Remembering Eddie Gilmore

Eddie, at Christmas 2012, with dear friends.

It had been at least 5 years since I’d seen Edward Charles Gilmore, best known as “Eddie” to his wide array of friends in Bryan-College Station, but learning of his passing this morning on a friend’s Facebook post generated a few memories from over 20 years of seeing this larger-than-life truly good soul at the top of his game, living life large. With his beautiful head of white hair and trimmed white moustache, I had to smile at the impression he left on all those around him. He was a tailored, dapper gentleman, no matter what the occasion.

The first thing you saw about this amazing man was the imposing figure he posed; he was tall, built like a trim offensive lineman, and he walked fast whenever he was headed somewhere. The second thing you would likely see was that he was usually in the company of his beloved wife, Virginia, the genuine light of his life. One family nickname for her is ‘Shorty,’ but to be fair, standing next to Eddie, everyone is short.

Eddie and Virginia were best friends first before they were married, and in all the years I was around them, they spoke to one another with such great regard, respect, and just a fun little bit of good-natured teasing, but never a cross word. Virginia was the go-power that made Eddie able to be the social butterfly he was and that they were. This devoted couple loved music, dancing, sports, and their oldest and dearest friends. For the last three decades of his life, they were very much at home in Bryan, Texas. Others who knew him far better can cite his early career years and his love for Texas A&M, even though he graduated from another school.

In the 1970s and 1980s, if memory serves, Eddie had been a mover and shaker in the financial world of stocks and bonds in the Dallas area, and Virginia had worked for the same firm. Both were brilliant with numbers. Eddie’s razor-sharp memory was one of the most amazing things about this man.

To know Eddie means you know that he lived and breathed sports, 24/7. ESPN should have called him if they needed a fact-checker. In fact, there were a few times he’d talk to the TV, explaining how they should have known better than what they were saying, which was fun to watch when a gathering of friends would enjoy a sporting event together.

Eddie loved watching all the “NCIS” episodes when USA Network ran marathon viewing days during his retirement years. It didn’t matter how many times he’d seen them before, he’d willingly watch them again and again. He could probably recite all the dialog by heart, with his phenomenal memory.

I remember when, after years of trying, I’d finally made it past the preliminary rounds of the competition to be a contestant on “Who Wants To Be a Millionaire?” I was headed to New York City to try out at ABC Studios there and in the event I made it past the semifinal round, I’d already planned ahead and asked Eddie to be my phone-a-friend should there be a sports question that I couldn’t answer. Between Eddie and Gene Joyce, the answer to any sports question ever considered could be answered right here in the Brazos Valley.

Eddie was absolutely thrilled that I’d asked him to be of counsel for me, and I felt confident that I’d be hauling back a ton of money if my big question revolved around sports! If only I’d been able to make it past the semifinals. A dear friend had gone with me to the audition to keep me company, and as we stood in line to get into the testing area, we saw how far back the competition stretched around the block for the chance to win.

So, my friend and I both got to take the test, a nice surprise; after it was over we marveled at the obscurity of some of the questions! Meaning, no we didn’t make the cut, ha. Eddie probably would have been the one to know all the answers to the entirely baffling questions on the written quiz, but not me. Anyway, for a long time afterwards, I acknowledged him by my greeting him with: “There’s my phone-a-friend!” He just beamed.

Eddie was a real savant when it came to sports and statistics. Some people are great with key knowledge of one sport, such as baseball. They will know everything about their favorite team or the sport as a whole. But Eddie had the entire sports gamut covered—baseball, basketball, football, you name it. He rooted for the Aggies and grumbled (just like a true Ag) if they weren’t playing up to their potential. His memory was phenomenal, matched only by his passion for life.

His razor-sharp wit also matched his memory during the best days of his life. He loved to watch all the major horse races on television and whenever he had the chance to visit horse racing tracks with friends during the height of racing season, he was front and center. One thing that made him so proud was when his dear friend named a thoroughbred race horse in his honor.

