Mrs. Gordon

She was always so kind to me. Listened closely when I spoke. Had to know I was intimidated by who she was. Made me feel welcome. Told me the most amazing stories. Her life snippets were like glossy pages from Life magazine – presidents, founders of the American industry, artists, patriots.

A life that mattered.

I came to know that Chissa Gordon had died, over a week after it happened. I learned the news from a friend. We each had our own stories from this great woman, clutched tightly to our hearts.

Anna Melissa Hogsett “Chissa” Gordon. 1918 – 2014.

Mrs. Gordon called me several years ago. ‘Had read some tales I’d written about Thurber, a ghost town her family had helped make great, putting thousands from around this nation to work, and thousands more who came here from around the world to work.

We shared a fascination with the haphazardly-stacked myths and legends and woeful triumphs that all ended inside the fence of Thurber’s lonesome hilltop cemetery.

I won’t bore you with those stories now.

We grew silent together over the lost little girl buried up there in an unmarked grave. I’d sought the girl’s name, her story, back before, when times were better.

Silence together, listening for her name.

I met Mrs. Gordon outside New York Hill Restaurant. She wanted to ride through the cemetery. I helped her up, slowly, into the front passenger seat of the dusty pickup. We were off, crossing the highway, opening the front gate.

Climbing the curving road up cemetery hill, we both told stories, mine collected from others, hers lived, mostly, first hand.

Mrs. Gordon saw up close as few still do the majesty of a working people. She had lived inside the milieu that day-by-back-breaking-day made America great once.

The rise and fall of Thurber stops thinking people cold.

I spent four times with this woman, one morning and three afternoon meetings, both here and in Fort Worth. Gracious, forthright, blindingly honest about the topics we talked around in our brief times together.

Elegant, brash, incisive – I learned about people from her. Ironically friendships gained and friendships severed conspired to bring our two paths together. She’d felt those ironies in her life too. I got a glimpse of a world seen through her eyes, through decades near and far away, a world that I would never have known in such detail and passion on my own.

Hearing her words, seeing the evidence, listening to her conclusions, I became enamored by the strength of her perspective. By the high quality of her intellect.

She was first a storyteller, at least with me, a witness to events and characters most only get a taste of from books. Her passing cannot properly be called a surprise.

But it was.

It is.

I won’t make grand pronouncements about her majestic life, her accomplishments, the impact this great lady had on people, on cities, cultural institutions, friends. I hope those closer to the action will report her family’s role in the founding and rise of Fort Worth, in the birth and growth of Texas industry, of philanthropy and education and class.

I will treasure the honesty that the great woman possessed, an honesty that let her be who she was. Honesty that let me know that fidelity to one’s calling is the noblest life one can ever lead.

Fidelity, faith, hard work.

Sadness, mixed with a mischievous smile comes to my face as I remember a sunlit room, a slightly impolite story that neither will ever repeat – shared between new friends.

A confidence I treasure. Her laughter that of a little girl not taking things too seriously. A grown woman who knew what mattered most.

She referred to me as a writer that day we first met, the nicest thing any woman has ever said to me, before or since.

“You must think I’m something, going on like that,” she told me the last time we were together.

I did.

I do.

Blessings and honors and heart-aching thanks, from me to you as you begin your next journey of grace. I hope to hear more stories. Mrs. Gordon.

I hope to hear from you.