Is there anything I can say about my brother Gary that most
of you do not already know?
Until a few years ago, I didn't realize that siblings born in
the same year were called "Irish Twins." People (even close
relatives) have called us by the wrong name all our lives. Perhaps Gary's name
was easier to remember. My wife even thought I was Gary when we first met. When
Gary got sick (and that is not a strong enough word for it), people would come
up to me and ask how I was (thinking I was Gary). My usual reply would be,
"I'm still hangin' in there." I didn't want to call them out on their
mistake or embarrass them, so I would play along, knowing what Gary's reply
would probably be. Gary didn't like to dwell on his problems. He was more of a
suffer-in-silence type. But some of us are here to share the Gary we knew and
loved. I was asked to write a book about my Brother, but that would require a
lot of remembering, and my memberin' ain't what it used to be, so I'll just
tell you some of the highlights, the more unforgettable things.
Gary learned to walk before he could crawl. Mom said it was
so he could keep up with me. By the time we were 2, we looked like real twins.
Mom even dressed us alike. And we were inseparable, a team. Everything we did,
we did together, even getting a bath. We got the same things for Christmas;
everything was the same. We shared the same bed, including our crib, until we
were twelve.
Mother told me that when Dad painted the house, Gary and I
decided to help. (We were probably 5.) Gary literally got into the bucket of
paint—what fun that must have been! I'm told I got in as well, and Mother spent
the rest of the day cleaning the paint off us.
The next thing I remember (and we must have been about 6) was
our first time driving Dad's car. You need to know that leading up to this, our
dad would sometimes let us sit on his lap steer, so we probably thought we were
ready for the big time. The car was a push-button start (we knew how that
worked; we had seen Dad do it a hundred times, we had the steering down pat,
but the pedals we didn't know about. Anyway, Gary got on the floor to work the
pedals, and I stood at the wheel like a Captain of a ship… I pushed the
button…and we were off (albeit in reverse). I remember looking through the
windshield and watching Dad chase after us. I guess he caught us after running
about the length of a football field just before we got to Highway 224.
We even started school together after a traumatic experience
on my own on the first day alone. Mom decided I was probably too young anyway.
Mother kept me home until the following year, and Gary and I went together. At
that time, we went to Markle School, and it stayed that way until we were
headed into 5th Grade at Rock Creek. We walked to school together. If we had a
nickel, we would leave early, go to the gas station, and get a candy bar to
share. Mother bought us new coats, vinyl on the outside, and hoods one winter.
This was fantastic; we decided if we flipped on our backs, we could slide down
the hill on the snow on our way to school. (We ruined the coats pretty
quickly.) For some reason, the good folks at Rock Creek School thought we
should be separated. Gary was forced to repeat the 4th Grade (that angered
Gary, forced to repeat the 4th Grade, and that anger lingered for many years.
As he saw it, I was the one in the wrong class, not him). All this time, he has
been able to keep up with his older Brother just fine. Now he was being told
for the 1st time he couldn't.
We still would spend the summers together. Climbing trees,
swimming, playing baseball, Scouts, and the summer of the great walnut
wars. (I can elaborate on that if you want to hear it.)
This was also the beginning of the competition between us.
Gary didn't like being 2nd. Now, I was getting to do things 1st. It was also
the beginning of the "Gary Way." I got a bike first, and then Gary
got his, which was bigger and better. I got a car first (that I was supposed to
share with Mother), then Gary got a car; he bought himself (better than mine)
and didn't have to share. This led up to his 1st being called
"Krash." He wrecked that car and two of Dad's, plus we were in a car
wreck together. Mike Meier's dad's brand-new car. Mike was driving, I was in
the passenger seat, and Gary, Gary Shroyer, and Eric Thomas were in the back.
(there's that together again), and Gary ended up with a broken leg; I think
Eric broke a collar, and Shroyer learned how to swear. During these teenage
years, we fought and wrestled while Dad stood there and watched. We didn't used
to do that. Looking back, which was sad for us, we had been a team until that
fateful 5th Grade.
