‘Mr. C’ made a memorable impact
A great man was laid to rest this week. Eugene H. “Gene” Crable was 75, which made him 30 years removed from the decade in which his one-of-a-kind demeanor and penchant for telling (or creating) a story helped shape my formative years. The outside world may have had “Mr. T,” the Mohawk-wearing, good-hearted enforcer on television’s “The A-Team.” But long before that, we kids in Lambert had “Mr. C,” our own Caucasian version sans Mohawk. And we pitied the fool who got his dander up, because Mr. C resolutely stood his ground when the situation required it, perhaps because the Korean War Navy veteran had the size, temperament and booming voice to do so. Imagine “professional wrestler who’s serious about what he’s saying and doing,” and you’ll know what I mean.
I could provide lots of examples and colorful details, but I’ll pick out just one. Long before community block watch programs were touted as a way to fight crime, Mr. C was taking it to the streets. He once cornered and gave stern late-night warning to a couple of guys who were dabbling, for lack of a better term, in recreational drugs. His dead-serious admonition: “If any of that stuff you’re spreading around gets into my kids’ hands, do me a favor. Buy your momma a funeral dress, because she’s going to need it.” Message sent; fair warning given. No ambiguities. Mr. C never worried about doing the politically correct thing. He was all about doing the right thing.
There was another side to Mr. C, and although I wouldn’t necessarily call it tender, it speaks to the strong sense of community that made my growing up experience so great. Biologically, I have just one brother. But the two of us spent so much time at the Gene and Barbara Crable house growing up that, for all practical purposes, they had five sons -three of their own, plus us. They had horses that we got to ride (quite a thrill for a kid who was never going to have his own), an above-ground swimming pool that we got to swim in, and a pool table that got lots of use. Soda and snacks were always a given.
I always got the sense that the Crables were looking out for us as much as for their own offspring. That’s the way it was in my hometown, and sadly that sense of community isn’t nearly as evident in society these days, when people don’t even know their neighbors, let alone care much about what happens to them. It wasn’t that way in Lambert in the 1960s and 1970s.
Mr. C wasn’t preachy, but he was effective. After my father died in 1972 as I was about to enter those tough teen-age years, I remember Mr. C telling me that I’d better listen to my mother and not get too big for my britches. If she ever needed any help settling me down, he said, all she had to do was give him a call.
I never thought that call would need to be made (although, quite frankly, the prospect scared me immensely). But the far greater impact came from the subliminal message, which was that Mr. C actually cared about what happened to me and knew the outcome would depend on what path I took.
When we got a little older, and cars and girls got to be part of the mix, Mr. C would often give us, all of his boys, a standard parting comment: “Be good – and if you can’t be good, be careful.” We got the message.
When our paths would cross after I got a job writing for this newspaper, Mr. C would tell me that he liked this or that story, and my use of those “ten-dollar words,” as he put it. I always got a laugh out of that amiable description of what I did for a living.
The Crables moved to Adah about the time I graduated from high school, to live on what they called “the farm” when we were growing up. Although life took us in different directions, Mr. C and his family were always special in my thoughts.
I said goodbye to Mr. C at the funeral home, knowing he’s in a better place now. It was a sad visit. But I’m grateful for one thing: There’s a little bit of Gene Crable in me, and I’m a stronger and better person because of it.
Paul Sunyak is editorial page editor of the Herald-Standard. He can be reached at 724-439-7577 or psunyak@heraldstandard.com