The other thing Eddie loved, as much as he loved Virginia, was something they loved together—great live music and dancing to it. When I say, “good dancers,” I’m not exaggerating. It was like watching Bryan-College Station’s version of Fred and Ginger. Country-western, their beloved 50s doo-wop music, no matter the genre, they glided around a dance floor with the greatest of ease. That was always so wonderful to see—like a master class in “how it’s done.” Then when they weren’t dancing, they were listening.

Locally, Eddie and Virginia were first to arrive and last to leave when live music of their choice was happening in town. One of their favorite musicians was pianist D.A. McDowell, and if he was at Christopher’s, they were too, and there was a mutual admiration society there. Other local bands knew the Gilmores as part of their supporters and encouragers of long-standing. They’d seen great performers who had launched their careers here before leaving town for bright lights and record deals.

The couple loved jazz and especially going to hear bands plays the blues. Eddie would always announce that Virginia’s favorite song was Jimmy Reed’s “Big Boss Man,” and he’d make sure whatever band was performing in a club or other venue, that they played it for her if they took requests. That was a precious memory for sure. Another was Eddie’s love of lyrics, and he knew them all, which meant you might also find him singing a chorus of “Cherry Pie” with two other friends, on special occasions like a special birthday celebration for a friend who shared his June 24th birthday. It’s poignant that he “waited” to turn 82 before letting go the good fight.

The couple traveled extensively with dear friends over several decades, coast-to-coast, on land, air, and even by the sea. More recently, there was the fun of cherished annual trips to “wine country” in Napa Valley, California with friends and Eddie brought prized “souvenirs” back home and enjoyed the process of selecting favorites.

Golf was another of Eddie’s loves. First, he played regularly at Briarcrest Country Club, and then when beautiful Miramont Country Club was built, Eddie and his cart could be found as soon as the greens were open. He loved that course in particular. I believe he even played at St. Andrew’s in Scotland at least once.

The core travel group included four musketeers among the men and their beloved spouses and what was so nice to see was how well they got along for decades, an accomplishment of its own accord. Ultimately, at one point, a few years back, Eddie had a health challenge that separated him from more frequent contact with his dear friends, but as I learned recently, they didn’t separate from him.

When he was in his prime here as an investment broker, Eddie balanced work, family time, friends, and fun in a very special way. He made time for you if you needed to talk, and he was a loyal friend who could maintain a confidence. His friends and Virginia were his family and he cherished each one of them like they were precious jewels. He also cared very deeply about children. One of Eddie’s favorite local charities with whom he was a very active volunteer was the Boys and Girls Club of Bryan.

He was an active participant and volunteer and he was honored in his lifetime for his service to this outstanding local organization. He maintained memberships in other organizations as well (if memory serves, he was a proponent of the downtown Bryan boxing club), but he was pretty private about his volunteering. He had a heart the size of Texas, though, even though he tried to keep that fact to himself. You could just tell that about him.

In his final years, Eddie struggled with memory issues, and yet, his dearest friends visited him faithfully and helped him remember and filled in the gaps that they could, for as long as the memory would hold the facts. In recent years, I didn’t have occasion to see him, but I understand from one closest to him that his years of faithful friendship to others were the best investments he’d ever made in his life, as they were there faithfully with him and for him.

In life that’s really all anyone can ask for, to be remembered well, even if you can’t recall it. It’s knowing who your real friends are, when the chips are down, and to know they’re the ones who won’t give up on you, even if you have lost the sense of who you are, or who you used to be. In the family room of the home of one of Eddie’s best friends is a pillow embroidered with the phrase “Old friends are the best friends.” I believe this to be true.

When the day and time comes that we can no longer be ourselves, or recall the most important parts of our lives, we rely on those friends and loved ones who comprise the fabric of our lives, who will forever be our memory for us. They’ll help us remember when. They’ll have scrapbooks full of pictures and go over them with us, and help us remember who we were and who we are. They’ll play the songs we love, sing the words to us and with us and for us. Most importantly of all, they’ll grace us with their presence, simply being there with us.

