He was a proud veteran; a devoted husband; a loving family patriarch; a kind neighbor, a loyal friend. And to everyone, in any role, on every occasion, Wayne Konrardy was a good man.
When we lost him unexpectedly and tragically on January 10, 2023, we, from all generations and diverse families, from all walks of life, states and countries, gathered together to honor him, to pay tribute to him, to show our collective love for him. The more than 500 people who gathered that afternoon…who waited an hour and a half to pay their respects and didn’t care it took that long…each of them had a story of him to tell. I listened to everyone. Every story was “so Wayne”. But my story is different. I grew up with Wayne. He was my brother, my protector, my birth family.
When asked to tell what my brother Wayne was like, I always described him as somebody who, within 5 minutes of talking to him, you would already be feeling like you’d known him for years. He made lifelong friends in instants. As his wife, Mary, can attest to, even new geography couldn’t stop him from finding people he liked, and making new friends. Some of you reading this, are one of those who met him on your vacation, and became lifelong friends. Only, lifelong was supposed to be longer.
In his long career of selling cars, he believed that integrity mattered, and relationships with people were the priority. That’s probably why so many of who bought cars from Wayne, still reached out to him when he retired, for help purchasing a new one. You could trust him.
Wayne didn’t always like the new people he met. But his opinion came second to his kindness, and respect for each person’s right to be treated with dignity. Sometimes, he wasn’t too keen with people who weren’t even born yet. He liked to tell people that when our mom and dad left for the hospital to have me, he was full of excited anticipation. For they had told him that they’d return home with a wonderful surprise, just for him. He was convinced he was finally getting his biggest wish. When Mom walked in a week later with me and proudly introduced a baby sister to him, he exclaimed in horror, “I thought you were getting me a pony!” and walked away, crying. Our parents dismissed it, knowing that once he got to know me, he’d love me. But it would take a while. He slipped me in his wagon one day when mom was occupied with doing the laundry, and quickly took me to our elderly neighbors who had no babies of their own, and tried to sell me. Once or twice in the next few years, especially when I became a pest following him around, I would hear him mutter, “shoulda been a pony.”
Wayne’s gift of salesmanship may have failed with the elderly neighbors, but it worked with me. All I knew of my big brother, was that he wouldn’t let anyone else speak ill of me, hurt me, or ignore me. I loved my big brother.
As we grew up and began to earn money with odd jobs, it was obvious that I was more “careful” with my coins than Wayne was with his. Which translated, meant that I was tight and Wayne was generous. Even as a young boy, any money he had he would share with his friends. For a day or so after any pay day, Wayne was the grand host. But before the week was out, he was putting on a smile and trying to talk me into buying something of his so he would have the money to treat himself and his friends at the corner store. I held on to my money. Until one day he got his hands on a small teddy bear. He offered the cute furry thing to me for the bargain price of a soda and chips. I caved and paid him.
When Wayne became short of money again, he recalled he had had a winner with the teddy bear, except there was a slight problem – he only had the one he had sold me. He solved the problem by sneaking into my room when I was playing outside, grabbing it, and presenting it to me as a new one, for the same great deal of a soda and chips. I bought “that one”, too.
It became a running joke with Wayne that he kept selling me the same teddy bear over and over for about 3 years, and I never knew it. The truth that I can now share with you is this: I always knew it was the same teddy bear. I kept “buying” it because it was the only way I could give Wayne my money without his knowing it was only because I liked him. I had my pride, ya know.
Wayne was graceful and sure on his feet as he grew up. He loved to dance, to roller skate – to move. He was in sports and a skilled baseball pitcher and batter in high school.
He was not an arrogant man, but as he aged, he found no problem mentioning his ping pong skills. It was true that he was an undeclared champ…taking his honed skills on the road, on his travels, whenever a resort provided a ping pong table. He told me the story once of being at a beach on vacation and watching a couple playing ping pong. He said he casually sauntered over and inquired into the game, and struck up a conversation. Sure enough, he was asked if he wanted to join them and was offered a paddle. He coyly hesitated a bit, then smiled at them and to their shock, promptly kicked their butts for the next 3 games. He laughed for months afterwards, telling the story, knowing he “still had it.”
My brother loved music. Back in the day, that meant the kitchen radio at night and station KAAY out of Little Rock Arkansas. It would sometimes take Wayne a full five minutes to get it tuned in, but then we’d listen for as long as Mom would let us stay up. Together, he and I became part of an historic event one bright, summer Saturday, because of music.