But Gary was better than me...better looking and better at
basketball, although neither of us could beat Dad. Gary was better at baseball
and made it to Pony League; I never got further than the farm team. Gary was
better at track, better at fishing, and better with girls. The only
thing I did better was play the piano, so he played drums.
Gary loved music, Rock-n-Roll, and singing, even if it was
off-key. He might have been deaf, but he still could sing Mule Train.
In 1967, I went to the service, and Gary had to stay home (he
couldn't pass the physical a problem with his ears; they said..."
swimmers' ear," they called it, and we had spent a lot of time at the
pool. If the pool was open, we would be there. [little did we know then that
this "swimmers' ear" was just the beginning of Gary's long war with
NF2, also at that time, we did not know that our mother was 3 years into her
battle with NF2, which Doctors earlier chalked up her hearing problems to just
nerves dying]. Instead of going to the Army, Gary went to college to study
business and the art of meat cutting. But that was cut short due to his
"swimmer's ear"; he got sick and had to give it up after about 6
weeks.
I want to say that whatever medals I got in the Army, Gary
deserved them more. Bronze Star...Gary earned one for the courage and bravery
he showed us. Combat Infantry Badge...he certainly faced an enemy just as
deadly and for a much longer time. Gary deserved a Purple Heart for all the
wounds he received, which far outnumbered mine. Unlike me, Gary never seen his
enemy face to face; he could never attack it, and it was never a fair fight.
Gary was the hero.
When I got home from the service, Mother asked me when I
would get married. She said she wanted grandkids. I told her to talk to Gary.
He's the one with all the girlfriends. But, thanks to Gary, I got married 1st.
He told me about the new "hot blonde" at "Bippies"... (he
said that sarcastically)," She is just right for you." He just knew I
would strike out because everyone else had. Well, I didn't strike out. I hit a
home run instead.
I want to talk about Gary the man. The man who never quit.
During his time as assistant manager at the Country Square Mall grocery
(something he was very good at), he had surgery for one of his tumors. Upon
returning to work after a quick recovery (I say quick because nothing kept Gary
down for long.) He was demoted to "stock boy," they considered him
disabled; they underestimated Gary. Gary was pissed, and we talked about it,
and he was mad; his feeling of self-worth had been crushed by people he
trusted. I told him he could work for me when he'd had enough. A couple of
weeks later, he said he was ready. Gary came to work, and boy did he. He ran
this one machine (that I found hard to control). For him, it was a piece of
cake, pie, in Gary's case.
Wherever Gary worked, he always did his best. Driving a
semi-truck, delivering milk (he had his own route), or making concrete blocks
at Madison Silos.
I should I tell you about his love of orange juice? Gary
loved it; he'd bring it to work and drink it instead of pop. Well, he noticed
the bottle was going down quickly, and he knew someone was helping themselves
to his juice, and Gary was sure of the who. Gary's solution…he brought two
bottles, and only one of them was half juice, half urine. The next break we
took, Gary got out the 2nd (hidden bottle), took a big gulp, and offered Shorty
some of the orange juice; Shorty said no…it tasted funny. That took care of
that problem.
One more Madison Silo story. We were returning from
somewhere; Gary and I were in separate trucks. We were coming across 224
heading for Markle and the Madison Silos plant. We were passed Uniondale on the
straight-a-way, and Gary passed me peddle to the metal, standing up, driving. I
thought he was trying to show off. Gary beat me to the plant and was already
inside. After a few minutes, he came out of the bathroom; I asked what that was
all about. He said he was farting, the seat was bouncing up and down, shit in
his pants, the seat bouncing was packing it up his ass, so he stood up. Of
course, I had to swear to secrecy on that one.
Gary did his best to enjoy life beyond his sometimes-limited
ability. He always worked hard, did for others, and did things he shouldn't
have. I've talked to Kathy so many times over the last 50 years, and every
time, it always included, "Do you want to hear what your brother did
today?"
Gary's humor...he always made me laugh. Not everybody would
catch on to his sarcasm, or maybe it was wit, I don't know. Once, when he was
at the rehabilitation hospital recovering after one of his many surgeries, I
would go over during lunch hour to help him and to help with some of his rehab.
