Alex was a quite, simple man, that was like many of his generation in that he had none or hardly any, formal education. Things were starting to pass him by in the late 1950's and he still held on to many of the old ways.
He and Emma Osborne bought a little house in Charleston, Arkansas. He had room for a garden and a small lot to pen his mule. He would hire out in the spring and fall seasons to plow other people's gardens. They built an indoor bathroom on the little house that gave them some comfort and which was a change from "things as they knew them".
One thing Alex could never understand was why people would go to the motion pictures to see "that picture on the wall". There was a porch swing on the front porch that was painted green and would squeak every time you would swing back and forth. If you drove by the house in the late afternoon or early evening, you would find Alex sitting there. He bought an old car, but would only drive it when he had to, and would walk most places.
His son, John, and daughter, Myrtle, lived in California, but other sons, W.J. and Andy, lived in the area and were there to visit and help. They were a comfort to him when it was learned that he had cancer and that his condition was terminal. Near the end of his illness his stomach was swollen, and he couldn't button his pants. I'm sure he was in constant pain, but never complained openly. He was call "Daddy Gibson" by his grandchildren, and was the only grandfather they had.