JOHN AND JEANNE

John and Jeanne Gould’s home welcomes visitors with its trim lawn (which John, 88, maintains himself) and expansive front window permitting copious amounts of morning light to flood the sitting room. White-haired with wide eyes and knowing smiles, they laugh frequently and make the 80s look lovely. Partners on a storied journey, they have war tales, both literal and figurative, yet project peace. On the Treyvon Martin case, mortality and more, they generously impart insight.

Making yourself useful ...

In 1996, John started the crime watch group. There were 12 volunteers at the time, and Jeanne was its first lady. These days the Lake Highlands North Volunteers in Patrol boasts 50-plus members and low crime rates. It’s a good way to meet your neighbors, the Goulds say. “I patrol with a woman who is a Catholic. I am a Methodist,” Jeanne says. “It makes for interesting conversation.” Dialogue keeps the mind sharp, John agrees. “Religion, politics, sports — we talk about it all.”

On the Treyvon Martin case

Regarding the recent case in which a Floridian neighborhood watch member confronted and killed a teenager, John says, “Zimmerman did three things our members know not to do: He went out by himself. He carried a gun. He confronted someone. We do not even get out of the car. If we see something, we only phone it in to police.”

Keep doing

Twice a week, they swim or work out at the gym. After retiring, John learned to repair pianos. They use the instrument-repair pay for fun things — “mad money,” Jeanne calls it. They volunteer a ton: Jeanne styles hair at the beauty shop at C.C.Young, and with her church group she knits prayer shawls for the hospitalized. John presided over the Audelia Road Library Friends. Both serve the poor through First United Methodist church’s Crossroads Community Services charity. John plays the trumpet, which he practices routinely. “You have to keep your lips in shape for this, so you have to play a little every day,” he says. Jeanne says, with a sly grin, that the practice keeps her husband’s kisser in shape. John’s band is called The Think

Band. “We don’t use music; we just have it in our heads, think about it. We know all the same numbers from the ’40s and ’50s. ‘Sweet Georgia Brown.’ ‘Bill Bailey.’ ‘Up a Lazy River.’ ” They don’t play much anymore, but for years they played “retirements, 90th birthday or 50th anniversary parties, that kind of thing,” John says. They earned some $60,000 and gave it all to charity. They booked a gig at Presbyterian North on New Year’s Eve. When they play the oldies at retirement homes, even Alzheimer’s patients sing along. The guitarist sometimes throws in an old western tune such as “Your Cheatin’ Heart,” and it never fails to light up a room, John says. Jeanne’s part? “I clap.”

Back when John and Jeanne have known each other all their lives, it seems. In the 1940s they attended the Methodist church in Long Island, N.Y., where John was a soloist and choir member. Music is in his blood: His mother played piano at the silent movies. Jeanne’s older brother and John were buddies. She says she always had a crush on John. “I joined the choir even though I couldn’t sing as well as him.” Before John perceived his admirer, he finished high school (1943), joined the Marines and shipped off to Truk, a South Pacific island group. Jeanne recalls air raid drills, officers on street corners, lights-out in the evenings, no sliced bread, but fortunately no lost loved ones (lucky for Jeanne, she knew not enough about the future to fret over John’s well-being during the war). John returned unharmed, as did Jeanne’s brother, who bet her two bucks she couldn’t score a date with John. He lost. John quickly was smitten. “I liked her laugh,” John recalls. When he finally popped the question, Jeanne told him the engagement would have to wait. “She told me she had a date to go to the circus with Gordon, this other fella she was seeing at the time, and that she couldn’t miss that!” Jeanne explains that going to the circus was a big deal. The tickets were expensive. You had to ride the train into New York City. She couldn’t just leave Gordon in a lurch like that. “So after the circus, I had to propose to John,” Jeanne says. The story still cracks them up.

Both went to college, and they had two kids (then four grandsons). Jeanne worked 40 years as a dental hygienist — one of a few jobs for women in the ’50s and ’60s — and John wound up holding several different posts with the American Heart Association, which eventually brought them to Dallas in 1975.

Lake Highlands then and now ...

“Really, the neighborhood hasn’t changed that much since we moved in,” John says. “Our neighbors are all young- er, which is, of course, great,” Jeanne counters.

Where to find new friends

John says every time they moved to a new city, they headed straight for the local Methodist church, where they quickly made friends and volunteered. John jokingly laments the repeated recruitment to lead youth groups everywhere they went. First United Methodist's feeding and clothing of Dallas families in need, through its Crossroads Community Service ministry, is the big story, he adds.

Shining on

John plays “Taps” at the funerals of veterans. And these days they attend a lot of funerals. “At our age, you realize time is running out, but as someone once explained it, we are in the fourth quarter, and like a quarterback in the fourth quarter, it’s the time to really make your life count.” modeling stint. They wore trimmed ringlets and berry-colored lipstick, and their uniforms were silky, with buttons, collars and belts.

Beyond sport

Basketball offered an opportunity to both play the game she loved and experience competition and camaraderie that accompanies serious sport — something relatively few women in the 1940s enjoyed, she notes. Her involvement with the Hornets also launched young Frances on geographical and cultural adventures.