RIP Bobbie Sue

[DuneAHH]

Always Happy

Greg was a happy li'l guy from the very beginning. Perhaps this early experience in being 'jailed' is what kept him cheerful during a later incarceration in a Walton Co. annex holding cell.


As he told me the story many years later, he'd been picked up for a driving infraction on his boat... BUI most likely.

Greg figured as long as he was forced to spend some time with Walton County's finest, he may as well get to know 'em and make his stay as enjoyable as possible. He reassured the gentlemen that he bore them no ill will, in fact appreciated their service and understood that, in nabbing him, they were just doing their job and a mighty fine one at that!

Promising that he posed no flight risk, he charmed them into agreeing to let him out of the holding cell. Whereupon they all proceeded to sit around and shoot the breeze. At some point Greg ran out of cigarettes (an indicator of just how many years ago this happened) and asked one of the deputies if he'd mind going to the store and picking him up a pack of cigs? Believe it or not the accommodating deputy agreed. Then, as if he hadn't pushed the envelope far enough already, Greg called after the deputy "Oh and while you're at the store how 'bout grabbing me a 6pack of beer too?!"

Cheeky. Very cheeky! Can you imagine???? Definitely an earlier era!

 

[DuneAHH]

Young Fishermen

more from Bill Moore who wrote:
Greg was my oldest friend in the world, and I don't have any peace with his passing yet, so wanted to write you a letter about Greg as I remember him.

Greg and I became acquainted when I entered Beaver's Academy in Miami Springs in 1951, about the time my dad went to work as a pilot for National Airlines. That is also where Fred Swearingen and Ray Williams entered the picture [Fred and Ray attended Greg's Life Celebration picnic]. We were a crew. We were all put through our paces, learned to read, write, play nice and ask to go to the bathroom before trouble brewed. Beaver's took care of 'K' and 1st grade. Next stop was Glenn H. Curtiss Elementary. Both Greg and I were at Curtiss for 2nd through 5th grades.

Some of my best memories of Greg were the times I would spend the night at his house. We'd get up early the next morning, have our sugar frosted flakes and head for the lake two blocks from his house. We'd take a few pieces of bacon, dough balls or balogna. We fished from the bank or sit on a large rock and cast into water that was a deep tea color. We caught lots of bream, a few bass, alligator gar, and an occasional tarpon.

Greg's dad died when Greg was only 7 I think [in fact, Greg was 9]. Mr. France had lung cancer and did not last very long after the definite diagnosis. Not long before he died, he had called Greg and I to his bed side. I guess I figured he had a bad cold or something, because he always had a bad cough. I remember him saying, "Hi Boys." He was smiling weakly and I remember thinking something was wrong. Greg didn't say much and in a few minutes we were in the back yard playing badminton.

When his dad passed, Greg was out of school for about two weeks. One day during that period I was called to the principal's office. I walked in wondering what I had done; only to be met by a smiling Mrs. Lilian Folkes (the principal) who said "I know you are Greg's good friend and we wanted to give him something since his father passed away. What does he like?" I replied "Well, he loves fishing." I think they bought him some fishing lures.

 

[DuneAHH]

Dammitgregory

more Bill Moore:

"Greg and I were sleeping over at his house, and we always had a tacit competition in the mornings over who could get dressed the quickest. I usually won. This particular morning Greg decided that THIS was HIS DAY. He got up and started putting on his shirt. I realized I was falling behind and got up pulling my pajama bottoms off and trying to find my underwear.

Greg seized his opportunity... I guess he jumped on it 'like a dog on the pants leg of opportunity!'. He yanked on his pants without first putting on underwear himself. When he pulled the zipper up, the rest is a blur.

The words I heard were "Mommy! OW! OW! OW! OW!" (try to imagine the howl of a lion cub with it's tail in the teeth of an alligator).

Next: "WHa... are you ok!? OH! Stand still. Stop jumping!
Dammit Gregory, do you want to cut it in two?!"

That is about all I remember as I was laughing so hard I couldn't see through the tears... however

this was just one example of why it was many young years before I knew that "Dammitgregory" was two words!"


Bill & DammitGregory ~ age 9

 

[DuneAHH]

Sharing "Honks" about Greg France's life leads me down many paths of glorious discovery! Not just about Greg... but other worthy folks as well. For instance, this gentleman Bill Haast: http://www.pbase.com/donboyd/memories_bill_haast whose story I stumbled upon while researching Greg's Miami Springs childhood stomping grounds and experiences collecting & selling snakes to the Miami Serpentarium. The numerous memories posted about Mr. Haast & the serpentarium demonstrate what an inspirational soul he was!


So many individuals (and families) lives are serial tales worthy of tribute and memorial. The modern day penchant for 'reality tv' holds zero interest for me... feels so scripted and UNreal (as Greg would say "Cheap & Superficial"). The stories that capture and inspire me are biographies of the authentic people, genealogies of real families, who contribute within their own spheres... and in so doing, permeate our collective experience.

I'm a proponent of illustrated stories; not just for kids, but for the kid in all of us. A picture is worth a 1,000 words (Riverotter's "Got pics?") roots every great human interest story, taking it beyond the fashionable writing style of any era.

In a way... biographies are documentaries... as related through the lense of shared memories. Since everyone's perception is unique, history gets rewritten again & again. As I'm finding with my Dead Grandmas' tales (as they're telling me from across the veil), rewriting of history can prove to be a wonderfully healing evolution. Truth is subjective... and mutable.

I hope you're enjoying reading Greg France "Honks" as much as I'm enjoying gathering, learning from, and sharing them!

Thanks to Bill Moore for sharing the link to Don Boyd's Memories of Old Hialeah and Old Miami...

