We lost Tom, my father-in-law, in 2022.
Tom Neidlein was stoic, smart, and delightfully stubborn. Once, after retiring from his career-long stint as an accountant for 3M, he had us help brainstorm part-time retirement jobs, with one stipulation: he didn’t, in any way, want to interact with people.
The closest we got was for him to be a tram driver in Las Vegas, where he lived, shuttling people between casinos. He considered it for a minute.
“No,” he grunted. “I’d have to talk to someone.”
Tom had been in poor health for a brief period during which Paul and his brother T.J. took turns staying with him. After he passed, both brothers met in Las Vegas to make arrangements.
Paul was shocked: Tom had told T.J. that he wanted a Catholic funeral in his tiny hometown of Spencer, Wisconsin. He hadn’t been inside a church—or to Spencer—for decades.
While in Vegas, Paul called one night to check in. He told me they’d contacted the priest and planned a service, no problem.
“But,” he sighed, “there’s only one place in town to hold the luncheon afterward. With the worst name possible.”
Hoping to keep the place unnamed, they gave only the address in his obituary for the post-service gathering, to be held “a short walk away at 103 E. Clark Street.”
The small, historic Catholic church was a lovely setting for the occasion. We greeted friends and family as they trickled in, then settled into a front pew, Paul at the aisle, Ty to the right of him, then me.
The priest lit incense and performed all the rituals of a proper funeral mass, I’m guessing. I was raised Lackadaisical Methodist. Finally, he closed out the service: “The family requests that you join them for a luncheon…”
Ty whipped his head over at me. Surely the priest wasn’t going to say it, here, in a church.
“...at Nutz Deep Bar & Grill.”
He was.
Nutz Deep turned out to be a perfectly acceptable venue, once you got past the massive display of merchandise for sale right inside the door.
As the luncheon wound down, Ty and I waited in a booth while Paul escorted a few of his cousins out. I looked at Ty and remembered that he was a 20-year-old boy with the sense of humor to match.
“You want a t-shirt?” I offered.
He nodded ever-so-slightly, not wanting to be disrespectful. We waited until everyone was gone and picked one out.
Meanwhile, texts trickled in from my friends back home, many of whom are experts at using inappropriate humor in difficult situations. My favorite message: “Are they going to bury him six inches?” (Slow clap, Kevin.)
Ultimately, the joke was on me: I ended up with a raging case of Covid from Nutz Deep.
Should’ve used protection.
I loved everything about this. And I’m sure Tom would have appreciated that you guys went balls out for the luncheon.
Great story, like all the rest of your stories. Your writing comes across as so effing effortless. Nicely done and thanks for sharing!