Watching pro wrestling with a beer in one hand and a cigarette in the other. Screaming at the top of my lungs along with my brother and cousins as he floored it in his car while doing donuts in a dirt field. Checking the electricity under the hood of my 1971 Monte Carlo — with his hand.
My Uncle Wayne was one of kind. Those memories and many others come to mind as a I think of him four days after his death at the relatively young age of 66.
Uncle Wayne was born on Nov. 8, 1952, in Kansas City, Kansas, to my grandfather, Ernie Sr., and my grandmother, Ruth. He was the fourth of five siblings, which include my father, Ernie Jr., sister Joy and brother Don. The youngest of the children, Aunt Ginger, died at the beginning of this year at 64.
I don’t know much about Uncle Wayne’s upbringing. I assume it was similar to that of my father, who worked from age 8 to help the family survive. When they weren’t working or going to school, the brothers were fishing or hunting with their dad.
As my brother and I grew up, we saw a lot of Uncle Wayne, Aunt Donna and our cousins, Dale and Lee. We often got together during the holidays. I remember, in particular, one Christmas visit that came in the midst of an ice storm.
For more than a week in Lebanon, Missouri, we did not have electricity. Fortunately for us, we already relied on a wood-burning stove. For several days, we ate beans and cornbread cooked on that old stove.
Wayne, Donna, Lee and Dale were there for several days, and we kept ourselves entertained by playing Charades by candle light and sledding down an icy hill on our property.
One of the earliest memories I have of Uncle Wayne came during a visit when I was in the fourth grade. As we walked in the house, I could hear him yelling at the TV as Ric Flair and Ricky “The Dragon” Steamboat were wrestling. Not going to lie, I thought it was pretty cool to have an uncle who was watching what I wanted to watch.
Uncle Wayne also took my brother and I for our first somewhat dangerous car ride, as he performed a series of kiddies and donuts at high speed in his old, beat-up car.
Much like my father, one of Wayne’s gifts was his ability to work on things around the house, including cars. Several times while I was in high school, he worked on my prized possession, a candy-apple red, near-mint condition Monte Carlo.
He helped to install the glass pack on my car, worked on the back end to jack the car up and tuned it up a few times. He wasn’t a master mechanic, but he knew his away around that Monte Carlo.
Another fond memory is Uncle Wayne’s love for junk, sort of like a poor man’s “American Pickers.” Several times, he took us on trips in the country to abandoned old homes full of trinkets. I still have a copy of a sports section from 1974 featuring Hank Aaron’s record-tying 714th home run discovered during one of those treks.
I didn’t see much of Uncle Wayne after high school. I know he worked in maintenance at a local casino and for the UPS. Though he and Donna divorced many years ago, his sons have gone on to become good, successful men with their own families.
Through the years, I often asked family members how he was doing. The information was scarce. I wouldn’t say we were shocked to hear that he died of natural causes in Hiawatha on March 28. He lived a hard life, one that included beating throat cancer.
But he isn’t forgotten. There was plenty of fun and a ton of funny moments. I’m going to miss seeing him stick his finger into an electric current. I’ll miss laughing as he yelled at pro wrestlers on a TV screen. And I’ll miss playing cards with him.
Rest in peace, Uncle Wayne.