My Beloved Uncle Paul

Paul Filsinger, my dear uncle, passed away two years and one week ago from the effects of Covid and a serious lung infection. He was in the top five of the greatest and most important men in my life, and I will miss him until the day I die. I would like to reshare his eulogy, which I wrote and delivered at his funeral — a funeral that was a double funeral because his older sister, my aunt Karen, died two days after he did, so we had their funerals together. I miss her, too, of course, but Paul was close to me in age, and he was always such a fun person to be around, so I do miss him more, and he left a much greater impression on my life.

Here is his eulogy:

Talented.

If I had to sum up in one word my wonderful Uncle Paul, it would be that. He was talented.

Paul had an artist’s eye and a poet’s soul. I think it was because he damaged one of his eyes when he was a teenager that he grew to appreciate the clarity with which he saw the world out of his good eye. A camera simply became a natural extension of that eye and brought the world and all its beauty into sharp focus for him. His photographs, especially those of the past few years, were utter masterpieces as his focus sharpened even more upon the early morning and early evening skies, capturing amazing sunrises and sunsets over the Platte River and other places. I will always remember the many drives we took in the Black Hills while camping with Paul and his kids when Paul, while driving, would spot a lone mountain goat perched high above us or a herd of bison or elk far off in a valley. It never failed that when I’d ride with Dad instead of Paul, we didn’t spot anything. Then, when we’d stop, Paul would ask us if we saw the eagle or the ram or the deer, and we’d say “No!” Of course we didn’t because we didn’t have Paul’s talent for spotting animals.

Not only did he use his animal-spotting talent on mountain drives but he also used it to capture wonderful photographs of bald eagles up close, of the sandhills cranes in flight and roosting on the river, of butterflies perched on flowers, of a black bear, of a spotted fawn frozen and returning his gaze, of a little chipmunk in a tree, and of countless bison and elk. He also put his animal-spotting talent to good use on his many hunts with his favorite hunting buddy, his son John. Paul gained a love of fishing from his father and turned that love into a love of hunting that he passed on to John who has himself turned that love into an intense passion. Paul often talked enthusiastically about the great trips he took with John, including one in Colorado where John bagged an elk whose head now hangs in John and Alyssia’s basement and, I’m told, has been dubbed Grandpa Paul. 

Paul used his talent to capture many happy moments for people from senior photos to engagement pictures to weddings and so much more. I, personally, have walls in my house covered with family photos that Paul took. His wonderful clarity of focus and knack at arranging his subjects for the perfect shot have added joy to many walls and photo albums across the state and beyond. He’d even started to gain the attention of Nebraskaland magazine as well as others, and he was really proud of that. I, in turn, was proud of him. He deserved to be recognized for his talent. 

(This photo of Paul’s appeared in Nebraskaland.)

Fun-loving

That would be another word to describe Paul. Paul was the big brother I never had as he was closer in age to me, and to my cousins, Troy and Gary, than he was to his own sisters, so he and I hung out a lot when we were kids. Mom loves to tell the story of Paul playing hide and seek with me one time at our house, and he was seriously winning the game because I couldn’t find him anywhere. Finally, Grandma, his mom, suggested we look in the clothes hamper. Mom said there was no way he could fit in there, but, yep, he was in there -- under all the clothes. I recall many times his fun-loving ways got him into trouble with his mom, but she couldn’t stay mad at him. Nobody could stay mad at Paul. He had the magical sweet charm about him and an impish grin to accompany the twinkle in his eyes. Grandma would yell “Paul,” and he would yell back “Mom,” and they’d repeat that a few times until she’d give up in exasperation. I will forever hear his voice saying “Mom” in that mockingly good-natured way he had. 

Many of you will remember a much-loved 70’s sit-com called “Happy Days” and the incredibly cool and likeable character named Fonzie. To me, Paul was Fonzie. He exuded coolness without even trying, he looked good in a leather coat and jeans, he wore his dark hair a little longer than most (when he still had the hair to do it), he had a heart of gold, he was cool and collected in every situation (or at least appeared to be so), and he could always be counted on to come through for you in any crisis. He also had a vulnerable side and wasn’t afraid to show it to people he trusted (his Cunninghams), and, as we well know, Paul was an incurable romantic just like Fonzie. Even the name of the sit-com fit Paul because when he was around, everyone around him was happy. The days I spent with Paul were truly Happy Days.

I can easily split the fun-loving word into its two parts, which also describe Paul. 

