Jerry Hoelzer (Stump) died this morning in Nederland, Texas.  He was a pal to many of us who had shared the good times back in the Fifties when things were slower and times were simpler.  The transition from grade school to junior high meant you made new friends, but you had to test the waters so to speak.  We all poured into Woodrow Wilson Jr. High from various elementary schools in Port Arthur, Texas:  Franklin, DeQueen, Lee, and Terrell.  It was 1952, and you saw many new faces for the first time.  Stump came from Franklin School, and I saw him for the first time in the gym during P.E. period.  Someone pointed out that he had no arches, and sure enough the middle of his feet covered the gym floor splat, like a duck's foot.  Somebody kidded Stump about his feet one time, only to slink away when Stump challenged him, nostrils flaring.  Stump had a reputation as a great athlete and furthermore as someone you better not mess with.  I found out the hard way.

In the following year, 1953, we played softball at gym period, and talking trash seemed to be the norm those days, especially when you razzed the pitcher or the batter on the other team.  Stump was on the other team, and he chattered it up like a sailor, hurling all sorts of insults at me.  I was pitching, and he chattered these friendly insults at me from the other dugout (sidelines, actually).  I remember all too well how surprised I was when finally, I told him to "Kiss my ass."  He was in my space in an instant.  "Did you say kiss my ass?"  he asked.  As I fidgeted and stammered, bam, he hit me and busted my lip.  So we exchanged several blows for about 30 or 40 seconds, and each of my fists landed on the top of Stump's head many times because he was so short.

That afternoon, my Dad came home from work and wanted to see me.  He had heard about the fight.  He smiled and said, "Well, he landed a couple of good ones on your lip, didn't he?"  Dad told me that Stump's Dad, Lloyd Hoelzer was a good friend of his at the Gulf Oil Refinery in Port Arthur.  Word traveled fast, he said, all over the plant that Lloyd Hoelzer's and Bud Walker's boys got into a fight at school.  It seemed to be a normal thing, a passing of sorts, and nobody seemed to be mad about anything.  The next morning at gym, Stump came over to me, smiling, and said, "Well you sure look pretty with that big lip."  I told him that all the blows I landed on the top of his hard head did not seem to faze him too much.  We shook hands and were forever great friends after that.  As adolescents, sometimes that was the way fate introduced you to another.

Both of us were on the varsity football team for the Port Arthur Yellow Jackets. We both played hard and shared many laughs during high school as we went all the way to the Texas AAAA State Championship against Highland Park.  Stump was a great fullback and cornerback, and his great talent helped our Cinderella team go much further than we would have managed without him.  Both of us tried relentlessly to catch Bert Coan (nicknamed the Green Ghost) as he rounded our defensive end, half the time for a touchdown.  If you missed him at the corner he was gone.  For many years this 6'4" speedster held the Texas high school track record in the 100-yard dash (9.5 seconds).  Stump and I laughed over the years about all our near misses at catching the Green Ghost from Pasadena, Texas in football journey to State.

Later on, Stump and I parted ways for many years, and then began to correspond via email.  Our group, the Old Farts, was composed mostly of former classmates and mutual friends who grew up in the Jefferson County, Texas area.  It was a great experience to come together after all those years, and Stump was just as crazy as ever.  The Old Farts began to congregate twice a year at Crystal Beach at the Strange Beach House Gala, and recalling old times and the belly laughs were continuous, without pause, so that your ribs hurt without relief.

During this time, I met a beautiful creature, Stump’s wife, Shar.  She tried her best with a tender touch to keep him on track, and the two of them enjoyed each other fully every time I looked in on them.  Humor was always the setting, and I do admit that I enjoyed seeing Shar get the best of Stump at times, but Stump would never admit it.  But I enjoyed seeing him try to wiggle out of it amidst smiles and laughter and other fun human pursuits.  It was then that I knew how endearing he was to Shar and her to him.

Stump was a sprite.  Sure, he was a good man, but the gusto for life he shared with his friends made him immortal.  His humor and wit were without equal and compare, and he could always go you one better in an argument.  But he was not presumptuous; he was real and without any hidden agendas, ever.  He would disagree with you at times and would tell you that he did not care two cents if you liked it or not.  But he always let you save face.  You felt comfortable knowing that Stump was just that, an anchor you could always depend on to be unmovable and unbending in telling you the truth, even when it might not please you to hear it.  But that was Stump.  He was one of a kind who could tell it like it is, not back up, and still be admired for his courage and being politically incorrect instead of being a suck up. 

While he was here, Stump added a delicious and peppery spice to life’s gumbo at the table of his friends and family.  Stump was the epitome of the Cajun expression, "Laissez Les Bon Temps Roulez"  (Let the good times roll).  He was a good friend you could count on, and we miss him already.  But the most important contribution I think he made was that he sprinkled Tabasco sauce on so many lives. And reminded us that yes, life, for all its many facets, was a zesty place, too, just to be enjoyed and relished and nothing more.  And if your tongue burned, when he came around you knew you were fully alive.  And his friend.  So savor it all with a smile.  Stump did.