I observed just how he treated friends and strangers, along with the good treatment he received in kind.  

To say that I am still a golfer is a bit of a stretch.  My golf clubs are currently sitting across the dining room in my apartment from me and it is probably the most time I have spent in the same general area with them since Gumpy went in for his last heart valve surgery.  I still call myself a golfer though because I know I will pick it up again.  I hope that I will be a dad soon, with a few little ones who will need time with me to learn how a respectful father and husband should act.  I plan to take them to a golf course with me when they are ready so they can learn from my grandfather too.