Gary Hansford
cousin
Written by his brother Eddie Hansford
I loved Gary. He made being a brother the definition by which I will always want to use. I had a soft spot for him no matter what or when. I looked out for him and protected him but when it counted, I was not there. I was never at fault but I felt that I could have prevented it. Cynthia was pregnant with Noah and we had gotten married and were living in Hitchcock, Texas, a small town near the Gulf Coast below Houston. The oil industry was booming, the economy had bottomed out and I had gotten a job at the refinery as an assistant painter. Every day we would walk into the plant area, put on our hardhats and get on the back of a flatbed truck and ride out to the oil tanks. Oil tanks hold hundreds, thousands of gallons of gas or oil, depending. Cynthia’s Dad worked at the refinery as a plant supervisor. He had his own area where he checked gauges and made sure the right pumps were pumping. Each section is large but they work in tandem to heat oil and to make it produce the desired reagent. I had tried to get a job at the Pizza place prior to this but I had used honesty and the boss wouldn't hire me. I didn't know at that time that bosses want someone that wants to work a job rather than someone just wanting a job. There is a difference and people are sensitive to it. I wasn't, so Cynthia's Dad called in a favor and I was hired. 
I remember getting inside one of those huge barrels for the first time. They had put up three stories of scaffolding inside just to get to the top to sandblast the paint from the metal insides then to prime and repaint it again. The sand was a fine powder and it filled the air. There was talk about getting a type of lung disease from breathing it. I just knew that was going to happen to me, so I did what any young guy would do and that was to ask to be outside pushing the wheelbarrows.
I worked at that job for a month and then we traveled back to Dallas one weekend in July to visit my family. I remember going with Gary over to the Dairy Queen to straighten out some problem with one of my old football buddies. Gary had a verbal interchange with him and they were primed to fight. We went inside and sat down. We got a soda then, I got up and walked over to James and told him that I was Gary's brother. That was the end of the problem. There was no threat or words. It ended on a note of recognition. Gary was impressed and grateful but it was to be the last time that I got to do something special for him.
When we left to return to Hitchcock, Gary and I shook hands. I told him to be careful. He told me that he was trying but that sometimes he did dangerous things. I wanted to hug him but grown men didn't but I still told him that I loved him. We returned home and the next night at around 2 a.m. Dad called and said that he had bad news for me: Gary was dead. I dropped the phone and held my breath and wanted to scream. I wanted it to be a mistake something someone got wrong maybe a delay in the accident something, anything other than hearing that he and three of his friends ran up under a load of hay on the freeway and the metal bumper that they ran up under at a high rate of speed had sheared off their heads. I was not there that time to help. I returned home to Dallas and shut myself in his room and went through his things trying to piece together what had happened to my little brother, the one that I loved and adored.