Gil Tripp

Gil lived in San Francisco. He died in 2008. Ilse Dunbar Wheeler says:

I didn’t know him well, but I remember his smile.

Marti Hollingsworth LaJoie wrote the following:
First and foremost, I miss Gil’s beautiful smile, too. I don’t know any real details about his life after Boulder. We were not close after then. I loved him as the warm wonderful human being he was. I remember fondly all the times we spent together. Lise and Erf were far closer to him than anyone I knew. They did so much in life with

him after high school and have great stories to tell. We had a wake after his death and met at Lise and John Cordsen’s home. We also went to the cemetery where some of Gil’s family are buried. We skipped and sang “Off To See The Wizard” . . . because, because,
because . . . because of the wonderful wiz he was. We told stories and loved on his spirit. The tears were of sadness turning to joy. We will miss him and he will live in our hearts always.

Forty years later we have all changed exponentially, of course. Wishing peace for all who have passed, and for all who are still here, I hope you all enjoy the time together. Thank you so much for sharing Gil’s life with everyone.

Lise Cook Cordsen wrote this about her friendship with Gilly:
I was introduced to Gil in 10th grade, I think by Lynn Altschuler. He and I had one huge thing in common at the time – we both loved Marilyn Monroe. We became fast buddies after that. Gil and I were invited to lecture at a theater class at Broomfield High School, where we got into an argument in front of about 60 students on what was Marilyn’s first movie in cinemascope. (Gil was right about which movie it was, and I was wrong.)

Another great memory of Gilly at BHS was when he brought the house down when he was in the Thespian’s production of “You Can’t Take It With You.”

One of the best times I had with Gil was when he was visiting Boulder once in the 80’s. We went to Estes Park and played “tacky tourist,” going into the stores that sold those beaded “Indian” belts with names on them. We would ask with a straight face if there was a belt for Gilbert and one for Lise. Naturally, because of our odd names, there was never a store that had a belt with our names. One store sold the ugliest plates of painted children with big, black, round eyes, the eyes taking up most of the face. We waxed poetic to the store clerk how one bug-eyed girl looked just like our daughter, “Taffy.” By the time we actually made it to a candy store, we were so euphoric that we were accused by the young candy seller of being high, only making us laugh the more. It was a fun day, and for many years after that we called or sent postcards to each other with crazy stories about what our fictional daughter had been up to.

When I would visit San Francisco, I would meet up with Gilly. For many years, he was working as a floral designer. One day we walked through the city to the various hotels where incredibly huge and beautiful flower displays were in the lobbies that he and his co-workers had made. And an evening to remember was when we had a flat tire on what was probably the busiest street in San Francisco.

Gil would always call me on my birthday in June and sing a song from “The River of No Return” and I would reciprocate on his birthday in August. He would call and tell me about a performance he had just seen at the SF Opera, or what old movie he had just been amazed by, or about a trip he had gone on with some of his other buddies from BHS who lived in the Bay area. If the phone rang late a night, it was Gilly.

In 2004 Gil had a stroke and his right arm was paralyzed. He couldn’t work and his life spiraled out of control. Gil died in early 2008. Gil was sweet, charming, talented, loads of fun, and a good friend. I am disappointed that we can’t go into old age together and I miss him.

Sloane Brown writes....

Although we had lost touch by high school, Gil Tripp was one of my best friends at University Hill Elementary and Baseline Junior High. The Tripps lived across the street from us. Gilly and I became friends because we shared the same piano teacher down the street. I - long ago - forgot her name, which isn't surprising. She wasn't a particularly inspiring teacher. But, she had a particular trait that brought Gilly and I together in our mutual fascination. She was a chain smoker and would light one cigarette after another all through our lessons. So, Gilly and I would "compete." Each week, we'd compare notes on how many smokes she'd gone through in each of our lessons and which one of us "won."

Laughter was key to our friendship. We didn't do much together at school. But, after school and on the weekends, Gilly and I would run across the street to each other's homes to just hang out and make up all sorts of silly games. He had a wonderful light-hearted way about him. That changed with the death of his brother, Donny, and the subsequent mental decline of his mom. The Tripps moved out of the neighborhood, as did we. My going away to boarding school only further distanced us. I remember running into Gil at CU shortly after his mom's death. There was a reserve now about him. Considering the horrific tragedies that had already affected his young life, that also wasn't surprising.

I had always hoped that he had rediscovered the buoyancy that had been such a predominant part of his nature, particularly when I heard he had become a florist in San Francisco. But, perhaps, the heavy emotional burden he carried all those years eventually became too much to bear.