MEMORIAL

10,000 Hours of Uncle Bub

A Blueprint for Me and My Siblings

In his 2008 book “Outliers,” Malcolm Gladwell wrote that “10,000 hours is the magic number of greatness.” He believed it took 10,000 of practice to become a master.

The examples he used to support this idea included old pros like the Beatles, who honed their craft long before invading America, playing eight-hour shows to zero on their signature sound. And Bill Gates, who grew up coding as a teen, honing his skills years before launching Microsoft with Paul Allen.

Well, if Gladwell’s thesis is true then Uncle Bub had a lot of time on his hands. Because he was a master of just about everything he ever touched.

He was a master of being the dashing older brother. My mom reminded us last night that he won the “handsome brother contest” when she was in school. All the girls brought photos of their brothers for comparison and there was Uncle Bub, the winner, a head full of black hair, a movie star grin, a pressed military uniform. The “yum yum” girls swooned and were powerless to declare anyone else the winner. What a master.

Clearly he had 10,000 hours to dedicate to becoming a master craftsman. My earliest memories of him include seeing these fascinating things that he was laboring over in the basement, on a growing collection of woodworking equipment that eventually could have filled a small house.

I remember a handmade airplane that sat high on a shelf in his workshop. I had no idea whether it could actually fly, but I lusted after it

nonetheless. Of course I was too shy back then to ask whether I could take it home with me, but it was one of the first things I can remember that left me infatuated with anything that flew as a kid.

He eventually had a house full of furniture that he made with his own hands. I’m sure all of us, at one point or another, got a tour of those pieces. I loved watching Bub beam with confidence that bordered on cockiness as he made it sound so easy to build an entire bedroom suite. What, everyone can’t do this??

He also had 10,000 hours to become an aggravatingly good tennis player. I remember like it was yesterday Jill and I playing tennis with Bub across from the zoo in Louisville, and him basically just laughing at us as he made us run around the court at his whim.

He made tennis look so easy. He also made playing doubles two or three times a week well into his 80’s look like something that everybody is just supposed to be able to do. Meanwhile most of us can hardly walk at age 50.

Bub had 10,000 hours to dedicate to becoming a soloist. To watch him stand behind Doedy and belt out tunes was to watch magic happen right in front of your eyes. So clearly in his element, and so clearly the king of his domain. While I never got to hear him sing in church, I am positive that he walked into the building whenever he had a solo coming up while mumbling to himself, “I am going to CRUSH this.” Or something to that effect, at least.

But most importantly, he had at least 10,000 hours to become wholly devoted: to Doedy, to his mother, to his children, to his choir and church, to friends whose names we became familiar with over time. To his sister, who he loved and always stayed close to. Gigi delighted in him and he in her. They were allies, friends, and confidantes — all the things a strong, loving sibling relationship should be. They were so lucky to have each other.

Bub’s devotion to Doedy was so deep and so strong. My sister Kelley said the impression made on her at Doedy’s funeral as she watched Bub grieve so openly was of the depth of his heart. The generosity of it. His sadness was a testimony not to any weakness, but rather to great strength. Strength of heart, of character, of love. Like most everything else, he was a master at all three.

I was talking to Steve at Bub and Doedy’s house after Doedy’s
funeral. Unfortunately It was probably the longest conversation I’ve ever had with him as an adult. And I came away from that conversation thinking one thing: this dude is so freaking cool!

Well nobody becomes that cool without an amazing father to influence him. And the same weekend I was reminded of what a caring, sensitive soul Ginger is. Also something that doesn’t happen by accident, but rather is nurtured by parents like Bub and Doedy.

When Carol came into his life after Doedy died, every one of us was convinced she was heaven sent. Bub’s ability to be open to love after experiencing such loss was proof that his capacity for love and happiness was enormous. Once again he became devoted to a wonderful woman.

“Twice lucky” my Mom once said about Bub. We are all so grateful to Carol for the love, attention and affection she brought to his life. Such a surprising and wonderful final chapter for our sweet uncle. It is often said that you make your own luck. Well if that is true, Bub was a master at that too.

What it didn’t take 10,000 hours to do was to recognize that Bub was the ultimate model of southern charm, wit, and grace. This is Bub’s legacy, and the thing that all of the Dunn kids…and I’m sure everyone in this room, will most deeply miss.