In a couple of months, Lucille Gordon will turn 105. Her mind is sharp. She does her own taxes using a calculator, not an online tax program. It’s not that she is averse to technology. The woman who first laundered her family’s clothing using a scrub board and “battoir” — she still has them — embraces modern conveniences. It “blows her mind” that she can visit with her great-granddaughter who lives miles away, see her and talk with her, using a cell phone. As a seventh-grader, Gordon learned to recite the alphabet from Z to A, and she still can.

She has lived in Welsh since her birth in 1918 to Elodie Hebert and Willard Washington Kimball, first in the charming two-story house built by her father and uncle 150 years ago and later, after she married, in an equally charming house a few doors down. The huge back and side yard drew neighborhood kids from all over the town to play. Up until six months ago, she was still taking care of that yard on her own, and she feels like a life surrounded by younger people has contributed to her youthful spirit. Lucille Gordon has been and continues to be “Moms,” to all.

“When people want to know the history of Welsh, they come to Moms,” said her granddaughter-in-law Michelle Deshotel who also calls her ‘Moms.’ Gordon calls Deshotel “outlaw granddaughter.”   

She helped feed German prisoners of war who worked the farms in Welsh, knowing that American prisoners were likely not taken care of as well, and she knew it was the right thing to do.

“When someone wants to know about the past, I usually start the conversation by asking  them if they want to know the history or the gossip,” she says with her sly smile and a little chortle. “I know both.”

Her father was a car salesman, and during his career, Welsh had four dealerships. Gordon said he sold the city’s volunteer fire department  its first engine-powered truck, and they gave the handbell to him. She still has it.

“The fire wagon  was pulled by oxen and a fireman on the back of the wagon rang that bell,” she said, giving a nod in its direction.

She can recall days, dates and years, even from her parents’ history. At one point in the interview, she corrected Deshotel. Deshotel’s husband, Gordon’s grandson, told about her last visit to the hospital.

“The nurse took her blood pressure and wrote it, and the date on a white board and she let them know it wasn’t the right date and told them the correct date,” he said.

Growing up, her parents extended their home and garden-grown food to family members and friends who fell on hard times during the Great Depression.

“So many people lost their jobs,” she said. “My father welcomed everyone. We just added more water to the gravy.”

She graduated at 16. “We were smarter than kids are now,” she said. “We didn’t have to go as long to graduate.” (The 12th grade wasn’t added until around 1950.) Her first job was as a post office clerk. Stamps were 3 cents.

She married at 19, and her parents thought as highly of her hard-working husband as she did, despite the fact that he was Baptist – not Catholic.

“They loved him; they really loved him,” she said. “In those days, the priest would marry you, but not in the church.“He was making good money in the oil field,” Gordon said, “and the lady who rented him a room introduced us.” When the company he was working for stopped drilling in Louisiana, Gordon Drilling Company was created. “I was a silent partner. Well…not too silent,” she said with a grin.

A country boy at heart, her husband began acquiring cattle from the Lacassine Sale Barn until “he had one for every day of the year,” she told someone once.

She used ration cards (issued beginning in 1942) to buy sugar, coffee, shoes, vegetables, fruits, meats and fats. Her husband tended a huge garden and she milked a cow. “I know, I know, that was the dark ages,” she said with a wave of her hand.

Lucille Gordon has outlived her two daughters and her son. Always health conscious, her 50-year-old son died while jogging.

“Raising children who turned out good, who lived good lives, I guess that is the source of my greatest joy, and losing them, my deepest grief,” she said.

If Gordon has a secret to longevity, and she scoffs at the question, it might be that she’s just coped with life as it comes, the good and the bad.

“I do try to concentrate on the good,” she said. “The man upstairs has the say so.”

Gordon’s husband died 50 years ago. Attractive now at 104 with sparkling eyes and skin and hair that is the envy of women half her age, her early widowhood begged the question: Did she date after he died? Did she consider marrying again? Was she pursued?

“I was 55,” she repeated, then with a  mischievous look she added,  “I was too young for medicare and too old for men to care. Don’t quote that, please. I don’t want people to think I am a smart aleck.”

Her youthful spirit and intelligence is eclipsed only by her wit and sense of humor. Gordon  loves to make people laugh. She has always been an avid reader, and she’s been asked to write about her memories and the area’s history. So far, she hasn’t. But 12 years ago she wrote her first rap song and after much urging, agreed to share it, saying “I didn’t know at the time it would be so prophetic.”

Mercy me, I’m 93. But I ain’t laughin’. Bones collapsin’.

At 88, life was great, and still fine at 89. At 90 and 91, I had lots of fun.

Ninety -two was not too bad. At 92 I could still gad.

Woe is me at 93. It’s very clear that I can’t hear.

Some might expect that I’m a wreck.

Miss America do they expect? I’ve had pain, but why complain?

Time’s apassin’. Bones collapsin’.

But when I take the time to check my past, I find my life has been a blast.

So, now I’m laughin’. So what if I can’t hear? Why be sad or shed a tear?

Some I know would be bereft. I thank God for what I have left.

I can taste, I can touch, I can smell and I can see – not too bad at 93.

Glory be, lucky me. I’m alive, I still drive and might survive until 105.