They pray for us in good times and in bad. And that, undoubtedly leads to the greatest gift that one friend can give another—the gift of time. Eddie Gilmore gave his generously to his friends, always, unconditionally. His love for Virginia was unceasing and remains timelessly intact. He will always be there to watch out for her, so she need not fear a thing.

Godspeed, Eddie, and please scope out the best music venues for the rest of us, will you? We’re counting on you to save the best table for us. And there, the bands will play on, where the music and the dancing never ends, where love—like good music—overflows. The song written by your life here on Earth will play on forever, in the minds and hearts of all who were fortunate enough to know you.

Edward C. Gilmore

June 24, 1935 – June 27, 2017

The Long, Long Corridor to Delivering a Message of Love

Yesterday, June 5, 2017, marked the 102nd anniversary of the day my “buddy” Mildred Kennedy was born. I’m sure there were fireworks the day she entered the world, even if it wasn’t a national holiday. If there weren’t, there should have been.

Having been out of town on business on her actual birthday, I wanted to visit Mildred today, since it had been Valentine’s Day since I’d last visited. Each time for the past several years when I’ve visited her, Mildred has been sitting upright in her wheelchair, serenely, whether watching the endless loop of CNN News on the TV screen or in the community dining room of her senior residence here in Bryan.

Mildred had “introduced” me to a new friend many years ago. As she is a private person, and would likely not speak to me if she saw her name in my blog, let’s just call her Redbird because that was the thing that Mildred knew we had in common.

All my life, beautiful songs of the cardinals floating through the air seemed to underscore my life’s journey. Whenever I look around during special times, I see the redbirds so fancied by many for the same reason. There’s legend or myth that says that the presence of a cardinal is akin to an angelic presence of a loved one around you, a sign of sorts that someone in Heaven is thinking of you.

About 10 years ago, Mildred told me she had a friend who wrote beautiful poems—loved, loved, loved—cardinals, and was a true friend of faith to her in a Women’s Bible Study group that Mildred attended across town at another church. Understand that Mildred didn’t drive after a certain age, but she never failed to have 10 or more people fighting over giving a ride to her, so there wasn’t any place she could not find her way to reach. Faithfully she attended the Bible Study, and it was there she made dear friends with “Redbird.”

However, lest you think it was devoted friendship at first sight—forget about that. Mildred was, and could be, the inspiration of terror and fear, if you thought anyone knew the Bible better than she did. Mildred knew the Bible better than some ministers, because she studied it a bazillion years, and the ministers took her corrections in good humor (most of the time). So, too, did her Bible Study partners.

When I was in Bible studies with Mildred in our home church, I wasn’t intimated by her. I already knew I had minuscule knowledge compared to hers, so it was natural to defer to her as the go-to resource. But now the Baptists knew it, too, ha! It just took a while for people not to be afraid of being corrected by her. Once they got used to her shaking her index finger to make a point now and then, all was well.

One year, Mildred gifted me with a copy of a Christmas poem that Redbird had written, and it was so beautiful it moved me to tears. I thought, “Gosh, what a great writer and poet!” Mildred said, “One of these days I’ll introduce you to her.” That happened about two years later when our church had a “Candlelight to Bethlehem” function near Christmastime. Mildred hosted a table and invited “Redbird,” me, and five more friends. The two of us were not sitting directly next to each other so it was not then that we began talking. It was just the first introduction.

In fact, it would be another 10 years before another conversation. When Mildred’s health had reached the point that she was formally admitted to Hospice care, I called Redbird to let her know what I knew early, as the Methodists were not as prompt as the Baptists when it comes to sharing information as a caring community and reaching out so all can know, love, and pray. Twenty years ago, I’d have put our prayer chain calling group up against any church’s but almost all those former members of the prayer chain (save for Mildred and another best friend) have gone on to their Heavenly reward. So, I called to make sure she wasn't last to know.

