My brother George

I grew up with seven brothers. The oldest one, Bill, died when I was only four, so I can't remember him so much. From oldest to youngest was George, me, Joe, Andrew, Thomas, David ,and last but not least, Rex.

We all were born at home. In attendance, would be my dad, my mom (of course) and whichever one of us that was beginning our new life. My dad was not a physician by trade but a chiropractor. I ,for one, am very grateful he had learned more than just how to straighten out backs. Seriously, my dad was an amazing man in either knowing how to do something, or learning how to do just about anything he wanted to do. I've thought of how he must have felt every time one of us was born. Especially with the first, Bill, born in Chicago where my parents met and married. I would have been scared to death. Can you imagine? Delivering your own baby? At home?

But this story is about George. I think we all need our story told. George and I were born in the same small town named, Galena Park. We lived in a small frame house and my dad had his office in Highlands Texas a few miles a way. Once again using the lame excuse that I was very young and don't remember much of that period of time.

George, from what I can remember always said what was on his mind. He always stayed busy and seemed to pick up on the mechanical things my dad used to try and teach us. George was always physically bigger than Joe, Andy & I so when we played games outside or had to mow the yard with a push mower or George wanted something his way, he got it, because he was bigger...right? Well one day Joe, Andy and I had decided we had had enough of his bullying us around, so we were going to gang up on him and beat him up good. George just laughed at us like we weren't going to have the guts to do it. So the three of us got together and made a plan to surround him and on the count of 3 we would all jump him. So here we are all surrounding George, and I counted outloud...1...2...3, and I charged at him with all I had. The only problem was that Joe and Andy chickened out. When I looked around and saw this I was already in George's arm length. So he proceeded to kick my ass like a rag doll and Joe and Andy stood in the background saying, we're sorry, we're sorry. That didn't make it hurt much less. So that was the last time we ever tried a coo against George again, until we got big enough not to have to take his crap anymore. We were kids. Thats what kids do...Lol What turned out to be George's primary talent was music. He would sing while playing guitar, played piano, trombone in the school band, trumpet. He was very proficient at all of them. On the weekends sometimes a few band members from school and George would meet up at the house and learn songs on their own. When George was about seven he was mowing the yard with a riding lawnmower and had an accident that almost killed him. He got off the mower to move the water hose and the mower slipped into drive running into George. I wont go into detail but he lost half his right foot and was in the hospital off and on for over a year and no telling how many surgeries. That laid him up for quite a while. He had this unbelievable surgeon named Dr. Brodski. Had it not been for him, George would have lost his whole right foot. But he basically had to learn to walk again with only three toes on the right foot. George was one strong determined kid. My dad always encouraged us to learn music, take piano lessons until we just decided we did or didn't want to do it anymore. He basically wanted us to appreciate music.

In 1965 after my dad decided to turn part of our home into a restaurant named Seven Sons Steakhouse, where we all worked, at some point the 4 older brothers, George, me, Joe, & Andy would bring out a small cake and sing Happy Birthday or Happy Anniversary, whichever was applicable.Then he wanted us to learn "Let me Call You Sweetheart" (in four part harmony) to sing along on the anniversaries. Then he decided we should learn few Christmas Carols for the holidays. This was really getting out of hand. Before our voices finally changed, we had sung for the Houston Shriners, Kitirik, MariJanes Magic Castle & The Roy Rogers show on local TV. We even had a customer write to Ed Sullivan and tell them they should audition us.(Although nothing came of it) It was fun but we did get tired of it. George still sang with his guitar and would have the women crying when he sang the song named "Honey." He was good. A natural. Kind of let it go to his head so he was hard to be around sometimes. We finally disbanded, and George left home at sixteen to pursue a singing career. Well that and the fact that he and my dad were both as hard headed as rocks, rarely got along together at this point. My dad had a ferocious temper. One time George took a stand on something and my dad got so furious he went after George with a baseball bat. Thank goodness George could run faster than my dad, even with a bum leg. Wasn't long after that George left. He actually joined a group and traveled the northeast U.S. making a living in music. That made him our hero. (my brothers & I ). This was the mid seventies, when the best music ever was being made, in my opinion. When he was in town I would try and hang out with him because it always meant chicks were around. He was always trying to brush me off, like I was some kind of a groupie. Come on, he wasn't that big yet. That life didn't last long. Once he realized how tough it was to make a living, he broke down and got a regular job. Eventually, he got into computers and did that until he passed in 2004 working at the University of Houston. Unfortunately I didn't know George that well when he died. He was always a loner and didn't have much to do with the family for years. I hope he was happy.