Mourning the loss of a brother and friend

CATHARINE COOPER

o7Dreams take so long to come true,

the dream I like the best is the one about you.

f7 -- GLY COOPER

My brother died last week.

There is no sweet or cheerful fashion to share this information;

sadness colors all passing. Gly Crofton Cooper died, just short of

his 54th birthday, and those who loved him are left with an

immeasurable void.

Gly’s life was filled with love and family, but he was defined by

his music. While an eighth-grader at Thurston Middle School, he

picked up a guitar and never put it down. Night and day, he’d

practice chords, explore finger picking and craft new tunes. The

guitar became a voice for this handsome but painfully shy young man.

There were three of us Cooper kids. My sister, Claudia, the

youngest, shared a birthday with my brother, born one year later to

the day. I always had the feeling, that instead of three, it was them

and me. They were both blessed with blond curly hair and pale blue

eyes, while I was the dark sheep, brown hair and brooding grey-blues.

By the time they hit their teens, they were often mistaken for twins.

Photographs inform the memory, and I travel back through family

albums. A round new baby Gly, leans on my side, propped up on the

couch, in a 1951 picture. His first birthday shows a chunky kid with

a solo candle, a proud papa and a face smeared with frosting. There’s

the first swim, the first bike, the Halloween costumes. There are

matching outfits for holidays -- one year, polka dots -- crafted by

my great-grandmother’s loving hands. There are mumps and fevers.

There are the three of us playing cowboys and Indians, holsters and

bows with plastic arrows, in the spacious yard of our first Laguna

home. There are the summers in Catalina, where fishing became a

treasured avocation.

Fast forward to the tan, muscled surfer -- the quintessential

California beach boy. Between the surf and the guitar, there wasn’t

much interest in studies. My sister’s friends all had goo-eyes for

him, but to me, he was just my irritating younger brother. By the

time we hit high school, Gly’s music had come full center, and

playing at parties was more than just a hobby. He put together the

first of many bands, and his music career was launched.

Music was his life, but he could never quite get his arms around

its financial success. Shy as a child, he became increasingly

withdrawn as an adult. I think he found solace in the melodious blues

that marked his music. His instrumentals were extraordinary -- he

simply didn’t have the soul of a businessman.

Gly wrote about love -- lost and unrequited. And although he

reached for it with all his heart, he never married nor had children.

His early lyrics reveal his longing, the sweet desires of youth.

o7Don’t pass this chance, that we might be,

the kind of lovers that make history.

Magic moments, standing by,

open up, don’t say goodbye.

f7-- “I Think I’m in Love,” 1985

o7Slow down, don’t go so fast.

It’s a showdown, goes round and round.

Slow down, let’s make it last. f7

-- “Love’s in the Middle,” 1984

o7I was a lonely man until you came along.

You touched my soul, and made me come alive.f7

-- “All Because of You,” 1984

o7I don’t want to be by myself.

Without you, there’s no one else.

I can’t make it alone.

Funny how I wait by the phone. f7

-- Just Another Number 1985

Sweet tidbits of a life: He hand-raised cockatiels and had one

named Frank that would walk down the hall for morning coffee. He

taught my sons to fish, patiently baiting their hooks, helping them

cast, and reel in the big ones. He could wire just about anything,

fix all the plumbing. He was a skilled carpenter and mason, and he

kept a 1985 Mazda running like the day it was new. He was a loving

son to Crofton and Kay.

In the end, he lived the classic life of rock ‘n’ roll. He smoked

heavily and partied hard. One day, his heart simply gave out and he

stopped breathing. The night the music died.

o7Never lose sight of your dreams,

no matter how far away they seem.

They’ll never be reached if you don’t try.

Release your soul to the sky. f7

-- “Never Lose Sight” 1985

We miss you, Gly. All of us.

A memorial will be held at the Sandpiper on August 28, from 3 to 6

p.m. Come say goodbye to Gly with family and friends.

* CATHARINE COOPER loves the wild. She can be reached at (949)

497-5081 or o7ccooper@cooperdesign.netf7.