Mustangs make me think of him. Real Mustangs. THE Mustang. 1964 Candy Apple Red Mustangs. He had one. Brand new when they were brand new cool. Before they became even cooler over time. He had a new one and it just fit him because he was that cool. He was my older brother, my idol, the coolest of cool. Of course, he had to have the coolest car ever. It only made sense. He showed up in the car one day and it was natural that he did.
He was more to me than any other male at the time. More than Roy Rogers. More than Elvis. More than my father. More than any priest, politician, or hero…and he was my brother. He eeked cool. He had a leather studded garrison belt that he handed down to me. His hair was slicked back and pushed up in the front just like the guys in movies and the best TV shows. He was living cool and he was my brother. Old Spice was his choice of cologne, Elvis was his choice in music, don’t push me around was his attitude, he had a tattoo….and he was my brother. At that moment in time, he was what I wanted to be when I grew up.
When he joined the Air Force, joining the Air Force became cool. His garrison hat had a 50-mission crush before it was called a 50-mission crush. It was his hat, his way. When the way it looked was called a 50-mission crush, that became cool too. It was his first. He was cool before cool had other names. If I looked up cool in my life’s dictionary, his picture would there, circa 1964. He changed since then. I changed since then. The world changed since then. Yet, cool survived.
Mustangs are even cooler, Elvis even bigger, and memories even sweeter. Cool took lots of different shapes over the decades. Some cools are silly in hind site. Some past the test of time and still feel cool. He is like that. Cool is his because it was his first. Cool stays with him and always will. He is my brother and that is so damn cool that it trumps all other cools. He is the root of all cool and everything else follows our first cool.
He crashed the Mustang. Tore it in two in a crash that would have killed some. He broke a few ribs and wondered what the fuss was all about. He was cool even in a hospital bed having just dodged death in a Ford. The Mustang was gone but the cool was still his and would be regardless of what he drove or where he went. Cool was his and stayed with him…..after all, he is my brother. That is so very cool.
Happy Birthday, Jack.
I love you, Gil.
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