It was friendship at first handshake.
Don’t ask me to explain it. “Big Mike” extended his hand. His grip was firm, not to the point where it became obvious overkill, but enough to let you know it was a solid handshake from a solid guy. He looked me in the eye, the way a man who knows exactly who he is does, and he delivered that telltale warm smile that came with the 6-foot-5 territory. Honestly, I don’t know how that gangly yet broad frame squeezed into the back of that United States Air Force F-105F Thunderchief while flying death trap missions over Vietnam. But that question didn’t come up until much later.
Mike Gilroy didn’t crow about being an American war hero. He didn’t shy away from it, either, but he never “ran it up the flagpole.”
You could get to know quite a bit about Mr. Gilroy (I liked to call him that for fun) before you knew he was shot down over Hanoi in 1966 as a member of the Air Force’s hand-picked and heroic Wild Weasels squadron. One historical website put it in perspective: “Their mission was no less than suicidal, but despite the odds they pressed on and did their jobs, defying death at every turn. … the Weasels saved countless lives in the performance of their duties.”
Mr. Gilroy survived being shot down by a surface-to-air missile. He ejected from the plane and was rescued a few hours later after a water landing. Years later, he survived being the mayor of Gilroy (he’ll chuckle if his wife Patricia gets a chance to read him this line.)
But my good and true friend will not survive much longer. Just a few days ago, the heartwrenching news: stage 4 pancreatic cancer. He is in hospice at home outside of San Antonio, TX being lovingly cared for by Patricia. He moved to the south to retire after rendering great service for many years to the city founded by his great, great grandfather, John Cameron Gilroy. Think about it: How fortunate were we as a community to have a descendant of the city’s founder more than 100 years later, a thoughtful man of great integrity with superlative leadership qualities, sit on City Council and ascend to the mayor’s chair?
Mike’s life is an amazing tale. A man’s mosaic is assembled with actions, interactions and revealing tidbits that fall together …
Mike’s go-to local wine: burgundy from Fortino Winery … If Mike had a dress-up outfit other than a crisp blue blazer paired with an American classic diagonally striped tie, you wouldn’t know it … Mike didn’t much care to part with pennies, that Scotsman background I teased him about, but he’d generously buy you a beer or dinner or give copious time and talent to a worthy cause.
He took golf on in the best way as a friendly-fierce competitor. With a little cash on the line, he sure as hell didn’t want to be the guy reaching for his wallet at the end of the round. But … and that reminds me of yet another quality in short supply that he exemplified: Mike knew how to “lose gracefully.” When the San Francisco Giants beat the Texas Rangers in the World Series, my case of Lone Oak Texas Tempranillo arrived in less than a week. (By the way, big fella’, I’m still drinking a bottle every October.)
Whatever the stakes, Mike delivered. When his daughter Denise faced the task of raising twin boys as a single mom, Mike stepped in for years to lend a strong, but gentle hand. They needed him, he was there. They were taught to address him as “Sir”, not for Mike’s sake but to learn respect and to accept a measure of personal humility that Mike knew would serve them well during their lives. It wasn’t the conventional or easy way, but Chris and Tim are old enough now to understand Mike’s way was the right way.
My friend has chosen to be buried here, not in Arlington, VA within the storied fields of revered American heroes. No surprise. He’s a hometown hero kind of guy. He loved being mayor, he loved being able to make a difference. Patricia – Mike really enjoyed saying her full first name – said he wants a plot at St. Mary’s Cemetery not too close to First Street because he’s not a traffic fan but close enough to “watch over things.”
He’s sleeping most of the day now, I think going over the final checklist. I got a kick out of the news that he woke up and asked for a root beer float. And a few days ago, he rose to play the piano a little bit for his visiting sister, Irene, and nephew. Ah, the yin and the yang, Mike as mayor – warrior-tough on crime with a soft spot for arts and culture … a Renaissance man who came out of Vietnam with his head held high.
Calling Mike Gilroy my friend is one of the true honors and blessings in my life. I have a letter from him that I read when life knocks me to the canvas. It lifts me, it sings my best qualities and gets me back in the ring. I hope my children read it someday and think it’s true. I think it makes me better than I am.
But that’s Mike Gilroy. He made things better. There were heroic feats, small gestures, first handshakes and friendly greetings for strangers while walking to breakfast downtown at OD’s.
Reflecting on Mike, Rudyard Kipling’s glorious poem, “If” comes to mind. There is a line that reads, “If you can talk with crowds and keep your virtue, Or walk with Kings – nor lose the common touch …” Mike has answered all the “Ifs” in Kipling’s character checklist. Peaceful rest, my friend. Mission accomplished.
Reach Editor Mark Derry at
ed****@ga****.com
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