I was in the living room when Wayne, in the kitchen, came rushing to me, grabbing my arm, saying excitedly as he pulled me into the kitchen, “You’ve got to listen to this group!” I stood next to him, ears cocked to the radio. Out blasted the best song I had ever heard. We stood there together, rapt, tapping our feet and hands, mesmerized by the rhythm, the beat…it was unlike anything we had ever heard before, and we were loving it. When the song stopped I asked Wayne who the heck was singing that great song!?! He said he heard the band was odd looking with really long hair and from England. Moptops, he said they were.
He promised he would go to K-Mart that week to see if the record was in stock. It was, and that’s how we became one of the millions who owned the single, “I want to hold your hand.” I still brag that Wayne and I both knew from the very beginning, that the Beatles were the greatest musicians of all time.
My brother was a born charmer. One of the most charismatic people you’d ever meet. When he smiled at you…talked to you…he looked you in the eye and you felt like you were the only person in the room. He became the best friend you ever had. He was an easy person to talk to, confide in, and his laugh was contagious. I had more girl friends than anybody else in school, because every girl in the building had a crush on him and wanted to follow me home, just to gaze upon him for a minute or two.
He stayed the kind of guy you always turned to if you needed advice, or help, or just wanted to enjoy the day talking and laughing. He made you a better person just being around him. He showed you the better side of yourself…and with it, the world seemed a gentler place.
Above all else in his life, the one person who mattered the most to Wayne, was his wife Mary. The love between Wayne and Mary is the down-to-earth, uplifted, special, and profound love that we all hoped was in the world, but wasn’t sure it was, until them.
With Mary, what gave him the greatest joys and pride in his life was his family. He devoted his time to their two sons, John and Jim, their daughter-in-law, “the Kid” Dawn; their grandchildren and the loves in their lives, and the great grandchildren. But his love didn’t stop there. He extended his pride and love to all his family beyond his core one, to aunts, siblings, nieces, nephews, godchildren, cousins, and on and on.
Cancer brings us to our knees. It diminishes the quality of life of those we love, and takes them from us far earlier than life should. Yes, cancer brings us to our knees, and it did Wayne.
But he didn’t stay there.
The word, “hero” is defined as a person who is admired or idealized for courage, outstanding achievements, or noble qualities. There are war heroes, and heroes who save people from accidents or possible death. But if ever they create a category for “hero of the spirit”, it would be my brother Wayne.
He straightened up his body from the blows each time, and stared that evil cancer in the face, full on. He would not allow it to define his soul. He faced the harsh treatments with gratitude that there were options. He refused to be bitter and kept his kindness to all living creatures in spite of the injustice of his illness…he expanded his love for his beautiful wife, his family, friends, neighbors…to all of us.
Like all who knew him, I came to admire him even more during his illness, for his courage and tenacity, and how, instead of being bitter…whining…complaining…he smiled. He joked. He told his stories. He was compassionate and loving. He was a gentle man, strong in his belief that life was to be lived with gratitude, every minute, every day.
We all miss Wayne. We all miss the man he was. But I also miss the little boy he was…the one who always woke me up at 3AM to run down and see what Santa got us…who went fishing in a rain puddle with me. Who let me wear his cowboy hat. The one who lent me his favorite baseball mitt for the neighborhood game…okay, I may have taken that mitt without asking him.
We miss him in all the ways he was to us: the brother, the husband, the father, the grandfather, the relative, the friend, the neighbor. We mourn the bright light that has gone out in our lives.
I paraphrase Anne Morrow Lindberg. The pain we feel is universal, and understood by everyone. And yet, it is very isolating, for each pain is different, and we each are alone in bearing it. But my brother Wayne, your Wayne…never knew a time when he couldn’t lift himself up, out and on his way again with a smile on his face. So can one with such a beautiful soul, ever be gone from us?
We won’t let it. We were better people around him, and we will remain so.
As long as we can show any courage in facing adversity…display acts of kindness towards meanness…inspire a bit of laughter in tension…we will be honoring him, and he will be right there with us when we do. We will keep him in our lives, and we will make him proud.
Let us, through our pain of grief, remember that Wayne’s heart was larger than life because he made and lived it so…and because of that, it was large enough for a piece of it to stay behind, and comfort us, for all the rest of our lives.
So let us then honor Wayne as he would want us to. Let us grieve, but also let us try, between our tears…to find a way to smile…if even just a little.
We will speak of what Wayne has given us, and our lives. We all mattered to him. We were all appreciated by him. We all knew we were special…and loved…by him. Because that’s what Wayne would do in the end.…take care of the rest of us. This, family…this, friends…this, neighbors…is his everlasting legacy, and his profound gift to each of us.
Peace, my beloved brother, Wayne. Tell Mom and Dad I said hi.
St. John Journals 