Gordon Jay Vinkemulder

Gordon Jay Vinkemulder, 83, of Coconut Creek, FL, passed away on May 6, 2019. Born in Alaska, Michigan, to Philip and Frances Vinkemulder, he was the second youngest of eight children. The family moved to Broward County in 1948, and in 2014 Gordon was designated as a Broward County Pioneer.

He was a successful businessman and owner of Wooden Shoe Gardens with his brother Neal. He was a past president of Broward County Farm Bureau and involved in the Florida Farm Bureau organization for many years. He was a member of the First Baptist Church of Pompano and participated in community service groups throughout his lifetime. He served in the U.S. Army in 1957 & was stationed in Germany.

Gordon is survived by: three daughters, Sharon (Rich) Vollmer, Lee (Michael) Smith, and Sheila Bush; three grandchildren, Melissa (Trey) Mansfield, Melanie Pompos, and Luke Pompos; one Great-grandson, Peter Jay Mansfield; Brother, Dale (Elaine) Vinkemulder, and brother-in-law, Ken VanTuinen. Many beloved nieces and nephews; Dan (Janet) Vinkemulder, Larry (Gaye) Vinkemulder, Penny Lawson, Robin (Laddie) DeRocco, Beth (Robin) Hellman, Nancy (Kenny) Ash, Scott (Lynne) Vinkemulder, Lynne Kay (Bob) Rich, Bobby Vinkemulder, Dennis Vinkemulder, Jeri Walma, Renee (Tom) Gaines, Kevin Vinkemulder, Gary (Luann) Robinson, Peggy Cotter, Jim VanTuinen, Tom (Lori) VanTuinen, Keith VanTuinen, Harper Vinkemulder, Jim Vinkemulder, and Carol (Paul) Hamel.

He is pre deceased by his parents, Philip and Frances Vinkemulder, his siblings Philip (Phyllis), Paul (Arly), Leona (Jack) Robinson, Robert (Curly), Dorie Van Tuinen, Neal (Joyce) Dwight Vinkemulder, Jack Vinkemulder, and Debbie Cooper.

Tribute written by granddaughter Lissa Mansfield:

He was named Gordon Jay Vinkemulder on the night he was born on February 4, 1936 during a blizzard in Alaska, Michigan. He loved to tell the story of how his father met the doctor at the fence line and said “Well, he’s already come, but you might as well come all the way and have a cup of coffee.” That’s quite possibly the only time Gordon was early for anything.

In reflecting on his life, his oldest daughter, Sharon, realized that over the course of his eight decades, Gordon was called many names. As a child he was known as Gordie and was the second to last son born to Philip and Francis Vinkemulder. He had five brothers and two sisters and loved them very much.

From the beginning, Gordie was a hard worker—he milked cows in the morning, studied in a one-room schoolhouse with his siblings, and completed chores in the afternoons. After completing his education, Gordon assumed a new title: private. He drove tanks while stationed in Germany during his time in the United States Army. Back at home, he met his wife, my Nana, while horseback riding one day. Their meeting was the stuff of legend because only the most bold and charming character would ask “Hey baby, how’s about you and I get hitched?” upon first meeting a young lady. His role as a husband soon led to the title of “father,” and the product of that marriage was three wonderful daughters.

His children—my Aunt Sharon, my mom (Sheila), and my Aunt Lee—called him “daddy” as little girls. As a father, he turned most moments into fun adventures: he built blanket forts, played baseball and four square, carried kids on his shoulders, swung on rope swings over rock pits, planned camping trips, fashioned homemade hay rides, and walked around the house with his daughters sitting on his feet, their arms wrapped around his legs.

To his nieces and nephews, he was known as Uncle Gordie. To the neighborhood teens—especially the “half dirty dozen”—he was affectionately called “Ape Man” because of his hairy arms, wild tendencies, and participation in Planet of the Apes movie parties.

Gordon had a particular talent for making work fun, and he always invited others to join him in one of his life’s passions: working. He was in his element when he worked alongside his family and loved ones. On the job, he was “The Boss.” And he was a generous boss: he gave jobs and second chances to men that other people ignored. He was a collector of people (like the men who struggled to find work, the hitchhikers he picked up on the side of the road, and the neighborhood kids he employed at the nursery).

Later in life, Gordon became “Mr. Vinkemulder” by serving as a president of many boards and local organizations. He was incredibly civic-minded and volunteered his time, talents, and resources throughout his life. He was a volunteer firefighter with the North West Broward Volunteer Fire Department for nearly fifteen years. He went on a mission trip to build a church in El Salvador. He drove a children’s choir group around the country in a yellow school bus to help them raise money for their orphanage. At one time, he was a deacon in this very church.

