My Dad's Birthday

My dad, Curtis Claunch Gillespie, Jr. This picture was taken at the Gator Bowl in 1979 I think, when Clemson played and got stomped by Pitt. I have always loved this picture. My dad was 48 or 49.

Today April 30, 2008 would have been my dad's 78th birthday. He died a rather unusual accidental lonely death in June of 1989, a few days before I moved to Greensboro. I think of the line in "Mr. Bojangles" as describing myself - "after 20 years he still grieves."

My dad was a "man's man," a big burly fellow, very athletic in his days at Dreher High school in Columbia, with an entrepreneurial spirit and an artist's touch. He was a Southern gentleman. As I type I am looking at three amazingly beautiful roses he painted, which are framed and hanging on my living room wall above the piano. He was outgoing, and hit it off well with almost everyone.

He graduated from UNC Chapel Hill, in 195o I think, with a major in commerce. He met my mom while serving in the Air Force, stationed at the base outside Sherman Texas, her home town.

When I was about 10 years old he stepped away from a 15 year career in the insurance industry to start a dry cleaning business, which, with four kids, was a pretty gutsy move. I worked at Gillespie Cleaners all through Jr. High and High School, and off and on afterward. His mantra, "the customer is always right," has stuck with me over the years. So has the way he treated his employees, regardless of race or gender or economic class, or whatever. He had people working for him for twenty years, and I am talking "in the back" at a dry cleaners where it is hot and loud. I think that says a lot right there. They were like family to him, and to me. I miss them too.

When he died my brother Bobby took over the business. Bobby treated folks the same way.

Many people know that my dad had become a binge alcoholic by the time I was in Junior High school. He would be sober for several months, and then for whatever reason would slip, have a beer, and usually try to hide that he had, but we could always tell. That began a two or three week binge. He would end up on straight vodka, by the quart, totally passed out for a week or so. The stories I could tell! It wasn't fun, though there were a few funny episodes.

Some people who knew me then think of my dad or define him in those terms. But he was much much more than that, and I remember now mostly the good things. I feel compassion for him, in my memory, as to his problems. He went through terrible cycles, and I sat with him over the years as he went through unbelievable terrible withdrawals. I am amazed that they didn't kill him. It got better as he got older, thankfully.

He was a gambling man. Since he was always betting on some game, we were always listening to and watching sports. And he was all Tar Heel. Tar Heel blue ran deep to the core. So he was always betting on the Tar Heels. We had radios of all kinds, so even if North Carolina (the name we South Carolinians give to your state school) were playing in Alaska, he would find it on the radio. He waited a long time for a basketball championship between 1957 and 1982. I was there with my good friend Jim Hamrick in my dad's den watching the game with him and my mom in 1982. It was a happy moment.

He had a temper and could cuss like a sailer (like when he couldn't find his keys or a pen or his glasses, or when we had our music on way too loud), and he had no clue how to deal with children who came to age in the sixties, but he and I were always close, even when we argued. He always encouraged me, always told me he loved me, always hugged me when I left to go back to college or even just left to go back to my house, after I had left home.

We watched a lot of TV, and despite the fact that I was 13 in 1970, and was already into rock music, there was a lot of music we loved together - Andy Williams, Tony Bennett, Burt Bacharach, Dionne Warwick, Glen Campbell, Johnny Cash, and Bobby Darin, for example. We watched Johnny Carson a lot together too. We went to see John Denver together in 1976. And movies - we went to a ton of movies, many of which I had no business seeing!

I miss him more than I can say. I dream of him at least every week. My new employer at the time demanded I report to duty on July 1, a few days after he died, and I felt I never got to grieve. But then, I guess I always will, grieve, I mean.

I have many memories of my dad, and so much more I'd love to share, but this will do for now.

I wish you were here Dad.

You can see more pictures of my dad here.