Adios, Bup

I am Wayne's older brother. Please allow me, on behalf of Carol and David and my brothers Joe, Jeff and our sister Wendy to welcome you here today to this beautiful church on such a gorgeous day. Some of you may have already noticed, and if not, I'm sure you'll see now that my siblings and I are all attired in the same T shirts. T shirts? To a funeral? These shirts are from the Firebird Raceway near Phoenix AZ where this past February Wayne and the rest of us attended the NHRA national drag race event. Wayne has always been a major NHRA fan and we were able to put a trip together so we could all go out to Phoenix and stay with our brother Jeff who lives there and go to the race. The point was to have all five of us in the same place at the same time, something which occurs rarely and hadn't for nearly 3 years. I don't know if we truly understood the significance of the event or maybe we just didn't want to admit to ourselves that this could be the last time this happened. Any way, I know Wayne had a blast! It was fun for us to see him having a good time and enjoying himself in spite of the fact that the weather for our weekend was NOT typical AZ weather. It was cloudy, overcast, windy, raining often and at times down right cold. It wreaked havoc with the race schedule but if they weren't racing cars it gave us a chance to hang out in the stands and talk and laugh and cut up about stuff from when we were kids and some of the things we got into.

Our parents, Bill and Joanne, raised five of us. They were both blue collar working folks who struggled and saved their entire lives to take care of us and put a roof over our heads. We were by no means a well to do family monetarily but I don't ever remember even once going to bed hungry. We may not have always gotten everything we wanted but we never once had to go without something we truly needed. Ours was the house in the neighborhood that all the kids flocked to and at any given time the house and the yard was crawling with kids. The down side to this was any time something BAD happened in the neighborhood other parents and or the cops always came to our house first...and more often than not at least one of the offenders was apprehended there. It was, however, pretty much assured that Wayne would NOT be one of the guilty parties. Frankly Wayne didn't really go in for most of the shennanigans and minor hooliganism that the rest of us reveled in. He was generally content to be listening to music or playing his drums or hanging out with his musician friends, who frankly, we thought were pretty weird. Wayne didn't really do the things we did, didn't seem to like the things we liked and really never seemed to be much like the rest of us. Not a bad thing, just the way it was. Maybe there's a reason for that.

Throwing political correctness to the wind, I'm going to lay it out for you. You may have heard a saying something like these when people talk about someone who is "different"....He's a hamburger short of a happy meal....his elevator doesn't go all the way to the top...and you may even have heard, "someone must have dropped him on his head when he was a kid". Well, my friends, I'm here to tell you today that that is EXACTLY what happened to our brother Wayne. He was born with a stubborn streak a mile wide. It would come to work well for him later with his battle with cancer but for now all it did was cause him problems. One of the ways Wayne best illustrated his stubborn-ness was particularly vexing to our mother. If Wayne did not care for what ever was being served for that particular meal (which was most of the time) he would flat out refuse to eat it. Once the battle of wills reached a certain point he would begin to eat...but he would refuse to swallow. You've seen pictures of squirrels with their cheeks all puffed out from nuts or acorns or what have you and the baseball players with the big wad of gum or tobacco, well that was Wayne. He would steadfastly refuse to swallow what was in his mouth and was actually capable of sitting there for hours with his cheeks jammed full of food. Now, by telling you this I do not wish to disparage our mother. Some of you may gasp and shudder upon hearing this and all I can suggest is that you walk a mile in her shoes. One day, after going round and round for hours with a kid sitting with his mouth jam packed full of partially eaten food Mom just snapped. She just couldn't handle it anymore so she snatched him up, took him outside, flipped him upside down and while dangling him by the ankles over the driveway began trying to shake the food out of his mouth. I guess he squirmed, she slipped, lost her grip...who knows?...but BAM. Face first into the driveway. Sorry Mom. I had to tell it. To the day she left this world if you wanted to make our mother cry all you had to do was to start telling this story about the day she face planted her son in the driveway. WE loved it. We told it all the time but it broke her heart. When I see her next time I know I'll be in trouble for bringing it up today.

All of us had nicknames for each other. Being the kind, loving, caring, compassionated big brother that I was, I got the nick name "OGRE". I don't understand why but I'll live with it. Wayne we called "Bup" and I have to confess I have no real idea why. Our uncle John, I believe gets credit for using it first when Wayne was small and it stuck. He did manage to acquire a few different AKA's over the years....Chetley, Chet, Roof Rabbit (don't ask me I never figured it out) but we always just called him Bup or Buppie.

In yet another demonstration of his infamous stubborn streak Wayne was sitting on the steps of our grand parents' house in North Philly. Our uncle Rob needed to come down and after Wayne steadfastly refused to move Rob tried to lift him under his arms and started to carry him down the steps...and you guessed it.....face plant number 2. Anyone starting to see a pattern here? One of Bup's early claims to fame was his greeting to friends and relatives who came to our house. Bup could usually be found sitting out in front of the house and when greeted by the new arrival would scowl and say simply, "GO HOME".

