Celebrating the Gates Patriarch

Today, June 16, 2019 marks the 142nd  birthday of my paternal grandfather, Edmund Gates, Sr. This originally posted four years ago. Ironically, 84 years ago today, Fredrick Daniel Gates, the third son born to my grandparents was killed by a direct lightning strike during a thunderstorm on a Sunday.
Singing "Happy Birthday"

            How true the adage “A picture is worth a thousand words.” When I found this photograph in my mother’s collection, memories flooded my mind. This appears to have been the one of the last birthday celebrations for Grandpa Gates.

I could not count the times I gazed at the  tiny shelf above the kitchen sink (shown in the background of the photo) as my parents were saying their good-byes to Grandma Gates or other family members. As a child, it seemed a whole new conversation began as my parents parted ways from their loved ones, so I had plenty of time to observe that little cabinet above Grandma's kitchen sink.

Looking at the round wooden table on which the birthday dinner was setting, I realized that I never sat at that table until I was a freshman in college. Being seated at the round dining table was assigned based on age or status. Many, many family members were older than me. I distinctly remember the Thanksgiving that I first met Barbara Clark Gates Clovis as I was seated at the table in Grandma’s kitchen. That may have been the first time I sat at the table! However, I had arrived after the noon meal so I might not have been old enough to sit at the table for lunch, but since the football game had already started, there were available seats for Barbara and me.

Obviously the theme of the photo is the family singing "Happy Birthday" to Grandpa. The singing at Grandpa’s birthday party was joyous and hearty. Music had always been important in the Gates household. Grandpa was notorious for teaching his children laments like “Old Billy Goat” or “Pretty White Kitty, My Pretty White Kitty.” Grandma had a beautiful singing voice, according to my father, Edmund Gates, Jr. I recall listening with delight when my grandma played by ear the organ her son-in-law, Marion Roberts, had given her.

Looking at the photograph revives funny, wonderful memories, but some are bittersweet. I am standing almost directly behind Grandpa Gates and am barely visible. To my right, is Mike Newland, the eldest son of my aunt, Julia Irene Gates Newland, my father’s next to the youngest sister. Mike had a brilliant, creative mind. He had a penchant for writing and wove words in meaningful, descriptions as a skilled weaver intertwined loose thread to craft a breath-taking tapestry.

A copy of Letters to Mickey still graces one of the shelves of my parents’ home. Thousands of letters were sent to Mickey Mantle in his last days. Around 120 of the fan letters were selected to appear, along with Mickey’s final reply to his millions of fans worldwide. Mike’s letter can be read on page 42 of the collection. Mike struggled with his own battle with stroke-complicated disabilites that trapped his voice and expressions for many years, ending in 2014, with his passing.
Mike was a voracious reader. He generously donated and mailed large boxes of used books for my third grade classroom. I treasure the copy of To Kill a Mockingbird given to me by Mike.

To my left in the photograph stands my cousin, Vickie Gates, the youngest daughter of my father’s brother, Jess. Vickie and I were born the same year but she was about five months older than me. Vickie seemed to always have a cute “pixie” hair cut that suited her perfectly. In my memory, she was outgoing and talkative, whereas I tended toward shyness and being reserved. Vickie liked being in the middle of the action. Even as a kid she showed signs of leadership skills. Yet the year we celebrated our 13^th birthdays, Vickie lost her battle with leukemia less than three weeks before Christmas. As an adult, how I have wished the advances made in leukemia treatment, practically eradicating deaths from it in juveniles, had already been discovered in the 1960s.

My father, Edmund Gates, Jr., is on the extreme left of Grandpa. Dad was born one day before Grandpa’s 42^nd birthday. Grandpa had decided this son should be his namesake since their birthdays were so close together. Who could have quessed that his next son, would be born exactly on his 44^th birthday! Tragically, that same son, Fredrick Daniel, was killed by a lightning strike on Sunday, June 16, 1935, on his 14^th birthday and his father’s 58th birthday.

Debbie Gates Marty, Patrick Newland, and Rory Newland are the other cousins in the photograph. In typical Gates fashion, I know that all three of them could relate some superb family memories. The family tales told by the Newland boys would have listeners laughing hilariously. Debbie and I might have more poignant remembrances. 
             In families, no matter what we achieve, how far we go from "home," who we become, or how long ago our memories occurred, as relatives, we share forever the bond of collective times unique to only our family. Never can those be taken from us. Each of our remembrances have impacted who we are. Let's treasure these memories as we cherish each other.

Grandpa Edmund Gates, Sr.'s birthday celebration in the two-room house in which he and Grandma
had raised 12 children. Left to right: Debbie Gates Marty, Patrick Newland, Mike Newland, me
(Bernadean Gates) barely visible behind Grandpa, Vickie Gates, Rory Newland, with his head barely
visible behind the cake, and Edmund Gates, Jr., my father.