I knew Gordon by one of his favorite names: Pop Pop. My siblings and I could not say the word “grandpa,” so we dubbed him our “Pop Pop” and the name stuck. My Pop Pop was a man who loved helping people and gave so generously of his time and resources, as I’m sure many of us can attest. Growing up, I often heard stories of how he drove up and down the state of Florida—and across the country—to visit friends and family in need. I considered these trips as generous acts of making people feel seen and loved. And he saw and loved people in so many other ways: He pulled over on the side of the road to help stranded drivers. He volunteered while his daughters performed in marching band. He acted as a second father to many children in his neighborhood. He provided a safe home for people and cats that had nowhere else to live.

He was also a larger-than-life figure and the central character in many epic stories. He scaled palm trees only to find bobcats perched at the top, he rode a tractor well before he could drive a car, he swung from vines and plopped into alligator-infested waters below, he tried steering a bull named Big Red by the tail, only to be dragged through a pasture... These were the actions and adventurous tales of a Florida boy with Michigan roots, of a landscape artist with a farming background, of a soldier with a cowboy’s heart. I’m sure we all have our favorite “Gordon” stories, and we could fill many books with tales of his escapades. This is what I mean when I say that he was larger than life—his life was full, loud, exciting, and colorful.

I’ll always remember how my Pop Pop described himself as a walking American flag: he had red skin, white hair, and brilliantly blue eyes. His skin bore the weathered look of decades of sun exposure without sunscreen, his ear was holey but sometimes sparkled with the jewel of a green earring, his smile spanned the width of his face, and his shirt pocket was usually weighed down by his cell phone, because he always wanted to be connected to people and he was only ever a phone call away. In fact, he valued personal connection so much that he would often insist that anyone he was with should also chat with the person on the other end of the telephone line. That’s what he did: he built connections, maintained relationships, and poured out love.

Gordon was a phenomenal person, but he was not a saint. By his own admission, he was hot tempered, which matched his red face. He was impatient—a trait that he’s passed along to me, his granddaughter. He sometimes was a little grouchy, and he was clearly and consistently vehicularly-challenged...But all of his positive qualities made him lovable, and his negative qualities made him human.

My Pop Pop labeled himself a “wild and crazy guy,” and this was probably due to the fact that he was quite a character, the life of the party, and a bull in the china shop. Some called him “Flash Gordon” because he walked quickly and moved through life as if in fast-forward motion. He was an Energizer Bunny who couldn’t sit still for even one moment, and he danced with so much zest and vigor that you could hear the keys and coins jangling in his pant pockets.

But in addition to—and, perhaps, more important than—the bolder aspects of Gordon’s appearance and personality, I’ll remember the gentler, quieter, more sensitive parts of him. I’ll remember his love of the moon, the sweet notes he wrote in my birthday cards, the thoughtfulness with which he chose flowers to plant in front of my mom’s home, the tender way he hugged me on my wedding day, and the sense of pride I could see radiating from his being when he attended his grandchildren’s graduation ceremonies. I’ll remember his funny dance moves, his Donald Duck impersonations, and his love of sweet tea, liver and onions, and rhubarb pie.

And I will know in my heart that my Pop Pop lived life to the absolute fullest because he never gave up on anything or anyone, even if the task seemed impossible. “Quit” was not a word in Gordon’s personal vocabulary. Even if all signs pointed towards letting go, my Pop Pop would will his desired result into being. This is how I know that my Pop Pop chose to be with God, and that choice was made the same way he made all of his other decisions: wholeheartedly, without fear, and with abundant amounts of hope.

Gordon Jay Vinkemulder might have been one of eight children, but his personality was as unique as his name, and in that way, he was a one of one. He was many things to many people, and as he moved through life collecting people, he also collected the names they called him: son, brother, soldier, husband, dad, uncle, boss, president, pop pop, patriot, believer.

When a person passes, this is what we have left: the relationships that were made and maintained by love, the stories that will be collected in scrapbooks and passed down for generations, and the memories of particular moments, preferences, and inside jokes. These are all intangible and precious. But we are also left with tangible reminders of a person and their influence on our life: we are left with yellow school buses, palm trees, American flags, voicemails, and photos of the moon. My hope is that—even though Gordon is gone—we can all take stock of just how much of himself he left with us, and that we can carry those stories, memories, and mementos with us as we face the world without him. If I can leave you with one more thought, I’ll quote from Gordon himself: “God doesn't promise you another day and every day is a gift.” Gordon’s life was a phenomenal gift to us all.