If Mom was still alive she would have turned 101 last Monday. While she had three children, Sharron, Jackie, and me, she often told me that my cousin, Gene, was more like a son than a nephew. He was the oldest cousin from the Barner clan and the “go to” man in the family. He assisted anyone who needed help without seeking compensation for his efforts. Other family members expected to be paid when lending a hand. Not Gene.
As soon as he could drive, he bought a car. He bought and sold cars so often that my Grandpa Barner thought the “pink slips”, car registrations, passed one another in the mail. He bought and sold faster than the State could register them.
Later, he started riding motorcycles. Like his cars, he had several different rides. One day, while our family was visiting his, he was showing us his latest “bike”, a Honda Superhawk. My dad took an interest in the bike and asked Gene if he could take it for a ride. “Sure. Have you ever driven one?”
“No, but how hard can it be?”
Gene showed him how the kickstart worked and he was off. We watched from the rear has he weaved his way down Chippewa Street in Mt. Clemens, narrowly missing the curbs on both sides. We were starting to wonder how the ride went when we looked down the street and saw him pushing the bike home. He had stopped at a stop sign and the engine cut out. He tried to kickstart it but he couldn’t get it going. After several failed attempts, he pushed it the final five blocks.
By the time my Mom had reached her nineties, Gene had moved on to three wheel motorcycles called trikes. They’re easier for older riders to handle. We all met for lunch one day, and Gene had ridden his trike. Mom was always up for an adventure, so she accepted his offer to go for a ride. She sported his extra helmet and they took off down Hall Road not far from the Lakeside Mall. I wish I could have seen the reaction of those who saw this dynamic duo.