One day we were all out in the yard at our place in Trevose and were playing some semblance of touch football. Our uncle John had grown up playing baseball and was an accomplished pitcher. John could throw. Flat out throw. Hard, fast and accurate. During the course of the game Wayne got his nose out of joint over something, quit the game, went to the opposite end of the yard and began to harangue John. After a while John told him if he didn't shut up he was going to eat a football. That only prompted Wayne to turn it up a notch. From a good 25 yards away John heaved that football. I don't think Bup ever saw it coming. He heard it, I know that because I heard it whizzing when it sailed past me but he never saw it until it blasted him right square in the nose. Face plant #3.

When he was old enough Wayne got a car. We were living in the golden age of muscle cars. John had a 71 Camaro Z28, Bob had a Corvette, I drove a Trans Am Firebird...and Wayne...Wayne had the Bic Banana. It was a MOPAR, a GTX or Road Runner like thing with a huge monster motor and the wheel wells all hack sawed out to make room for these massive tires in the rear and then these little tiny skinny wheels and tires up front, an exhaust system sealed with bubblegum and duct tape and it was painted bright, eye injuring canary yellow, hence the banana part. I just have NO recollection of where the Bic part came in but that car was Bup's pride and joy. He took me for a ride in it. Once. The car was fast. Tire burning, smoking burnout fast. Stupid fast. Snap your head back and make your stomach queasy fast but the car was a jalopy bucket of bolts held together by prayer. I told him when we got back and I realized I had survived that he was crazy to drive that car. I told him I did dumb stuff like ride my motorcycle after drinking and run too fast on dark deer infested roads. I said I may be crazy to do that...but I'm not stupid enough to ever get back in that car.

There are most likely many of you here, not of Bup's immediate family who probably know more things about him than I know. I've learned things about him just in the past few days that I never knew before. There was a period of time years ago when he and I were at odds with each other. We found out years later after talking about it that during that time both of us thought the other did not like the other one. An Anonymous quote goes, "IT HURTS TO LOVE SOMEONE AND NOT BE LOVED IN RETURN. BUT WHAT IS THE MOST PAINFUL IS TO LOVE SOMEONE AND NEVER FIND THE COURAGE TO LET THAT PERSON KNOW HOW YOU FEEL." Years ago I went to a wedding in a Roman Catholic church and during the mass the priest had everyone turn and greet and shake the hands of the people sitting near them. I though that was a nice thing to do, especially during a church service but I'm going to ask just a tad more of those of you here today. If there's someone that YOU love, ESPECIALLY if you maybe haven't told them lately that you do love them...take just a second and do it now!
Another anonymous person said, "ONE DAY YOUR LIFE WILL FLASH BEFORE YOUR EYES. MAKE SURE THE SHOW IS WORTH WATCHING!" Wayne Paupst's life was worth watching. Not on TV or in the tabloid papers or on the Gossip Channel. There's no True Hollywood Story about him. He wasn't famous...or was he? I've been reading the entries into the online guest book on his obituary page and the common theme is men and women from all over the country, from all over the WORLD telling us how Wayne touched their lives in such a positive way through his work, his teaching and his mentoring. He's raised fine sons, good and decent young men who have already started their own families. His little grand son Elijah was the light of his life. He was a good and loving faithful husband. He loved his family, his work and his God. He was honest and hard working and exhibited a strength and courage during this fight, this battle, this showdown against good and evil, light and dark. Qualities that will be an ispiration to me for all the rest of the days I am permitted t walk this earth.

I am so thankful to Wayne's wife Carol and his son, David for allowing my brothers and sister and I as much time as we had with Wayne during his final hours here. Although the hurt and the pain that we felt from watching him suffer so was difficult to handle we feel priveleged to have been able to just sit with him, talk to him while holding his hand during his final hours and let him know...its OK now. Go be with Mom and Dad. In a time when other families may have opted to close ranks and just huddle together Carol and Dave gave us a gift more valuable than they could ever know. Thank you.

Did you ever wonder why so many smart people who say such smart things are named "anonymous"? Here's another who said, "DON'T WORY ABOUT LIFE. YOU'RE NOT GOING TO SURVIVE IT ANYWAY.' Sure enough, we're all going to have to leave some day. I can only hope, and ask and wish, because I have no right to expect or demand otherwise, that when my day comes I can face it with the strength, the courage, the faith and the dignity that our brother Wayne...Bup...showed when it was his time.

The guy who wrote the Cat In The Hat books...and my favorite, Green Eggs and Ham said in 5 seconds what I've been trying to convey for the past 20 minutes. Dr. Seuss said, "DON'T CRY BECAUSE ITS OVER...SMILE BECAUSE IT HAPPENED!"
We're not crying, Bup. We're all smiling now.
Adios. Vaya Con Dios....See ya later, dude.