Bruce Martin Clauson

On a crisp October day as the autumn leaves turned orange and red and gold, Evelyn and Frank Clauson proudly welcomed their first-born son, Bruce, into the world. Like most young, post-war couples, they were anxious to put down roots and start a family.

Although he was the first baby boomer born into the family, Bruce was a throwback to a past, more conservative era. Bruce was more focused on family than fortune, on persons more than property, on conversation more than compensation, and on values more than value. He liked to do the right thing, not for the accolades he would receive, but because it was right. His mantra was adopted from his role model, John Wayne, “A man’s gotta do what a man’s gotta do.”

While the Cold War raged outside, it was warm inside the Clauson family home. Father Frank accomplished all things Texaco, and Mom Evelyn created a cozy home for her family, which soon grew to four with the arrival of baby sister Carol. The Clausons were a poster 1950's family, a Norman Rockwell childhood: playing with model trains, riding bikes to the pool, and watching black and white TV - all three stations!! In an era before SIRI, we breathlessly awaited the delivery of the 26 volume World Book Encyclopedia - information!!

In the early sixties, the Clausons moved to Cherry Hill, New Jersey, just outside Philadelphia, where Bruce would be exposed to one of the greatest loves of his life – music. As Dick Clark hosted American Bandstand on the local television station, Bruce discovered Franki Valli and the Four Seasons. The Clauson family home would be filled with the harmonic sound of “Big Girls Don’t Cry”. In the final years of his life, one of his happiest moments would occur when he saw “Jersey Boys” live in Las Vegas.

With the advent of central air-conditioning, the nation moved south and so did the Clausons. Bruce began a life-long love affair with Texas in 1963, when the family left New Jersey snowstorms for Houston's tropical climate to follow the Great Oil Migration. Raised among the skyscrapers of Houston, it is a mystery where Bruce's Texas drawl came from, but every conversation began with his trademark "Howdy." His heart was as big as the Lone Star State. He embraced all things Texas: Texas barbeque, the Alamo and cowboys. He would spend the rest of his life in the shade of Houston's tall pines. Texas had enough space to let Bruce be Bruce.

Bruce had a perennial love of history and geography. Like most families of the 50s and 60s, the Clausons hit the road for family driving vacations. Before there was GPS, there was Bruce. With his highly developed sense of direction, he earned the moniker – the "Navigator".

More importantly, Bruce finally had a little brother, and he reveled in the role. Bruce and Robert would become the closest of brothers. They did guy things together: eating prime rib, going to stamp conventions, and watching sports. They travelled together. They shared politics - Democrats need not apply. They had each other's back. 

Mom and Dad watched proudly as Bruce marched across the stage in his cap and gown, rooted for the Lumberjacks at Stephen F Austin University, and embarked on life. College diploma in hand, Bruce returned to Houston and proceeded to immerse himself in his work and the Memorial Drive Presbyterian Church family. Unaffected by materialistic things, people always came first for Bruce. After a busy week working as a patient counselor, weekends were an excuse to help move someone into a new apartment, even though Bruce would only move himself once in the last 40 years of his life. In a world of excess, Bruce was the definition of humble. He lived a simple life, a quiet life, an important life.

Bruce never met a train he didn't like. In the late 1970s, he would venture out of the country to achieve one lifelong dream. He traveled to Canada to board the Canadian Pacific railroad. The rest of his life he would regale people with stories of the glittering Lake Louise and the snow capped mountains of Banff. He was amazed by the ornate architecture of Montreal and the towers of Calgary.

There was a time when we thought Bruce might just become a confirmed bachelor, but he proved us wrong. When a hazel-eyed, brunette Maria Chamberlain visited the MDPC Singles Group, sparks flew, courtship followed, and Bruce and Maria were married on March 6, 1991, the entire wedding catered by his MDPC friends to pay him back for all those moves!! It was the beginning of a life-long partnership of two uniquely matched people.

Surrounded by girls after living alone for twenty years had to be an adjustment, but having a family completed Bruce. He was kind, patient, and steadfast. As a bonus, Bruce had gained a rebellious twelve-year-old daughter, Stacey. Bruce was up to the challenge. He simply told Stacey that he was never giving up on her, and he didn't. He bought her ice cream; he told corny jokes; he did bad impressions; he waited up for her to come home; he gave her away at her wedding; he became her hero, her Dad.

Bruce and Maria would fill twenty-six years of marriage with plenty of life and adventure, even though the time was way too short. Stacey would marry the love of her life, Nigel Richardson, and they would give Bruce the greatest gift of his life, two grandchildren – Miles and Nicholas, who were the pride of his life until his final days. Bruce and Maria would also begin to travel. They would explore the home of their beloved Cajun culture in Louisiana and exotic spots such as Alaska, Hawaii, Las Vegas, and Southern California.

Over his last few years, Bruce and his two siblings became a team caring for their mom and dad. The family laughed over endless, and I do mean endless, luncheons. Like The Three Musketeers, it was "All for one, and one for all." As it turns out, those memories will be our parting gift from Bruce, our last glimpse of Bruce ambling in with his silver mustachioed grin, saying, "Take your time, there's no hurry." They will be the happiest of memories.