J. Gordon Duncan

March 7, 2013 Posted by jgordonduncan | Uncategorized | father, father son, grief, grieve, preacher, preachers kid, rc sproul, sproul | Leave a Comment

About the Cover for “I am my father’s son”

The cover of this book makes me stupidly happy for several reasons.

The original piece was a self-portrait my father did years ago. It was a painting of a picture from his senior piano recital. In his passing, I uncovered and recovered the photo with which Sam used to paint himself. Both that photo and the first version of that painting were intensely black, dark and mysterious.

The painting came to me around my junior year of college. Sam was cleaning out his office and asked me if I wanted it. I of course did. But Sam warned that it was in bad shape and to be careful with it.

So here I was in my dorm room with this moody, dark painting of my father. My good friend, Jonathan Grauel, was also interest in it, and when he learned it needed restoring, he offered to adapt it, change it, reinterpret it. I jumped at the opportunity.

What resulted is this deep, rich portrait of my father that has been cared for and transformed through the deeply talented eye and hand of my friend.

I couldn’t imagine a better cover for this book.

Then I had another idea. I am a terrible graphic artist, so Jonny as I call him often works on my book covers for me. But this time, I wanted to surprise and honor him as well, but I lacked the ability to design a proper cover using this portrait.

Enter my other good friend John Brenton Phillips. John is also an artist and a friend from ECU like Jon Grauel. John and I were friends in our freshman dorm, but as life would have it, we lost touch for nearly twenty years. Then one day, John gives me a call out of the blue, we grab dinner together, and our friendship is rekindled.

When I ask John to take on the cover photo, he jumped at the task, and the result is nothing less than amazing.

So as you approach this book, the cover gives honor to my dad, the eye-popping color is due to my friend Jonathan Grauel, the graphics are the work of my friend John Brenton Philips, and the words are mine.

Sam brought together friends from across various backgrounds and a bunch of years on this one. I hope you enjoy the visual art as much as the art of words.

If you would like to explore Jonathan’s art more, you can find his online studio at http://www.bluestudioonline.com/, and if you would like to learn more about John’s graphics’ business, you can find them at http://waxingdigital.com/

Thanks to the so many who inspire and encourage me.

Gordon

You can purchase this book at

March 6, 2013 Posted by jgordonduncan | Uncategorized | father, father son, grief, grieve, preacher, preacher kid | Leave a Comment

Chapter Excerpt “My Father’s Amazing Musical Life”

At the age of five, my father sat down to a piano and picked out a piece of music by ear. He naturally had a gift and immediately became a child prodigy. We have a copy of his Senior Recital. It is insane to hear how talented he was at age eighteen.

Insanely talented. So talented that he eventually headed off to the Cincinnati Conservatory of Music. He stayed there two years but returned because he wanted to get married to Mom.

Going forward, Sam could play any piece of music you put in front of him, he could pick anything out by ear, and he took great joy in teaching. Throughout my entire childhood, Sam taught piano.

He eventually designed his own method, created two piano books, and taught a host of kids how to play. And out of his five kids, you know how many learned to play?

None.

One became a talented singer, two of us play drums, and I primarily play the guitar. But none of us learned to read and play music.

When I was seventeen, Sam gave me a very nice electric keyboard. At that point, I was playing drums and guitar. He said, “Listen, I know you aren’t going to take lessons, but can I show you just a few things on piano, and I bet you can play.”

With that simple approach, Sam showed me how to make majors, minors, and sevenths. He taught me how to do that with sharps and flats, and even taught me how to create chords. An hour later, he left the room, and I figured out how to plunk my way through the keyboard.

Looking back, that event amazes me. I’m sure he wanted me to know the piano as he did, but Sam also knew my interests were different. So he appealed to my personality, made both a financial and time investment, and taught me just enough to get me going.

I will never be a piano player like my Dad, but I can find what I need and muddle through if necessary.

Years later, when I brought my beautiful wife, Amy, to the house, Sam discovered that Amy was a brilliant pianist with over twelve years of experience. Sam’s arthritis was setting in pretty badly then, but Amy and Sam sat down and played the piano together many times.

It gave me great joy.
It gave Sam greater joy.
Amy felt assured in the family and grew in affection for Sam.

Sam’s talent today, and the avenues available for making and performing music would more than likely lead him down the road of recording and being a popular musician.

Instead, he played, performed, and taught in anonymity. But those who knew his talent were always amazed.

These and other stories can be found at

March 5, 2013 Posted by jgordonduncan | Uncategorized | father, father son, grief, grieving, preacher, preacher's son | 1 Comment

Chapter Excerpt from I am my father’s son

Below is a chapter from my new book about my father, Thom Duncan. This chapter is entitled, “I am my father’s stage name”.

Somewhere in the mid to late 60’s, my father packed up the family (I was not born yet) and moved to California. Reportedly, Dad did this for two reasons: my mother’s asthma would improve on the West Coast and Dad wanted to be an actor.

Hearing these stories and looking at the pudgy, balding man who told them, I always scratched my head.

Actor? Are you kidding me?

But he gave it a shot. Though he doesn’t have an IMDB profile, he did some modeling (???) and had a few gigs. But one of the things his agent told him was that he had to change his name.

Thomas Duncan was taken.

Thom Duncan was taken.

For a while, he went by the name Duke Duncan as we had an uncle who played pro baseball by that name, but his agent said that Duke was John Wayne.

So my father became Gordon Duncan for a period of time.

Legend has it, my parents were at a swanky dinner party one night, and over the course of the evening, Mom called him “Thom”, “Duke”, and “Gordon”. She couldn’t keep up.

At this point in the storytelling, Mom would always say that she was sure that everyone at the party thought she was some floozy that Dad picked up because she didn’t know his name.

Dad always smiled at this and kept telling stories.

Well, the acting career didn’t work out, and the Duncan clan moved back across America. A few years later, I was born. They named me Gordon.

I am my Dad’s stage name.

I’ve always thought of it as something pretty cool, but somewhere in my twenties, I realized that my naming was something that I needed to live up to and not just be nostalgic about.

Honoring my father meant honoring the name he gave me. It meant joyfully living out some of his dreams. Now, my father never pressured me into any job or endeavor.

Never. I mean it.

He didn’t place on me the “Be a pastor like me” or “Be a musician like me” or any of that. I was free to be who I wanted which is pretty rare these days.

But as I matured, and I saw God draw similar lines in my life like He drew in my father’s, I gladly walked in paths that my father frontiered.

I am gladly my Father’s stage name.

I ask God to enable me to honor both my heavenly Father and my earthly father in the doing.

You can purchase this book at