Barbara Gayle Perry Hansen

01

The first of five

My great-aunt Barbara Gayle Perry Hansen was born on December 1, 1937, in Stonewall County, Texas, the first child of Raymond John D. Perry and Euna Mae Carden Perry. Her sister Wanda Dale, my Nanny, arrived two years later on the same date. Mother and daughters shared a birthday that became an occasion all its own in our family.

Deloris Ann, Sandra and Mickey Joe followed. Their father ranched, and their mother took care of the home. When I wrote Barbara’s eulogy, I described the strength, grit, kindness and faith their parents passed to them. Those qualities belonged in her story alongside the sparkle.

Sources: Clayton Hollingsworth’s eulogy for Barbara · The Perry family account

02

A shop, a café, and room to dance

Barbara owned a clothing store in Fort Stockton and worked alongside her family at Holly Burgers in Laguna Park. She had an eye for fashion, a creative streak and the nerve to run a business. Her dry humor and infectious laugh were as much a part of her presence as the clothes and jewelry.

She loved dancing and the sister trips she took with Wanda, Dee and Sandra. Uncle Mickey had joined those trips too; after his death, I was lucky enough to go along a few times. I compared the sisters to an episode of The Golden Girls. There was plenty of material.

She also loved her television and her books. A family poem remembered her witty remarks, her willingness to help somebody in need, and the considerable appeal of staying home to read. Barbara could be sociable, funny and thoroughly content with her own company.

Sources: Clayton Hollingsworth’s eulogy for Barbara

03

Growing up with Aunt Barbara

I grew up with Barbara around me, and for parts of my childhood we lived under the same roof. In 1984, our family went to Colorado to work a storm and crowded into a three-bedroom apartment with Barbara and Jack. She never let me forget the pots and pans I banged, or the kitchen utensils I sent over the third-floor balcony. It was a full apartment. I apparently felt it needed a percussion section.

When my family moved down to the lake and I attended first grade at Clifton Elementary, Granny Perry would collect us at the bus stop and take us to the café to eat. Aunt Barbara was never far away. Weekends brought the Moose Lodge: bingo, dancing, a smoke-filled room and the family together. Looking back, I understand how much those ordinary hours gave me.

Barbara and I shared a taste for scary movies. Freddy Krueger and Chucky were part of our repertoire. She would tell me to cover my eyes; I would peek. Sometimes I ran downstairs to complain that Aunt Barbara was making me watch something frightening, then went straight back upstairs to curl up beside her and keep watching. I still think of her when I watch those movies.

Sources: Clayton Hollingsworth’s eulogy for Barbara

04

The love that stayed with us

The woman I remembered in her eulogy loved and accepted her family unconditionally. We could have our life chats, disagree, laugh at ourselves and keep talking. I had known that closeness from so early in life that I did not always understand how lucky I was to have it.

Barbara died in 2020. She was a wife, mother, grandmother, great-grandmother, sister, aunt and friend. Jack, her children and the wider family each knew parts of her that belong in the account of her life. The sisters’ trips and our family gatherings would never be quite the same.

At her funeral I introduced myself as her great-nephew, then clarified that I was her greatest and favorite nephew. Barbara would have understood the distinction. Beneath the joke was a gratitude I still carry: I had time with her. Her story deserves enough room for somebody else to understand why that mattered.

Sources: Clayton Hollingsworth’s eulogy for Barbara · Family death-year notes