The Profundity of Having Brothers
We all four grew up in Atlanta, my three brothers and I. We grew up in a suburban residential neighborhood on Piedmont Road near the corner of Peachtree & Piedmont. The celebrities on our stretch of Piedmont were The Atlanta Constitution’s editor, Ralph McGill, and Frank Gordy, who started and ran The Varsity restaurant, starting from when he was a student at Georgia Tech.
In our adult career years, we all branched out from Atlanta. In between stints in other settings, some as far away as California and France, I always managed to come back to Atlanta. In contrast, my three brothers after college were mostly back just for special occasions. The oldest, now 86 years old, lives with his wife in Denver. The next brother, age 83, lives with his wife in St. Louis. I’m number three, now 81 and, with my wife, in Atlanta. And my younger brother, age 75, lives with his wife in South Royalton, Vermont (home of the Vermont Law School).
This past week eight of us – brothers and wives – spent three full days together in St. Louis, something we’ve tried to do annually over the past two decades in one of our cities or the other. This seemed to be an especially rich time, sharing walks and food together, with no other agenda really but to love each other and to sense where each person is. We used to evaluate each other by asking, “What have you read lately?” or “What movies have you seen recently?” Those judgements seemed unnecessary this past week; we saw the hours we had together as precious. Maybe it was an unspoken sense that we may not have each other in this way forever. For the longest stretch of one’s life there is the subconscious sense that we will live in this realm forever. Then the realization comes that such is not likely so.
Here are a few excerpts from my memoir, Don’t Miss the Miracles,[1] that will give you a sense of just how close we were as brothers growing up:
· From the time I can remember, Dick was always to me a Greek god. I know that was a blessing because I always admired him as someone to emulate. He appeared to me, five and a half years younger, to be handsome, built, and serious. We, his younger brothers, respected him. (32)
· I didn’t want to disappoint Dick; I feared that more than letting our parents down. (32)
· Dick set the example for the three of us who followed behind him of being modest about his athleticism and achievements; and he placed a high priority on sportsmanship. (33)
· I wish I had been as good a big brother to Warren as Dillon was to me. I’m sure it must have existed, but I don’t remember discord between Dillon and me …. he always seemed glad to have me tag along. When his friends would come over from school in my early double-digit youth, he was always glad to include me in touch football games or whatever they might be up to. (39)
· I followed Dick and Dillon to Vanderbilt. (41)
· Dillon and I ran Vanderbilt track together for the two years we overlapped as Vanderbilt students. (41)
· Upon my 1962 Vanderbilt graduation, I headed to NYC—my first time there—to stay a few days with Dillon. (41)
· We honestly couldn’t tell any stronger love from Mom or Dad for any one of us over the others. There was great comfort for us brothers in that fact, and that may have contributed to why we never fought. (44)
· Warren became a terrific little brother. We played together hour upon hour …. We shared the big room across the back of the house. (44)
· Warren and I each had our own shotguns and would go hunting together some in the winters. (45)
These childhood and pre-marriage years we had together have, I believe, given us brothers strength and confidence to go our separate adult ways, pursuing our careers and other interests, while keeping up with each other, if even from a distance. Now, even more than ever, we understand the profundity of BROTHERHOOD, and we don’t want to let it go.
[1] See chuckjohnstonmemoir.com for access to the book.