In these past seven months that Mildred has lived in the state of Hospice care at her nursing home, her transition has been a graceful and gentle decline. In the past year, because I saw her every week of my life for so many years, I found it harder to get over there to visit her at her nursing facility. With a great internal argument about how hard it would be on me to see her “like that” it was easy to find four months flying by. Seems the fear of saying goodbye, even if she was over 100 and the logic that tells us her time would soon be ending, remained strong, I really had to talk myself into it hard, harder, hardest.

Of course, after I arrived, with lots of cupcakes or flowers for the staff and fellow residents in the dining room area, I just beamed to see her doing better than I’d ever envisioned—Christmas 2016 and Valentine’s 2017. But, I skipped St. Patrick’s Day and Easter this year, telling myself that I had too many things to do. I actually did have too many things to “say grace over,” but in my heart of hearts, I knew I was nothing but a big chicken and simply couldn’t face making time to see her because it could be “the last time.”

Time passed…until yesterday. On Mildred’s actual birthday, in an early morning stroll up a steep hill I was unfamiliar with, I found myself taking smaller steps and not going that fast as I made continued deliberate progress. My walking partner could have left me in her dust, but she kept pace with me and stopped when I stopped, all along the path, without calling attention to that fact. I looked up and said, “Sorry to be so pokey.” She said, “No, you go at your own pace. I’ll wait for you.” I smiled, rested, and got back on the path.

Last week, I’d checked in with Redbird a few days ago and we’d made plans for lunch today. It almost didn’t happen because of crazy schedules, but I had really hoped we’d keep the time as planned. As our lunch concluded today, I said I was heading over to see Mildred, asking if she’d like to come with me. She looked up and immediately, without realizing it, said, “Yes, I would, but I don’t know exactly where it is, and I’m dealing with a knee injury and not able to walk long distances without a cane right now.”

I said, “I know where she is, why don’t we go together?” Certain that she was facing the same level of mixed emotions at what visiting Mildred could be—for the last time—I said, “It will help me if we go together this time.” I meant it, plus I had really wanted to bring Mildred a special present—“Redbird.” It’s one of those instincts I had, can’t explain it, but I knew full well that the labyrinthine layout of the nursing/rehab/caregiving multiplex makes it a true barrier to want to go visit anyone there if it’s just you alone.

Delighted at her acceptance, we made our way over there and after one false start, located Mildred in the room she shared. She was fast asleep. Redbird said, “Don’t wake her up, let her sleep” and I said, “Nope, just give her a second, she’ll sense we’re here and as we speak a little, she’ll hear our voices.”

Bravely, Redbird said, “Mildred, it’s ‘Redbird,’ your Bible study friend,” and that was all it took. Mildred’s eyes opened, she turned her head left (and I was on the other side) and smiled when she saw a friend smiling back at her. She couldn’t speak in words, but her eyes spoke volumes. Redbird continued, “I’m here with Dawn, another of your friends; we’re here to tell you Happy Birthday!”

As Mildred continued looking left, I got up and said, “I’ll come over so you only have one place to look.” Gently, Redbird reached over and touched Mildred’s shoulder gently. She gently shared with Mildred many of the fun, wonderful memories of Bible Study together and reminded her of all of the verses that Mildred had given her through the years. “I’ve marked my Bible “MK” with each of the verses you’ve given me.” I didn’t add it but I remembered the wonderful volumes of faith that she’s gifted me with through the years.

We searched her walls to see what was on display, looking specifically for pictures of angels that Mildred loved and collected. There weren’t many, perhaps a likely indication of her inability to recognize and appreciate their significance, although there are at least two there on her corkboard frame. Redbird added, “I remember how much you love your angels.”

On the table nearest the end of the bed was a beautiful bouquet of flowers with red roses included. There was also an unlikely faux-jeweled crown, fit for a princess, on the table next to the vase of flowers. No doubt a souvenir of a formal celebration yesterday on her “real” birthday.

