A Lot Of Gordons

(Please click on the title for a reading aloud by the author.)

You could say my family has a special affinity for the name Gordon. To the best of my knowledge there’s six of us (two deceased) and today the greatest concentration lives in east Texas.

In the spring of 2008 after my mother died I had an email from my cousin Gordie with his condolences. Gosh I hadn’t heard from or seen him or any of his branch of the family in years and years.

Long ago his family made the trek to New Hampshire many times for summer visits, and as kids we had some fun exploring the woods behind our grandmother’s house and no doubt climbing trees and falling in brooks like boys do. These people from Texas all spoke differently; I didn’t understand why but it was cool and made them cool. It was exotic. Texas was far away and mysterious and I was curious about the whole thing. In 1977 I traveled though Texas on my way to college in Arizona and visited with the clan.

Off and on over these past couple of years Gordie and I continued with our correspondence, and got to know each other a bit. We’re both nuts for cars and motorcycles, and would share snippets of interest and humor that would come across our screens. We’ve shared some doozies – they guy who drove his million dollar Bugatti into the swamp while fumbling for his cell phone, the boa constrictor tangled up in the electrical box – but a mouse was in there. The world is an interesting place. The conversation would often include “we ought to get together,” and then life would sweep us up and time went by.

This spring a visit came into focus, we arrived at a weekend that would work and I got in the car and headed east. After not seeing any of these folks in thirty years, well, the weekend might be fun… or it might not! Who knew? We were going to find out. On the eve of my departure a photo op popped into my mind. I called my sister and she emailed me a few files from the family archive.

There’s the story about the Texas rancher talking to the Vermont dairy farmer. “Takes me three days to drive across the state,” said the rancher in his easy going way. “Yup. ‘Had a truck like that once,” quipped the Vermonter.

Texas is still big, and it was more than worth the trip. We did a lot of hanging out, traded stories and memories and some beer got consumed. There was going out for catfish and grits and greens. We toured the back roads and roared around in hot rods. Everything said “Texas” to me. Sunday night Gordie and Pam put on a barbeque for the clan. Aged ones, cousins, their offspring, inlaws and outlaws. There would be fifteen of us gathered. Gordie fired up the smoker (of his own design and fabrication) that morning. Seeing how barbeque needs tending all day, it’s a good excuse to hang out tell stories and drink beer. There’s not a finer, more relaxing way to spend an afternoon. By dinner time there was brisket and ribs and chicken that just melted in your mouth. And of course there were all the fixings and strawberry shortcake for dessert.

And so we come to the six Gordons. When someone called out, “Gordon, would you like more brisket?” three of us would rejoin in a cappella, “yes, thank you M’am!” But if it was “Gordon, would you take the garbage out?” we’d all point fingers at one another and sneer, “that means you,” and try to slink away. It was a lot of fun. At the end of the evening we all lined up for the photo. From left to right: me, Gordon the 3^rd holding a picture of my dad, Gordon the 2^nd ; Gordie’s son Gordon T. the 2^nd holding his two week old son Gordon T. the 3^rd, aka Trip; and Gordon T. the 1^st aka Gordie, holding a picture of his and my grandfather Gordon the 1^st who had no idea what he was starting.

Thanks y’all for a great weekend.

Gordon Bunker