That was the signature phrase my Grandfather used in attempts to inspire a work ethic in his Grandchildren… a joke about the number of years, months and days he was in the workforce (never missing a paycheck was the punchline).  He would also calculate the stacked up height of the all the tuna fish sandwiches he ate for lunch during those years I suppose as a way to instill a sense of frugality.  

My Grandfather, Gordon Cochrane passed away Sunday, December 2nd, 2007. 

Some of us were more vagabond than others and probably needed those signature phrases.  They still make me laugh.  After travelling around the country during my younger years, not doing much but enjoying absolute freedom in my own life (and very little money), the words were little more than amusing. Unless, of course, I found myself flat broke and hungry at which point I could have gone for a tuna sandwich and a decent job.  It took awhile, but with the great generosity of my Grandfather, I fared pretty well in both education and employment. 

[More beyond the fold...] 

My Grandfather used to tell me he was a product of the Great Depression.  Born in Hudson Massachusetts in 1915, he told me about the hard times with butter sandwich dinners (sandwiches were a recurring theme), and the rare treat and celebration that was a carton of ice cream.  Something that made real sense as all of us family members observed his penchant for sweets.  And if there ever was a weakness in my Grandfather it was chocolate, which was one of the many substances (including salt!) banned from the household by my Grandmother when age, weight and health became a concern.  And lose weight he did! And through mid the 1970’s and much of the 1980’s he was in pretty good shape.  But being a lifetime member of the ’secret chocolate society’ simply meant he could no longer lavish himself with Hershey Bars, and had find more inventive ways to keep his membership in good standing.  A family friend recounted to me years ago that while staying at the house he found Gordon in the kitchen late one night spooning a mixture of sugar and baking chocolate into his mouth.  Sugar was banned not long after, and a great sadness fell opon the children.

World War II shaped my Grandfather like so many of his generation.  He was not a soldier in the war.  Instead, with General Electric under an apprenticeship program through MIT working on early turbine engines.  He and his group were spared from the battlefield.  The work was that important.   

He married my Grandmother, Patricia Hart in 1940.  The daughter of a rugged, Livingston Montana rancher, John Hart.  It wasn’t until after my Grandmother passed that I started learning more about him through the various diaries stored in our family home.  I digress simply because I found a passage among those entries that made me understand where my Grandmother’s own great wit had come from.  And perhaps why my Grandfather was drawn to her.  In one diary entry I read as he described the end of a less than successful elk hunt:

It was not a productive day and a great sadness fell upon camp when we realized the whiskey was gone. 

(That sounds quite familiar…)

Between 1946 and 1948, while Gordon was working for GE in Lynn Mass., and Pat had gone back to Montana after the birth of my Mother and Uncle.  I question the availability of a phone based on the numerous letters she had saved. It was during this time in the mid-late forties the discussions of moving to Hanford were brought up.  In a letter to Pat, Gordon wrote:

I have been thinking about Hanford again and wondering what it would be like living there.  What do you think about it?  Do you suppose there is anyplace to live around there?  There might be quite a bit of space there.  I will find out more about it soon.  The G.E. Co. operates the whole show including the town - even the street cleaners are on the G.E. payroll according to one article I read the other day.

They moved here in 1949 and never left.

Already politically active, the newly transplanted Gordon was elected as Benton County Democratic Chair by 1953.  I suspect it wasn’t a contentious race as the man he beat, Rudy Rice who owned a local flooring company, was always spoken of fondly.   But there was contention in local politics as he often found himself between labor, his political position and exempt status as a GE employee.  

In 1960 he was a delegate at the Democratic National Convention.  It was there he stood firm in his vote for then Presidential Candidate, Adlai Stevenson (there was a great deal of correspondence between my Grandparents and Adlai.  I often wonder what this country would be like had Stevenson won).

There are stacks and stacks of correspondence from so very many prominent political figures throughout the years.  The basement of the old house is a veritable time capsule of local, state and national politics.  But what I remember well was his unwavering support of my Grandmother’s own pursuits.  She served in the Washington State Legislature (8th LD) in the 1975, was the first director of our regions Community Action Committee, Chairwoman of the Ben Franklin Legal Aid Services and much more. It was also suggested to me that her lobbying efforts with then Sen. Brock Adams, were a large factor in the Hanford Cleanup Mission that provides this area so much of the prosperity it enjoys today. 