The one-way conversation continued between Redbird and Mildred. Soothing tones, sweet words, and lots of love and caring in the emotions that flew by in just a few moments. Suddenly I announced, “I brought you Redbird as your present, Mildred, so let’s sing you Happy Birthday!” Without missing a beat, we broke into song and Mildred paid careful attention, and we also found a snippet of another song to sing her. Deciding to take our show on the road, or, leave Mildred to rest, we concluded our visit. I snapped a few photos and am only sharing one, preserving Redbird’s love of privacy yet showing the look of love in Mildred’s eyes. I was delighted that I found the perfect birthday present to take Mildred, literally.

Then we said our final goodbyes, knowing that in fact and for certain that it would likely be our final goodbyes. There being no outward sign of that forecast, it was just a sense of finality that overwhelmed me as we left the room she shared (separated by curtains) with two other women).

The joke of the day was on us, however, and that was the fact that whomever designed this healthcare metroplex was either a blooper or purposeful to prevent easy escape for the residents; either way, it was a complex design of architectural mystery. You enter the building, walk a little, get on the elevator, go up one floor, then you go down the hall a little way, then ‘round the corner and…that was just to get in. However, to leave, there’s a problem if you don’t retrace your steps exactly. We didn’t. That was the problem.

No one felt worse than I did when I realized that we were in a state of “lost” that would require 15 minutes and the guidance of at least five employees helping us find our way. There are at least two-and-a-half entrances over there. But recall, my friend Redbird was nursing a recovering knee injury and walking long distances is not on her “to-do” list for recuperation.

As we walked hopefully down hallway after hallway, she’d pause and say, “I need to stop for a minute,” yet she was the best trooper. Rather than giving me “what-for” not knowing the way out, she was regretting slowing me down. I said, “There is no need to apologize, as I really understand the need to find your own pace. Believe me!”

Just 24 hours earlier, I was on the other end of my fading strength, being encouraged and uplifted by a trusted friend saying I could do it. Eventually we made it to the car, cranked up the AC to combat the 95% humidity that was classic Texas style. I really admired my new friend for persevering beyond her knee pain to share her love with Mildred.

Lessons from the day, then, were numerous. First, whenever we face a difficult task, one we fear, such as saying a potential final farewell to a dear, dear friend, we need not be alone when we do it. The presence of a trusted friend, whether brand new or longtime BFF, gives you the strength you need when you need it most.

Second, never fear saying goodbye. Instead, say “I love you” and don’t worry about how much time a person you love has left on Earth. Don’t project the “We only have X more years left on the planet.” Instead, just show love every day and the rest will take care of itself.

Third, there is no better present one friend can give to another than time. Fact. No Neiman-Marcus box or Tiffany bow carries the value outside that a loving heart of a faithful friend carries inside. It’s true that one day, Mildred won’t be among us anymore. That’s a fact, too. But, in the meantime, it’s a good thing to remember that we, on this side of the labyrinth of life, still have the freedom to navigate (successfully or otherwise) on “this” side of the small bed reined in by sliding curtain and drywall with a corkboard frame on the wall.

And yet, without a word today, Mildred was a living lesson in faith to two friends who’d come to sing her into her 102nd year. Gosh, she’s good! Then again, never underestimate the power of love.

The Power and Poignancy of a Simple Hello

In the community of Bryan-College Station, a place I love to call my very own Mayberry, there's a special significance about living here as your new home, and meeting people who have lived here all their lives. You'll spend about 30 years before you're no longer a newcomer (only because you have not met everyone yet), but after a while you start to recognize folks as you drive along Texas Avenue or Villa Maria, and you wave as you drive by, and you smile, and even roll down the car window and talk at red lights. It's a special place.

Everyone has opinions of their hometowns and neighborhoods, but my bias and fondness has developed over four decades of "growing up here," so if longevity is a criterion for validating my firmly held opinion, then I'll continue.

Opening today's edition of "The Eagle" online, my first thought was to check the obituaries. I saw the lovely photo of Mrs. Lou Presnal there and I just had to stop and stare. Could it be? I just saw her....and with that, my mind raced back to the last time I saw her. It was the same evening that I last saw Joe Hanover and it was at Bryan's Longhorn Tavern Steakhouse.

