Being born with a lot of Uncles and Aunts was one of the blessings of having a mother with a lot of siblings. I always considered Aunt Florence my favorite aunt, but Uncle Gaylord, or Gig, as us kids knew him, was by far my number one uncle. I remember visiting Uncle Gig and Aunt Laura every time we went south for a summer holiday. He liked us kids and used to goof off telling goofy jokes and saying and doing funny things to make us laugh.
My oldest memories go back to when he and my Aunt Laura lived in Vancouver. But before that my Uncle canvassed door-to-door selling religious books off and on for most of his life. He could sell a book to anyone, and he loved doing it. Even though he did other things for a living from time to time his love for selling seemed to be his main passion until he passed away in his late eighties. He could sell the proverbial refrigerator to an Eskimo. As a matter of fact he used to load his car with books and drive to Alaska, not coming back until he had sold them all, and some I suppose to the odd Eskimo.
He had a strong faith in God and believed that everything that happened was directly the will of God. Several times he stayed with my wife Sandy and I in the little town of Sidney and went door to door for a month or so at a time. I remember on one occasion when he missed the ferry because he couldn’t find his keys, but without any hesitation he said it was because God did not want him to catch that ferry. In the meantime he continued looking and sure enough found his keys in time to leave on the next ferry.
My Uncle had a wonderful and realistic way of looking at life. One day when we were talking about cars he told me the following story. He said, “Bob, you know how a person hates to get that first scratch on a new car. Well I was visiting someone when just as I was about to leave I noticed this little rascal walking all the way round my brand new car with a nail in his hand.” And I asked him, “What did you do?” And he said, “Well after that, I give every new car a good scratch as soon as I drive it home from the dealer, and then I can relax.”
His acceptance of life was amazing. Back in the thirties and forties when canvassing, you would be invited to stay at the last house of the day, and of course given supper. My Uncle was very strict about his diet but he never presumed on his host and ate whatever they set before him. While staying at our house he would eat anything that Sandy fixed, and never a word of complaint. Sandy could burn the entree and he would eat it as if it was a gourmet dish. I remember when a Chinese friend of ours brought over a special Chinese New Year’s delicacy that even Sandy wouldn’t eat. My Uncle and I ate the whole thing.
One summer my folks dropped my sister Dawna and I off at my Aunt and Uncles to make a few bucks picking berries with my cousins, in the many fruit farms around Laurelwood Academy. How I hated that summer. I learned that I was not a good berry picker. If my life depended upon it I would have starved to death. Picking strawberries was the worst job I ever had, it just about killed my back. I could hardly stand up, after even a few hours.
Of my Uncle’ four pretty girls I only got to know Joyce, Gaylene and Barbara. Betty Lou was quite young and Richard was even younger. I never really new Richard until recently as an adult and it really wasn’t until he took Sandy and I out for a beautiful brunch in Sequim.
I can’t say that I disliked my Aunt Laura but she always meant business and probably was the reason my Uncle kept his feet on the ground. She was very organized and made us kids toe the line.
When we came to visit we were only there a few minutes when invariably we would be given a task to do. So it was always best to stay out of the way and be inconspicuous.
One time when we were all quite small my mom and dad were taking Gaylene and Joyce with us after dark. After riding a while Gaylene said she had to pee. That was not good. If you had to take a pee it was not when my dad was driving. He may or may not stop. Well this time he finally did, but after much pleading on Gaylene’s part. We were out in the country some place in Oregon and it was a pitch-black night. Gaylene hurriedly got out. All is quiet; suddenly there is a squalling like you have never heard before, and then it fades quickly into silence. Dad got out with a flashlight and with a little searching found Gaylene who had fallen down a steep bank with her pants still around her ankles. I don’t need to say that she wasn’t “a happy camper.”
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