One time, we were walking down the long hall with the physical therapist, and
she asked him if he wanted to stop (sensing that he might be tired; it had been
his longest walk yet); Gary said, "No... why? Are you tired?" You've
all seen these beads on loops of wire that they put out for kids to play with,
usually in waiting rooms...the occupational therapist had Gary push the beads
along the wire from one side to the other. He did it very slowly, one bead at a
time. Then she asked him to push them back, which he did, but all of them at
once. She asked him to do it again. Gary said, "What for? You'll make me
push them back." Then we went to the psychologist, who assumed by Gary's
looks and his slurred speech that his surgeries had made him retarded.
(Everybody thought that; they thought of our mother that way too. That she had
become retarded from her surgeries. Believe me, both had their right mind.)
Anyway, the psychologist kept asking him stupid questions, like how old are
you? What's the color of your hair? Stupid stuff. Gary would give her stupid
answers, 6, orange, etc. She didn't find it amusing, and it just confirmed her
assumptions. I told Gary, keep it up, and they'll keep you here longer. Gary
was thoroughly enjoying screwing with these folks. Gary would do something they
asked correctly, and they would be like, "Good boy, that's a good
boy." He knew he could do it all along; he just wanted to toy with them
like a cat with a mouse.
Kristi told me to be brief, so I'll close with...Gary always
made me smile and laugh; we did that over the past 75 years. Now, he is in
Heaven, a reward he has truly earned, and he still makes me laugh when I think
of him. I hope he brought joy to all of you, and your hearts will smile when
you remember him. And when it is my turn to leave this earth. Gary will be
there waiting for me and gloating about how he got there first.
Just one more little tib-bit: since Gary died in Maricopa
County, Arizona, he will still be able to vote this year.
"The Walnut Wars"
We used to have a small barn that housed horses and several
carriages. Joe Gensic was now using it to store equipment, and we were supposed
to stay out. The barn had a sliding door in front and one in back, although the
one in back was three feet up from the ground. There was also a tiny hayloft,
which was too small to stand upright. Gary and I thought this barn would make
the best fort ever. We cut a hole in the roof above the loft and made it like a
hatch so we could flip up and stand like a lookout. We also rigged the back
sliding door with a weight, pully, and a rope to open the door. We could then
ride our bikes in the front door, pull the rope, and ride down a ramp out the
back if we needed to escape quickly. Everyone knows a good fort must have a defense
system against attacks. We didn't have guns, and slingshots didn't have enough
range, but we did have an abundant supply of walnuts, green walnuts, just a
little smaller than a baseball. Neighborhood kids could also get walnuts, but
we had our own tree. We stocked the loft with walnuts, and some were by the
doors. Kids would walk down the street past the back door. We would pop up
through the hatch, pelt them with a walnut or two, and then duck back under the
roof. It didn't take long for them to figure it out, and they would return with
walnuts. We couldn't be beaten. With our lofty position on the barn roof,
nobody could get close enough to throw a walnut and hit us without sustaining a
severe pounding from above. I think a couple of other kids joined our
winning team. I can't remember how long the wars lasted, but we did use the
fort for at least a couple of years after that.
“Three Bridges”
There were three bridges close to home. The first was the
bridge leading to Markle Park and Pool. It was a rickety old iron bridge.
Whenever a big truck crossed it the bridge would rattle and shake. We were
never allowed to cross it on our own. If we wanted to go swimming (which we did
every day in the summer. We had to go down to Karen Crosby’s house and wait for
her to put on her suit. Then, she would go with us to cross the bridge, but not
if a truck came.
The second bridge was the covered bridge just outside of
town. It was old and covered with wood siding, and cars still regularly used
it. We would peddle our bikes out there and hide them out of sight. We would
climb on it, under it and inside the roof rafters. Once inside, we would wait
for a car, once the car was inside the bridge we would start yelling and hide.
Bridge number three was also an iron bridge (which I think is
still there). We would climb up on that one too, wait for a car, and try to
spit on the windshield, after which we would try to hide. Hiding was a little
harder because of the openness of the bridge.
Great fun.