 

[DuneAHH]

Enchanted Forest



L-R: Phil, Dennie, Stevie, Bill, and Gregory
Bill Moore wrote on the back of this photo:

"Not sure what Greg was looking at. He may have been thinking about his self described 'other planet' where the trees were purple and the grass was orange."

It is delightful to discover that "THE ENCHANTED FOREST" Greg so frequently talked about was part of his essence from the very beginning:

Where ya been Greg?
"Oh... just wandering around in the Enchanted Forest!"

Hey Greg whatchya up to?
"Teaching elephants to tap dance in the Enchanted Forest!"

Greg, how's life?
"It's always peachy in the Enchanted Forest!"

Greg kept his magic space ever accessible, within his heart, for his entire life through!!

An inspiration for all to cherish, and share, our uniquely individual inner magic

 

[DuneAHH]

Eternal Flame

In honor and loving memory of Gregory Thomas France.
Missing you Sweetheart.

 

[DuneAHH]

Red touch Yellow

Red touch yellow...​

T'was just another night with everything in the household progressing as usual. Certainly by dark on any given night Greg could be counted on to be piled up in the bedroom on the opposite side of the house; deeply inspecting the inside of his eyelids, a'work at the proverbial woodpile.

I'm in the home office intently focused on some project du'jour. Gizmo Gato comes slamming headfirst through the cat door flap, doing about 60mph. Peripheral awareness notes the furry orange flash galloping past my desk making his way into the living room. I don't pay any particular attention because Gizzie always barreled through the cat door like a bat-outta-hell... that was just part of his dashing swashbuckler cat routine! <shrug> no biggie.

All of a sudden this otherwise typical night turns topsy turvy. I hear Greg in the living room "Giz... what the fck?? Giz get back!! Donna!! GET out here!! Now!!"

Startled and mildly curious I glance at the clock thinking "What's Greg doing up? Have I worked through the night? OMG it's only 9pm! WHAT'S WRONG???" I lurch up out of the desk chair and bolt into the living room.

Greg is spraddle legged, dodge-dancing back and forth from one foot to the other, in a ½ crouch trying to keep Gizzie Gato at bay. The cat is darting in towards Greg's ankles first from one direction then another. "Donna QUICK! Get a broom... and a dust pan... NOW!! Giz STAY BACK!!"

Nearly-naked bed-head Greg and Giz are still dancing with the stars when I return with the broom "WHAT? WHAT?"
Greg jerks his chin down at the carpet "Snake".
I look down but in the dim lamplight see nothing other than the turkish rug pattern. "WHERE? I don't see it. WHERE?"
Giz is yowling "It's MINE! I caught it. Lemme at it! It's MINE!"
Greg: "Hand me the broom and get that crazy fckin' cat outta here!"

FINALLY... I spot movement camouflaged against the rug. "OH CRAP Greg! it's... it's... what's the saying? Y'know... something-something touch something-something kill a fellow! Greg what's that saying? YELLOW! ...Touch Yellow Kill a Fellow...! Which? Red touch yellow? Or black touch yellow?

Greg's hopping back and forth like a soccer player, fishing around trying to scoop up the slithering snake.
Giz is running circles around the couch "It's MINE!"
I'm yammering pieces-parts of rhymes, screeching at Greg "Is it's head V-shaped?? Can you see it's head?"

Amidst all the chaos, Greg manages to get the snake looped onto the broom handle "Baby open the front door so I can throw it outside."
Me: "FLing it! Fling it FAR AWAY from the house!
A bereft Gizmo Gato paces by the front windows growling: "Ahhh Maaan. It was MINE."

Closing the front door I turned on Greg "I know that was a deadly poisonous coral snake that you just weakly flipped into the leaves right by the front door. Dammit, why didn't you put some muscle behind it and hurl that sucker to kingdom come?? Whatever induced you to get up out of bed, and walk out into the living room at 9o'clock at night?? My God, it was fate. How fortunate for all of us. Gizzie could have been bitten. YOU could have been bitten. If you hadn't walked out at that very moment, that damned snake would have slithered into hiding right here in this house! Sweetheart, you saved us all from agonizing deaths by snake bite!"

Greg: "Baby, Calm d-o-w-n. I'm sure it was just a harmless Scarlet King Snake. Google it if you don't believe me. "

However. Greg was just as consumed with pouring over dozens of google pics & snake behavior descriptions as I was. Pointing out
"Oh yeah. See Baby? For sure: just a harmless Scarlet King. See?" For all his continued reassurances, a part of me remained doubtful.

A mere two nights ago Pratt, laughing his a$$ off, confirming the real truth. "Banjo (Pratt's nickname for Greg is Banjo) came over first thing the next morning and told me the whole story... and he said: that was definitely a coral snake... but DON'T tell Donna or I'll never hear the end of it."

Just a harmless Scarlet King Snake, ehhh Greg???
Greg-gone-over says:
"Well THAT'S my story and I'm stickin' to it! Whaddaya gonna do... kill me?"

 

[DuneAHH]

Pomp & Circumvent

Gregory ~ Age 4 ~ Easter 1952

POMP:
Greg: hair combed, slicked up in his little suit jacket, arm around his Mama Louise




Later that day...

CIRCUMVENTING Pomp:
Greg back to his essential self: OFF with the jacket (cuz suit jackets "suck eggs and bark at the moon"!) Hair all tousled, Easter basket in hand, and just HAPPY & LAUGHING to beat the band! I adore this pic!!!

 

[DuneAHH]

Happy 65th Birthday Bobby Sue!

 

[Crazy K]

Happy 65th Birthday Bobby Sue!

Miss you, Bobbie Sue!!