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WORDS FOR MY BROTHER HOWELL H. GWIN, JR.
When I was 14, an older boy in my school started harassing me. I mentioned it at home. Magically the bullying stopped about three days later. Soon afterwards, the boy came up to me and said, " I don't have a big brother to look out for me." Howell was my protector. He could tease me or boss me or yell at me, but nobody else could! He was my playmate, my idol, my tormentor, my inspiration, my nemesis, my co-conspirator... in other words, my big brother. And after he told my parents that he approved of the boy I really, really, realy wanted to date, he also became my friend. For life. As we pursued our careers, he also became my trusted colleague But he never stopped being my idol.
My Dad used to say that Howell had bells in his soul. He loved to tell of a 3-year-old sitting in his stroller on Riverside Drive in New York. He heard a lovely bird song, listened intently, then bowed his head and said "Thank you, God."
You all know how smart he was. (For example, at about 13 he shot the head off a water moccasin, brought him home, dissected him, and nailed the snake to a board so everybody could see how a snake worked.) But does anybody know that he received a scholarship to nursery school? It was Horace Mann School, the nursery school run by Columbia University, very progressive, very child-oriented, almost totally unstructured. When he came home after his first day he asked "Do I have to do what I want to do?")
Howell was a born teacher. When I was 4 he taught me how to yell like Tarzan, and later he taught me how to hitch up grasshoppers to empty spools of thread to have grasshopper races around a sandy track. He taught me how to tighten my skate key so my skates wouldn't fall off, and which were the smoothest streets in Columbus, Mississippi. He taught me how to poke holes in mayonnaise jars to give the lightning bugs air so I could someday have a lantern. When I was 11 he taught me how to talk to boys. "You just ask them a question. If a boy says he likes airplanes, you say, 'Oh yeah? An airplane? Does it have wings on it?' That seems silly, but a boy will take one question and talk for hours." He taught me how to tie a Windsor knot for my band uniform. He coached me the night before my cheerleading tryout. And he was a pit bull with the boys I dated.
One memory stands out from our early years, along with his making me recite the ancient Indian chant: OWA TAGU SI AM and then running away laughing hysterically, leaving me to ponder what I had just said. When I was 4 or 5, we often had omelettes on Saturday for lunch. It seems a lady 2 or three blocks away had chickens, and on Saturdays my mother would send us to buy a dozen eggs which the lady wrapped in newspaper and placed carefully in a brown paper bag and told Howell to be careful taking them home. But it was more fun to bounce the sack on his thigh as we walked... hence the omelettes.
Howell was born funny. We always had dinner together as a family and often we sat at the table till 9 o'clock making up limericks while the gravy solidified in the serving dishes. His were always better than mine were, and he never let me forget that he knew more about versification than I did. As we grew older and didn't see each other as often, we could just cut to the punch line and not have to tell the whole joke. It saved lots of time.
He was ferociously brave and loyal to his own. When our dachshund, who didn't realize he was all of 8 inches tall, attacked a neighboring dog, Howell bounded out of the house and down the 15 stairs which led to the front hard, grabbed Leo in his arms, fell to the ground while cradling the dog, and delivered some kicks to the dog that any martial arts master would be proud of. All in a day's work. Leo was family.
As we grew up and started our own families, we grew in different directions but we found our way back to each other . And mostly we talked about teaching.
Howell had a hard time staying still when there was work to do. And that trait came in handy after we bought a house with problems. He and Elizabeth came over : while Elizabeth magically changed my curtain rods from Pepto-Bismol pink to a respectable navy blue, painting and reworking, he installed a clothesline, replaced a pillar outside, put up all my towel racks and soap dishes, and rooted out the causes of other various problems. When Rita hit they stayed several days. Howell did various chores, and their last morning with us when I got home from some errands all the leaves had been neatly raked up and put in bags, with a sign " Not responsible for leaves fallen after 11 a.m."
Howell loved his church. He loved his congregants and the ritual and the chili, and he loved reading at the early services, he loved being Moses, and he loved his brothers and sisters in the faith.
He loved his veterans, and looked forward to taking them to the hospital in Houston and listened carefully to their stories. He had been a child during world War II and filled most of his scratch paper with drawings of B-29s. Those men were his heroes, and he never let them forget it.
He loved Gilbert and Sullivan. He loved music and loved playing guitar. He sometimes performed for the UDC or the DAR. I remember him singing "I'm a Johnny Rebel, now that's just what I am... and for this land of freedom I do not give a damn..." on his great-grandfather's guitar. And he loved being a southern gentleman. When the Golden Age Club or one of the organizations of my grandmother and great-aunt came to our home for parties, he was always the one to offer the ladies his arm. One time one sweet little old lady decided she was going her way, wrested herself free of his arm and ended up stepping on a newly-planted pine tree seedling. He just pulled her up gently, smiling, and steered her to her car. (He carefully straightened out the seedling later.)
He loved Mississippi and defended it against the bigots who knew nothing of it. He loved Mississippi State and the Maroon Band, where he played bass clarinet with a man called Carl Barrett: they referred to themselves as "Gwin and Barrett." He loved being a band parent and his children's band student friends.
He hated ignorance, especially coupled with arrogance. He especially hated attitude. He told us, "The one thing Dad couldn't teach me was to suffer fools gladly." He never set out to win popularity contests, and he might have made people mad, but he never compromised his intellectual integrity. He read every single thesis and dissertation that crossed his desk... and had a lot to say about them. He hated bad grammar, imprecise writing and sloppy thinking. He respected and required documentation, even if it disagreed with his viewpoint.
He loved and was so proud of his children and grandchildren, and gloried in the adventures of his grandsons Wells and Logan, camping and hiking and skiing. About a month ago I posted a facebook meme that stated, "Happiness is... when you find out your children are good people." His reply was: " and we have that joy IN SPADES!!
You all at St. Mark's aren't the only ones who relied on Howell for prayers. At our family reunions, which became more numerous in the past 15 or so years, when it was time to eat we'd always find Howell, who cleared his throat and then let go with a "The Lord be with thee!" Everybody there snapped to attention and answered "And with thy sprit" or "And also with you" and the meal was ready to begin. The last prayer I heard him pray was offered three hours after the funeral of my cousin Carol last week, as the family gathered to give thanks in their grief. It was a beautiful prayer, one of his most eloquent, and we felt as if we had been blessed as much as the food.
He found great joy in the art of teaching. He was called to his vocation as surely as priest is called. Teaching was his first love, and we all benefited. Howell will live on in the students he has formed and the lives he has influenced.
When I think of Howell, a few lines stand out from a Sara Teasdale poem.
You are the rarest soul I ever knew,
Lover of beauty, knightliest and best;
When I think of you, I am at rest.
Rest in peace, Howell. I love you.
Saturday, September 12, 2015 |
