July 23, 2014 at 2:10 p.m.
The story of how Gordon got his hair (12/26/07)
Back in the Saddle
By By JACK RONALD-
Everyone remembers those tales from childhood about how the bear got his tail and how the zebra got his stripes and all the rest.
This is the story about how Gordon got his hair.
The late Gordon Meeker was one of Jay County's most colorful characters. A lawyer by training, he was a sales executive for Portland Forge for many years before his retirement.
He was also a staunch Republican, an avid golfer, an inveterate and always entertaining story teller, and the owner of more pairs of ugly golf pants than anyone else in Indiana.
And he was also bald most of his adult life.
For most of those years, Gordon wore his baldness proudly. As a kid, that's the only way I knew him.
But all that changed one fateful New Year's Eve back around 1964 or so. There was a party that night, of course.
Every New Year's Eve as far back as I can remember, my parents joined a circle of their good friends to ring out the old year and ring in the new. It wasn't anything fancy, and I suspect in later years it ended soon after everyone watched the ball fall in Times Square on television. That's the way most New Year's Eve parties end.
But there were games and ice-breakers, things like charades.
It was in that spirit that my mother took something special to the party that year.
The Beatles were just hitting American shores. Their music crowded the top of the charts. Their cheeky irreverence was capturing the country. And their haircuts were a common topic for discussion, sometimes heated and sometimes comical.
To flat-topped and buzz-cut Hoosiers, the mop-tops were something to behold, though they look pretty tame in retrospect.
With records flying out of stores, some enterprising entrepreneur decided that what the world needed was a Beatle wig. Not a real wig with real hair, of course, but some cheap synthetic thing to be worn as a gag while singing along to "She Loves You" or "I Wanna Hold Your Hand."
G.C. Murphy's sold them, and that's probably where my mother bought the one she took to the New Year's Eve party at the Meeker house.
As a gag, it was a big hit.
I have no idea how many people tried it on that night. I was home watching our grainy black and white TV, doing my best to stay awake.
But one of those who tried it on was Gordon.
First it was for laughs, but before the evening was over he decided that he looked pretty darn good, even if it was just a cheap novelty item from the dime store.
And if he looked good in that, well, who knew how good he could look in something classier.
He started shopping the next day.
And by the time the next New Year's Eve rolled around, it was standard equipment both at the Forge and on the golf course.
In later years, he often didn't bother with it. But it had done its work, reminding the world that Gordon Meeker was one in a million, always ready to march to his own drummer. Even if the drummer was Ringo Starr.
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This is the story about how Gordon got his hair.
The late Gordon Meeker was one of Jay County's most colorful characters. A lawyer by training, he was a sales executive for Portland Forge for many years before his retirement.
He was also a staunch Republican, an avid golfer, an inveterate and always entertaining story teller, and the owner of more pairs of ugly golf pants than anyone else in Indiana.
And he was also bald most of his adult life.
For most of those years, Gordon wore his baldness proudly. As a kid, that's the only way I knew him.
But all that changed one fateful New Year's Eve back around 1964 or so. There was a party that night, of course.
Every New Year's Eve as far back as I can remember, my parents joined a circle of their good friends to ring out the old year and ring in the new. It wasn't anything fancy, and I suspect in later years it ended soon after everyone watched the ball fall in Times Square on television. That's the way most New Year's Eve parties end.
But there were games and ice-breakers, things like charades.
It was in that spirit that my mother took something special to the party that year.
The Beatles were just hitting American shores. Their music crowded the top of the charts. Their cheeky irreverence was capturing the country. And their haircuts were a common topic for discussion, sometimes heated and sometimes comical.
To flat-topped and buzz-cut Hoosiers, the mop-tops were something to behold, though they look pretty tame in retrospect.
With records flying out of stores, some enterprising entrepreneur decided that what the world needed was a Beatle wig. Not a real wig with real hair, of course, but some cheap synthetic thing to be worn as a gag while singing along to "She Loves You" or "I Wanna Hold Your Hand."
G.C. Murphy's sold them, and that's probably where my mother bought the one she took to the New Year's Eve party at the Meeker house.
As a gag, it was a big hit.
I have no idea how many people tried it on that night. I was home watching our grainy black and white TV, doing my best to stay awake.
But one of those who tried it on was Gordon.
First it was for laughs, but before the evening was over he decided that he looked pretty darn good, even if it was just a cheap novelty item from the dime store.
And if he looked good in that, well, who knew how good he could look in something classier.
He started shopping the next day.
And by the time the next New Year's Eve rolled around, it was standard equipment both at the Forge and on the golf course.
In later years, he often didn't bother with it. But it had done its work, reminding the world that Gordon Meeker was one in a million, always ready to march to his own drummer. Even if the drummer was Ringo Starr.
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