For about 20 years, Gene was part of a daily Dairy Queen Breakfast Gang, a group of men who met to eat, share laughs, discuss the news, and solve the world's problems over coffee, eggs and hashbrowns. The group started at the Dairy Queen on LaSalle near Baylor and changed in size often as we would welcome stragglers who came to eat alone in Dairy Queen -- and found friends for life.  Among those joining the group besides Gene and I were John Nottingham, County Judge Jim Lewis, Charles McCoy, James Evans (who managed Oakwood Cemetery down the street), city managers, policemen, politicians, corporate presidents, and many others. 

Sometimes we varied the eating joint: There was a stint at George's where quick-tongued Annie served and sassed us, and the Rocket Cafe where we grew to 15-20 people who occupied the front table.  If someone didn't show up, we'd sent out a search party.  In time, death robbed us of many of our crew, and now sadly it has taken Gene.  He often sat at the head of the table, and could take kidding and dish it out as best as anyone.  If you didn’t have a thick skin, it was no place for you. We shared good news and bad news, we worried, we prayed, and we offered hope -- and friendship.  Too bad the whole world couldn’t be like this.

Gene offered tales of cutting hair, and explained what a #1 cut and a #2 cut were - basically a #1 left you almost bald. Gene cut my hair, and one day -- in a manner of a joke -- I told him I wanted a #1 and a half cut.  But when he finished, it still looked to me very much like the usual #2 cut which I always asked for.  But I didn't want to comment either one way or another, because he was the one holding the razer when he trimmed my neck.

Gene appreciated his customers. They were more than numbers.  They had names, and Gene learned them.  He built up a very large and loyal following -- they knew when they would come in they would receive a warm welcome from the barber behind the number 1 chair by the window -- the chair that had a sign on it that clearly warned those who came to complain about politics:  Don't  Blame Me, I Voted GOP! 

He always made it clear that he admired George W. Bush, his Crawford neighbor.  The President knew Gene by name and called out to him when he bicycled by with his crew of secret service protectors who followed closely huffing and puffing.  Gene convinced the officers to come to his shop for a haircut, and some still come by. 

It was not easy to convince Gene to slowdown as the Big C wore him out, but he doggedly kept coming -- sometimes the next day about receiving a strong dose of chemo. Once he fell out and his barber buddies called 911 -- go in an ambulance??   No way, he revived and cut hair.

A fun thing about getting a haircut at University Barber Shop is the constant banter between barbers and between barbers and customers.  This was particularly true between Gene and his long-haired, motorcycle-riding barber Joe Bruce, who cut at the last chair in the shop.  They acted like troops in trenches, but they loved each other -- Joe will be a pallbearer for Gene, as will Keith Long, who has been there 14 years holding his own between Gene and Joe. 

When I came in I swore that Gene always purposefully lost count of "Who's Next?"  Seems like everyone got to go ahead of me, and then I figured it out:  He wanted to keep the undertaker waiting!  "That's my Undertaker over there," he would wisecrack, "I want to make sure to keep him waiting!"  

After I sold him a preneed policy where he picked out his own coffin and pre-paid everything, I began to wisecrack back:  "Yeah Gene, every day you live costs me money!"  I often imagined what the other customers thought about our laxity over death, but on one occasion one customer seemed suspicious of my vulture-like aggressiveness and said, "I hope they never find Gene in a ditch, they will come looking for you.”

Gene took an interest in his Customers.  On occasion I know he would lend them a helping hand and give them money when they were in a pinch. Once when one of his younger barbers died of cancer, Gene said if I would donate the funeral, he would buy the casket. Both of us wanted to make sure he had a good Christian burial. 

We may have cut too many corners because we decided not to pay the $300 fee for police escorts.  Instead I hung out the driver’s door and Gene out the passenger’s door of the hearse, frantically waving down cars at intersections.  I could only imagine what other motorists thought those two nuts were doing in a hearse.  But Gene had a good answer, “They probably think we stole it, robbed a bank, and were making a get away.”

Gene was a good man.  He had faults like you and me, but he always had a good attitude about life.  He did not go down easy, he fought cancer bravely.  And he really appreciated his wife Bobbie and how well she stood by him to the end, a trooper like him.

So good bye my friend, I loved you like family.  Your death grieves me, and while I can now cash in that preneed policy, I wish it wasn’t so.  You died too young, you had many more heads of hair waiting to cut.  While I came in and always wanted a number two cut, I want you to know, you were always number one with me.  

Dr Jim Moshinskie, President, OakCrest Funeral Home – June 20, 2015