The call came in around 4pm last Sunday and Gordon’s condition had deteriorated from my last visit earlier in the week at the Washington Odd Fellows Home in Walla Walla (I cannot say enough good things about the folks there).  It was very windy and raining pretty hard when I drove down to be with him.  There really isn’t much you can do.  It’s how it goes and someday I thought, it may be me taking my last breaths and perhaps a grandson by my side.  His breathing was labored.  This was the first time I’ve been faced with the death of a family member in this up-close manner.  There is a certain amount of helplessness and yet relief, that this good old soul should not suffer any longer.  My Grandfather always told me “never get old”, but chances are I will.  I plugged my iPod headphones in his ears and with the volume low, played him the beautiful and haunting Neko Case… some Dylan.  Soothing stuff.  Held his hand. His breathing relaxed. 

I left him around 11:30 for the hotel to get some rest… he passed at 11:50. 

I asked friends to provide me memories in that perhaps I could write a proper obituary.  He had actually commissioned me some 15 years ago to write one in which he would editorialize (to make sure I got it right).  I could never find it but between his friends and family, filling in the blanks of our aging memories, the official Tri-City Herald version was created (no link yet).   

I asked one old friend, Joel Connelly - Seattle PI, over email if he had anything profound to share.  My Grandfather thought very well of Joel and would always point out his articles to me over the years.  What I got back from Joel was priceless.  A reflection of my Grandfathers great sense of humor and his sense of commitment to the public good.  He wrote:

‘Memories of Gordon:

  • He was holdout Adlai Stevenson delegate to the 1960 Democratic National Convention . . .but welcomed John F. Kennedy at N-Reactor dedication in 1963. 
  • He was a strong advocate of peaceful uses of nuclear energy (or, as Dwight Eisenhower twisted it, the “useful pieces of atomic energy”), and wanted Hanford to be a scientific rather than a military center.
  • He was first to turn me on to the natural wonders of the Hanford Reach, from the white cliffs, to the gaggle of pelicans, to the native American artifacts.
  • He also taught me the evils of cheatgrass, from sticking to trousers to spawning super-hot brush fires.
  • He was deeply devoted to Pat, and to Pat’s legacy.
  • He could understand a mumbling Warren Magnuson.
  • Gordon was forever warning me of dangerous narrow lanes along (Richland’s) George Washington Way, and the speed traps on the highway to the Vernita Bridge.
  • He loved a good libation and had a sparkling sense of humor.
  • Our last laugh together, the blooper P-I headline:  “Kennewick Man wins state lottery.”
  • Our next to last laugh: A suggestion that the famous British anthropologists, the Leakey family, stop their excavations in the Great Rift Valley of East Africa, and move base to Ephrata, Wash. The rationale:  If the Leakeys wanted to see humankind in its most primitive form, all they had to do was attend a meeting of the Grant County Commissioners.

That was my Grandfather.

In a large sense, my Grandfather played more of a father role in my life as I believe he did with many of the Grandchildren.  I was often with my Grandparents for extended periods including many of my teenage years (sympathy to them).  My earlier years are scattered with doorbelling and political events.  As I grew older, and being a bit of a hell raiser, I didn’t recognize those events for what they were, and I’m not sure how they put up with me.  I had an independent streak that ran pretty deep.  I didn’t really “get” them as much as I should have. But as I have grown, so has my understanding.  My own political inclinations, however,  are more likely a genetic hand-me-down than any direct influence.  I don’t really know.  But I do know without them, I wouldn’t be who I am today.

After my travels I returned to the Tri-Cities.  Broke, directionless and often hungry, it was the constant encouragement of my Grandfather that pushed me towards higher education.  He provided me a place to live, tuition, money for gas and food and even talked me into getting braces for my teeth (which he paid for).  It was an unprecedented amount of unconditional love.    

This was a generation of people that many people my age don’t completely understand.  Even our children.  I remember bringing my step children over for Halloween.  My Grandfather gave them pennies.  I knew the meaning… Pennies for Unicef. We didn’t have the required orange Unicef box. But I vividly remember carrying the orange box door to door when I was very young (all the while hoping I got some candy too).  The pennies were just dropped into the pillow case of candy. It was a completely alien concept to my kids.  They didn’t get it but… they remember.  Perhaps it was a message.

Gordon Cochrane: 10.15.1915 - 12.2.2007