From Susan's Grandson

When I asked my son, Francis Meriwether Gehman -- to maybe write something for this Susan Bair page, Francis said, "Dad, you mean, like maybe, something about the time Susan bit me when I wouldn't give her the remote?"

Susan would have been so proud to know that Francis graduated from San Francisco State University with a degree in studio sculpture on May 22, 2010.  I think he will have been in college  longer than the previous Woodstock record holder, whom I believe was Steve Gilligan.

Francis was Susan's first grandson.  Susan and my sister Connie Bair attended my wedding to Fran's mother, the former Caroline Coles, in Keswick, Virginia.

After the wedding we all rode back to Cloverfields and whooped it up a bit while we waited for the two lambs roasting on a spit (provided by and presided over by my friend John Ruvalds, a physics professor at the University of Virginia) to finish cooking and then we danced and danced until we thought our hearts might break.  

-- Christian Gehman

And Francis Gehman adds the following as his own post script:

 

For the record, it didn't hurt that badly when Susan bit me... but she did have enough teeth left to make me drop the remote. She was annoyed with my lack of attention span for TV programs which still annoys many people who make the mistake of giving me the TV remote.

She always struck me as very beautiful even in her old age. I do remember swimming at a pool with her when I was about fourteen. She swam better than she walked at that point and looked perfectly at home sitting in the sun by the pool up on a hill. For that matter, she always seemed at home no matter where she was or what she was doing--perfectly calm and not about to let the absurd trivialities of life get in the way of her enjoyment of it. At least I thought she must be enjoying it because I always had a great time when I was with her, laughing at about every other sentence between stuffing my face on the strict diet of ice cream, pizza, and Chinese food she made me adhere to while at her house.

 I still have a small green piece of glass that she convinced me was an emerald. It has made it through about four moves, flown across the country, and served as a guitar pick sometimes when I couldn't find one. It lives in a small clay pinch pot with some marbles for company.

I miss her all the time and frequently brag to people that I had a grandmother who listened to Rage Against the Machine, smoked unfiltered cigarettes, and shoplifted. I'm not sure if the shoplifting part is true but I'm sure she'd approve of any stretch that makes this world more colorful. -- Francis Gehman