Now, please know that I did not know Mrs. Presnal personally at all, but for years I'd seen her when I attended an occasional early service at church. She and her husband, a beloved veterinarian, would enjoy the early service as many others did. I was generally a late service person, as was Joe, so you know how it goes. But she had an unmistakable gracious countenance about her. She was always dressed so neatly, everything in place, but in a way that was authentic. It was just who she was.

What was so poignant about the evening of March 31, 2017, was that I had a chance to witness a most special exchange of friendly words between two people who clearly had no idea that they would wind up greeting each other in Heaven (if you'll allow me my faith construct) just eight short weeks later. It was surreal.

This is how the evening went. I'd arrived early and was visiting with Joe Hanover's "42 Group" from Dallas that evening, and I went to the front door of Longhorn Tavern to greet Joe and Michelle. I spotted Lou and Sonny Presnal at the booth in Longhorn that had been a favorite of Netta and John Simek's all these years. I smiled when I saw them there, even if they didn't know me from Adam's off ox.

As Joe and Michelle made their way into the Longhorn, all the servers greeted "Mr. Hanover" by name and welcomed him. Seven beaming employees knew him well and loved him. When the business was owned and operated by Rita Whitley, Joe loved to tell the story about how she told him to "Park anywhere you want" and he did as she instructed.

These days, the second generation is running the business and doing a fine job of keeping crowds happy and fed without a lot of waiting. As Joe was greeted, he passed by the Presnal's table but there were many people behind him headed to the party room. I was the one closest to Mrs. Presnal at that point when she said, "Is that Joe Hanover? I must tell him hello! I'd heard he'd been in the hospital and I'm so glad he's here tonight!" She immediately excused herself from her dinner and went to shake his hand warmly, and she was joined by her husband as the three exchanged such beautiful pleasantries, old friends, church members together, likely the veterans of more than a few committees together. As she made her way back to her table, I couldn't help myself. I just had to say something to her. I don't recall introducing myself by name but what I said was, "Mrs. Presnal, you don't know me but I've seen you at a distance for years in church and I just have to say that you are one of the most classic beauties I've ever seen. You remind me somewhat of Princess Grace." And I said, "I just had to tell you that, and I'll let you get back to your evening." She was so modest and thanked me and I said, "You've always had a special countenance about you."

The joy on her face seeing Joe there that night was something hard to quantify. It was a supreme sense of joy I sensed about her, at seeing an old friend after a long time not having been in the same place at the same time. The only word I can offer is "magic." There was a sense of magic in the air. In a day and time when we all get so caught up in busy-ness, to be able to truly rejoice at the good fortune of our friends, like regained health, really left an impression on me.

I promptly forgot about that exchange until this morning, when I opened the paper and saw Mrs. Lou Presnal's obituary tribute. And then my mind flashed back to the fact that it was March 31, 2017 when I last saw Joe and I last saw Mrs. Presnal. What I did see was two old friends greeting each other with grace and dignity and such great regard and respect for one another in a fashion that it was exceptional to watch. Both so happy to see each other doing well. Neither one of them had a clue what the next eight weeks would bring. I had no way of knowing what the health statuses were, truly, of either party. Yet, rather than worrying about health, they were busy living life to the fullest.

Eight short weeks. To the day. We do not know what tomorrow brings. We cannot know. But I always want to remember their smiles when two longtime friends had the chance to see one another in good times. Somehow it's a safe guess that some 56 short days later, the reunion was even better the second time around.

It's a warm and friendly reminder that we need to make time for the things we want to do and the people we truly want to be with. And, as I sit in reflection today, eight weeks ago I think I saw the magic in a genuine "Hello, old friend" and how good it feels to have friends whom we are always delighted to see. Another life lesson in Panavision and Technicolor, courtesy of General Joe Hanover. God bless Joe, God bless Mrs. Presnal, and God bless our dear Mayberry, where people take the time to know you.