Gus arrives

Well, Clellie wanted brothers and sisters, so I showed up first. On what was probably a cold and certainly dark morning in February (the 11th, to be exact) in 1939, I arrived at 2:00AM in St. Luke's Hospital, St. Louis, Mo.

I didn't know until Clellie's writings on this blog that it was Mom who wouldn't let me be called Frank Roosevelt Philpott, Jr. Thanks for that! There were some years when I was Frank R., Jr. (before I knew better).

I've gone back and forth between Frank and Gus. I am reminded of when I was called which, by the people I knew then. I must have been "Frank" at Flynn Park Grade School, because my 6th Grade girlfriend still calls me "Frank". And my University City (Mo.) High School German teacher calls me "Frank".

I prefer "Gus", and I've been called that (along with some other names that I won't print here), since about 1971, when I moved from Chicago to Denver.

I didn't even know why I was called "Gus" until my 40th birthday. A friend was over for dinner, and we had killed off two lobster tails and a bottle of wine. About 12:30AM she asked me if Gus was my real name, and I told her that my given name was Frank. So she asked where Gus had come from. When I told her that I didn't know, she said, "Ask your parents."

Too late for that! They had died almost 20 years earlier. She asked about brothers and sisters, and we called Clellie. Well, we were in Denver, and Clellie was in Florida - two hours' time difference.

Ring, ring. Clellie answered. I told her it was Gus calling.
"Who?"
"Gus"
"Who?"
"Gus. Your brother. Gus Philpott."
"Oh."

And then she told me that, when Mom was pregnant and I kicked, she'd pat her tummy and say, "Down, Gus." Clellie wasn't exactly sure why Mom said that...