So long, Wendel

May 4, 2019

essays, people

Terry’s Eulogy

Terry approached life with 100% enthusiasm. Good or bad, fun or trouble (usually both), he went at it full-force. Even when he disagreed with you —and he often did, that was his default — he would go along with things, kicking and screaming, bitching and grinning, pointing out every fault in your plan with good-natured bellowing argument.

Terry was charming. He could walk into any group and soon be the center of attention. He would happily talk to race car drivers, professional musicians, mechanical engineers, chemistry professors — anyone really.

Even if he had no idea of what he was talking about —and he usually didn’t, this was also his default— he would still go full-bore and he would learn and respond and find a way to connect with those ivory tower experts. Because anyone and everyone was his friend and equal. Charming? We were all kind of jealous and mystified that he could have wooed that cute, smart nice girl into marrying him.

Terry was resilient. Terry would emerge from every situation, fun or trouble (usually both) unscathed and grinning while we all trailed behind picking up the wreckage, bandaging the wounded, and clutching our aching sides from his stupid antics. Terry just marched on into the next episode of fun. Or trouble. Usually both.

Terry was a friend. He never hesitated to help those in need, and he approached it the same way every time: enthusiasm to help, enthusiasm to tell you what a dumbass you were, and enthusiasm to vigorously argue why his way was the best way out of the mess. Terry would help you bounce back. He would help you feel good about yourself.

I remember him jumping into Dave’s old pickup to rescue me, my bewildered foreign wife, and infant daughter from a failed experiment at a better life in Maine. This was classic Terry — piling furniture to illegal heights in the back of the truck and telling me and Dave what sissies we were for wanting extra tie-downs. Then he wandered away after dinner at a sports bar in Saco. 2 oclock in the morning, a cruiser pulls up to the house and Terry climbs out, slamming the door and yelling thank you to the nice officers who he charmed into giving him a ride home. He came in the house, wondering why Dave and I were so nervous and went straight to the fridge looking for another beer.

That, friends, was the Terry I knew and loved.