I first met Mr. Gene at the Covington Farmer's Market. He would bring an old dog with him and would sit, drinking coffee and patiently waiting for the music to start. At the time, I would have been walking our weim, Dartagnan, and I would have have been very impressed with the control Mr. Gene had over his dog. I remember him telling me that she was 19 years old and that he fed her Alpo. I think she lived another year or so beyond that. He was very sad to lose her.
I noticed Gene at all the live music events around Covington. He loved to dance and loved to dance with a partner. I'm honored to have been one. He was far better than me and would show off his moves, putting his hands up framing his head and shaking his hips. He would tease with great facial expressions and would spin me around the dance area. At trailhead concerts, if the music was right for him, he'd be there, down front and center. If I walked by and he caught my eye, he'd signal with a finger that it was my turn.
He was well known at other places as well, such as T Rivers in Madisonville. I watched him one Sunday afternoon as he practically owned the dance floor with multiple women in his orbit.
He disappeared for a while once and when I saw him again he said he'd broken his hip and had been in the hospital. "They won't let me drive anymore!" he exclaimed with indignation. I asked him how he had gotten to town. "I rode my bike" he said.
This was a man who enjoyed his life. Yes, he frequented bars, and yes, at times he was a bit too much but he will be greatly missed. Dance on, my friend, Gene, Gene the Dancing Machine.