Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
When Samuel Richard Gardner was six years old, he learned the words "trust fund." For any bright young boy, there was only so much he could understand about the cutthroat world of business and economy. Underneath the murkiness of it all, Sam understood the importance of family. More specifically, his family and what it really meant to be a Gardner in bright old 1955.
He remembered too much of his life in New York— the smells, the sights, and the brightness of life that was almost unfulfilled. Every scrape on his knee and the fiery burn of his broken arm from a vigorous game of baseball with his father. His father... His father was always known for being the best, doing the best, and wanting the best like his father before him and quite frankly, every member of his family.
Sam knew his father loved him, and his mother though he couldn't remember having spent any time with him. In fact, there were no memories at all. His mother said his father had a look in his eyes, a certain distance that grew with every night he had to spend working late at the company while the Korean War was orchestrated in the bustling background.
He didn't remember the feeling of his mother's arms holding his small body close to hers. Or the vivid red-and-white stripes of the American flag draped over his father's casket. She held a handkerchief between her elbow, an umbrella in the other, and her two-year-old son all at once. Sam could feel the tears on his mother's cheeks when he kissed them that rainy day.
If there was one thing he could make certain after the passing of his father, he learned strength from his father and love from his mother.
He supposed that was what attracted him to Virginia Marjorie Curtis. Their worlds couldn't be any more different— and people made sure of that with a sharp word or a jealous eye. She didn't have that look in her eye as his father did. She was warm. She made the dull world bright. There was a twinkle in those verdant irises as she talked about her romantic ideals and even more enthralling, her dreams. She was a reflection of his mother's vivacious and ambitious spirit... so it was no surprise she taught him so much about love.
And Virginia herself recognized the depths of familial importance the day she saw those red and blue flashing lights outside her living room window. The chilly draft let it when Darry opened the front door. The sudden silence that overtook her home was a memory she wouldn't forget— or perhaps the haunting idea that one month after his twentieth birthday, Darry received the news of his parents' death and custody of his three young siblings.
It was Ponyboy who first broke down in tears. Then Sodapop who held him tight with fat tears rolling down his reddening cheeks as he struggled to stay strong for his little brother. Virginia stared past Darry, who was gripped with shock, at the police officer. Her body was numb though her senses were not as dulled. She remembered the bleak softness in his eyes—he was telling four children their parents were dead— and the movement of his lips declaring the absolute worst.
