Philip B. Yochim: Farewell, Gatewood

 

I don’t remember exactly what Gatewood did speak about, but I remember hearing the great quote from him, concerning did his father’s generation hit the beaches of Normandy so he could urinate in a cup in order to get a job?

 

I approached Gatewood after his speech was over in order to shake his hand, which he quickly obliged me, with his toothy smile shining down on me. I knew I’d vote for him in next year’s race. Unfortunately, I couldn’t, because I missed the deadline to change my registration to Democrat.

 

Of course, Gatewood wasn’t finished in his quest for public office.

 

Five years later, I’m working for a community paper in Bullitt County. I received a tip to come to a meeting one rainy morning in Louisville. I replied I would come, but couldn’t report on it because it was out of our limits. Come anyway, I was told.

 

Again, Gatewood was the chief speaker. And once again, I approached him after the meeting and asked him if he would be stumping in my county anytime soon. He said he was hoping to attend the Knob Creek Machine Gun Shoot later that day. I told him if he did, I’d give him coverage that he was certainly unaccustomed to getting in the press, and he readily agreed.

 

After the meeting was over, we sat down for lunch. It so happened I was seated next to Gatewood. A mutual acquaintance told Gatewood to watch out, he was sitting next to a reporter, and he knew how those people loved to twist what he said. Gatewood looked up and said, “That’s OK, he was up-front with me. I can tell he’s one of the few honest ones left.”

 

Needless to say, that was one of the greatest compliments I’ve ever been paid.

 

As it happens, Gatewood wasn’t able to make the shoot, but I didn’t know that at the time. I had other things to do that day, and when I finally made it to the soggy shoot and couldn’t find Gatewood, I feared I missed him. I went to bed that night, deeply ashamed of myself, thinking I let him down.

 

Well, Gatewood and I never had our interview, but we would meet several other times. And each election I could, I dutifully cast a vote for the “Last Free Man.”

 

Farewell, Gatewood, you’re already missed.