Bear hugs, basketball and Bruuuuuuce

Dearest Benjamin and Melissa,
I am among the legions of fans of your dad and one of the many who considered him to be a close, deeply treasured friend. In fact, I’ve always thought of him as a brother.
The last time I saw Greg in person was in 2010 at our college reunion. I was still grieving deeply over the end of my marriage the previous year. Greg had been there at the very beginning of that 17-year relationship and he knew how much it meant to me. When I would dissolve into tears, as I did a couple of times that weekend, he would give me one of his patented bear hugs, and each time I could feel a bit more of the awfulness slip away.
Before he left to head back to Singapore, he sent me this text message, which is still saved on my phone: “Love u olise. Just remember to show a little faith there’s magic in the night … greggy greg”
There’s a lot of great stuff embedded in this little note. There were the nicknames: “O’lise,” which I picked up due to my fondness for a Galveston bar called O’Malley’s, and “Greggy Greg,” a nickname my cousin Lara and I gave him in the early ’90s because we found the rap duo name DJ Jazzy Jeff & Fresh Prince so hilarious. (It should also be noted that we call Gil Saldivar “Gil B. Gil.”) But even better was the Springsteen lyric. Greg and I enjoyed sharing our musical obsessions with each other: Bruce Springsteen and the Who, respectively. We both appreciated the other’s deep passion, knowledge and devotion to our favorite bands. Seeing Greg singing along to a Springsteen song, mimicking Springsteen’s signature moves, was a joyous sight to behold. I can see it very clearly even now.
One other passion Greg and I (and many others of his friends) shared was sports. This shared connection, specifically to the NBA’s Houston Rockets, was brought sharply back into view for me after learning of his death. The day after Greg died, I had to have my 17-year-old cat (whom I’d had since he was two months old) put to sleep. That cat was named Rudy T. in honor of long-time Rockets coach and player Rudy Tomjanovich. We’d adopted Rudy the same year the Rockets won their second national championship. One of the many great things about that championship series was that I got to share the experience with Greg at a sports bar in Austin. The Rockets were up against the Orlando Magic and their highly touted rookie center, Shaquille O’Neal. The Rockets swept the Magic during that series, and I remember roaring with laughter as Greg scooted around that sports bar sweeping it with an imaginary broom. That signature exuberance and incredible smile that all his friends are describing to you was on full display. I’m not a religious person but I can’t help but hope that he and my kitty are together watching the NBA playoffs right now.
I have so many indelible memories of Greg and am so incredibly thankful for those and for having the privilege of being his friend. And yet I feel ripped off (for myself and for you both) to have him gone so soon. It’s just devastating. As I wrote on his Facebook profile yesterday: Such a bright light has been extinguished from this earth that not even the sun, making one of its rare springtime appearances here in Seattle today, can begin to compensate.
All my love to you both and to the irrepressible, irreplaceable Greggy Greg,
Elise

Benjamin, as with any priceless gem, your father had many facets. Elise offers her own “origin story” for the “Greggy Greg” nickname, and I offer you mine…
When your father served as elected Editor-in-Chief of the Rice University student newspaper, I sometimes helped him distribute copies of the newspaper from the back of your Grandpa Arnie’s Volkswagen Rabbit after the publisher finished printing copies at around sunrise on Friday mornings.
As we left the publisher, a red traffic light stopped us at an intersection dominated by a billboard displaying an advertisement that contained a single HUGE photo of Mark Wahlberg, who was trying to change careers to modeling from his earlier job as a dancer/singer nicknamed “Marky Mark.”
In the photo, Mark Wahlberg’s image offered an image that many might describe as “handsome,” “muscular” or “attractive,” and (as your father and I couldn’t stop ourselves from gazing up at the giant advertisement, like when your mother drives past a car accident) I saw your father start to smile as a joke hatched in his mind.
Let me assure you of two things:
1. As the following exchange unfolded, I knew where your father’s humor was leading me almost before he started talking, and — the more my face communicated to him the predictability of his humor — the funnier he thought he was being.
2. No sane person could possibly have compared me to Mark Wahlberg’s image on that billboard.
He turned to me (trying hard not to giggle) and said, “Hey, there’s Marky Mark!”
“Yes,” I replied calmly. “His new modeling career seems inescapable.”
“You know,” he said, pausing to convince me that he had no hidden plan, “you kind of remind me of him.”
“You don’t say!” I shot back at him, nearly interrupting him.
“In fact, I think I’ll start calling you Gilby Gil! Is that okay?”
I looked at him sideways, trying to make him admit that he would call me that name regardless of whether I gave him permission, which only made him laugh harder.
He tried to console me by saying, “Hey, you can call me Greggy Greg!” but I asked, “Why, so you can call me Gilby Gil?!!”
Anyway, the name stuck and became a badge among friends.
I look forward to seeing you soon, God willing.

2 Comments on “Bear hugs, basketball and Bruuuuuuce”

Kathleen Trail says:

May 13, 2013 at 10:55 am

Not sure that it was wise for me to read this at work, since I am a weepy, snotty mess now, but it was a gift to feel Greg in these memories…..

Gilbert Saldivar says:

May 12, 2023 at 3:55 pm

Benjamin, as with any priceless gem, your father had many facets. Elise offers her own “origin story” for the “Greggy Greg” nickname, and I offer you mine…
When your father served as elected Editor-in-Chief of the Rice University student newspaper, I sometimes helped him distribute copies of the newspaper from the back of your Grandpa Arnie’s Volkswagen Rabbit after the publisher finished printing copies at around sunrise on Friday mornings.
As we left the publisher, a red traffic light stopped us at an intersection dominated by a billboard displaying an advertisement that contained a single HUGE photo of Mark Wahlberg, who was trying to change careers to modeling from his earlier job as a dancer/singer nicknamed “Marky Mark.”
In the photo, Mark Wahlberg’s image offered an image that many might describe as “handsome,” “muscular” or “attractive,” and (as your father and I couldn’t stop ourselves from gazing up at the giant advertisement, like when your mother drives past a car accident) I saw your father start to smile as a joke hatched in his mind.
Let me assure you of two things:
1. As the following exchange unfolded, I knew where your father’s humor was leading me almost before he started talking, and — the more my face communicated to him the predictability of his humor — the funnier he thought he was being.
2. No sane person could possibly have compared me to Mark Wahlberg’s image on that billboard.
He turned to me (trying hard not to giggle) and said, “Hey, there’s Marky Mark!”
“Yes,” I replied calmly. “His new modeling career seems inescapable.”
“You know,” he said, pausing to convince me that he had no hidden plan, “you kind of remind me of him.”
“You don’t say!” I shot back at him, nearly interrupting him.
“In fact, I think I’ll start calling you Gilby Gil! Is that okay?”
I looked at him sideways, trying to make him admit that he would call me that name regardless of whether I gave him permission, which only made him laugh harder.
He tried to console me by saying, “Hey, you can call me Greggy Greg!” but I asked, “Why, so you can call me Gilby Gil?!!”
Anyway, the name stuck and became a badge among friends.
I look forward to seeing you soon, God willing.