I had another commentary put together that was an “end-of-year” cliché type. It was one with reflection and maybe a few resolutions that I could only dream about fulfilling.
But, as I wrote along, I drifted off thinking about what I was grateful for in my life. The bulleted list started to grow pretty easily. I am most grateful for the powerhouse that is Alissa Cohn and her endless patience with a 2-year-old. And I’m obviously grateful for the incredible Marley Fay Cohn. Grateful for my entire family, friends, extended friends, the Bixby Knolls neighborhood and my ability to be involved with issues across the city.
But I took another twist in my idea for the piece when I remembered that my father Gordon had recently published a small book entitled Grateful and gave it to a few friends as a keepsake.
So, on second thought, I decided to share with you all my words spoken at my dad’s recent 85th birthday party. I am, after all, quite grateful to have him with us and for his being as sharp as a tack mentally and physically. Here is my speech about my 85-year-old father:
I called him Gord, not Dad, from about the age of 12 or maybe younger. I realized that by not calling him by his first name it would diminish the “person” and his larger-than-life personality and character. He’s more than just “Dad.”
So who is “Gord?”
He’s an intellectual giant with a vocabulary like no other, and he’s always poised to correct your spelling and grammar. In fact, next week all today’s speakers will receive a handwritten critique of their speeches. And so will I.
He’s a voracious reader who says “I can’t keep up with my stack of books because those [expletives] keep printing them faster than I can read.”
Gord is hungry for knowledge. Tough, stubborn, gruff, direct. Quick-witted, sometimes with a caustic humor but can also crack up a whole room.
Gord is well-traveled. Curious about the world, people and their stories. A writer. Storyteller. Photographer. A west-side corner boy. A Churchillian.
To me, he’s also Ulysses, Alexander, Admiral Byrd and Mr. Chips.
At 5’6″ he stands taller than most. He hard-marched his way up Everest, being the first one each day to reach the base camp. At 85, he continues to lead our Bixby Knolls walking club and always at the head of the pack. He led our Literary Society group for 100 books.
It’s his metaphor for life— outrunning Mr. Black. Gord wants to live forever.
Gord is also: Sinatra at his best. The Count Basie Orchestra and the cleverness of Cole Porter.
And he certainly married the right woman.
“Gord” is intense and all-in. He studied Italian to travel to Italy. He studied Spanish to travel to Mexico. He will read a book three times before leading our Literary Society sessions. After retiring from USC, he picked up the saxophone and learned to play and continues to be disciplined and practice daily on his flugelhorn.
If you have hung out with him, worked with him or spent any amount of time with him, you know he makes an impact. He instilled a work ethic in us leading by example and holds people to the highest standards and expectations.
Gord shared all the lore of the great west side of Chicago, especially life on Kolin Avenue and his crowded house with all the family. All of those things are of another lifetime and world away from us in Long Beach, but Gord made those black-and-white images come to life in Technicolor. The same goes with the magic of St. Joe, Michigan, which has become a favorite spot, and we plan to carry on the family tradition with visits there.
Gord repeated the mantra: “Carpe diem!” and I believe we are doing that. And although he’s told just about everyone he doesn’t like kids, he’s a big softy for his grandchildren.
Gord is always ready to help his friends and children, regardless of the situation. He’ll find you a doctor, a lawyer, a restaurant, a car or accountant. I called him at work once in a panic as my car overheated somewhere across town and had no idea what to do. He raced home from the USC medical school on three freeways to end up filling the radiator with water that was sitting in the back seat.
(You can imagine what he said to me as he drove off.) And I called him off the beach in Jamaica just to tell him the refrigerator was leaking. I think he was more perturbed about being interrupted while reading his book than the cost of the long-distance phone call.
And he’s still a teacher. Shortly after Gord retired, he took classes at USC. I’d stop by the house, and he’d be on the porch reading. He’d share with me the various stories of battles and generals from the Civil War. This led to me pursuing Civil War reenacting.
When I was in physical therapy after a knee surgery, Gord would come and read me stories from Elvis Presley’s biography while I was icing my knee down. I thought that was pretty special. I don’t know of anyone else’s father doing that.
I’ll let you in on a couple of secrets: For years now, I come into the house to greet him by shaking his hand. I do the same when I leave. This is a chance for me to hold his hand like I did when I was a child. And I keep a pair of his old shoes by our front door when I take Annie (our bulldog) outside. This is how I practice “walking in his shoes.”
We share similar opinions and philosophies about the world. I inherited some of his perspective and outlook on life, mortality and people. Not all dark, but some.
I try to hold myself and other people to the same high standards.
Over the last few years, I’ll be chatting with friends or the family, and some say to me: “You’re turning into your father.” Or “You’re just like your father.”
Well, that sounds pretty good to me.