It was never boring when Paul was there; he could make any experience fun just by injecting his attitude and outlook into it. When I fell while ice skating and got the wind knocked out of me, his smiling face appeared above me, assuring me I’d be fine. When he whipped an accidental cookie on a frozen Main Street in Norfolk with Gary and me in his Chevy Nova after a day of roller skating and we ended up facing the wrong way on Main Street as well as facing the waiting police cruiser, his charm and winning ways smooth-talked the cop out of a ticket -- as far as I remember. When he became a full-fledged adult, he never lost his fun-loving ways. I’ll never forget one very windy day, Paul and my boyfriend, Kim, and I took a long motorcycle ride up to Fort Randall and back. While I had a moment of fear that one of us might be blown off the dam, motorcycle and all, Paul took it all in stride and just smiled. I’ll also always remember the day years ago when he climbed into the go-cart in the Black Hills with my daughter, Sam, because she was too young to drive it alone. They zipped around that track at warp speed, and every time they passed me, Paul had the biggest grin on his face, and Sam had a blast even though Uncle Paul was squishing her. 

(This photo is of Paul with two of his beloved granddaughters in his favorite place, The Black Hills of South Dakota.)

He was the most loving person imaginable, and everyone he met became basically “family” to him even though he already had a very expansive family in the Filsinger clan. He lovingly adopted Brandon and Kylie, and he thrilled at being Grandpa to Kylie and Andrew’s five children in Rapid City as well as to Lexie and Aubrie in Lincoln. He never had a bad word to say about anyone, and if you were ever his friend, you were his friend forever.

Wise

This would be the final word that I would attribute to Paul. He knew so much about so many things, and how he gained that wisdom was always a bit of mystery to me. Sometimes, we were pretty sure he was just making stuff up, but he did it with such conviction that you believed everything he said. Mostly, he was a self-taught guy. He could converse long and knowledgeably about almost anything, but he especially loved talking about the old West, Native Americans, politics and political figures, and classic cars. I wish his grandchildren had had more time with him to gain from his stories and his wisdom. I wish we all had. I often thought he would have made a wonderful history teacher, especially an American history teacher, where he could have wowed his students each day with story after story about anything historical or otherwise. Speaking as a teacher, I’m pretty sure he wouldn’t have got anything else done, but his students would have adored him, as we all did.  

When Paul did need some advice, though, he’d always turn to his sister, my mom, Lois. She was closest in age to him, and she kind of became his second mom after Grandma Eunice died when he was 27. Not only did Lois defend him from bullies when he was a little boy, but she also took him in whenever he needed it in his adult years. She likes to say that he often came to her for advice, but he rarely followed it. Who could have imagined that she’d lose both her baby brother and her big sister within days of each other. I know she will miss his long phone calls, his many visits, and, simply, his company. My dad loved when Paul would visit and they could talk because Paul could carry a conversation about anything, and Dad likes to talk about anything, too. Even my son, Trevor, says he will always remember how knowledgeable Paul was about everything and how Paul was so great to talk to because he really focused on the person he was talking to. 

Ironically, one of the very last talks I had with Paul was in June when I accompanied him and Mom to the cemetery to visit their parents’ gravesite. We talked about one of the first camping trips from my childhood that I can remember because he was on that trip, too. Our conversation was mostly about the beef jerky he and I kept buying at the lakeside store. I did see him one more time after that, but the beef jerky conversation we had after visiting the cemetery is forever etched into my memory, and I’m glad I had it with him.

I will always hold many memories of Paul dear to my heart, as I’m sure each of you here will, too. Clearly, he meant a lot to a lot of people. Kevin, my brother, and I were some of his first photography subjects one afternoon in Johnson Park in Norfolk. Gary owes his marriage to Sherrie to Paul because he met her after moving in with Paul when Karen and Jerry moved to Ewing. Troy was closest in age to Paul and was, naturally, Paul’s cohort on many escapades that we won’t speak of right now, and he and Gary, as well as others here, have lots of hunting, fishing and camping memories that contain Paul. 

Believe me, it was hard to sum up the greatness that was Paul and write this eulogy. I could go on and on and on. He was loved by each of us, and he loved every one of us. He is looking down on us and smiling that wonderful smile of his. We are better people for having known him.

I shared the following quote on my Facebook page and a few of you reshared it. I said then that it summed up Paul to a tee. If you aren’t on Facebook or didn’t have a chance to see the post, I’m going to read it to you now. The quote is incorrectly attributed to Ralph Waldo Emerson when it really came from a short essay by Bessie Stanley, a woman from Kansas, but its relevance to Paul and his life is quite clear. I leave you with these words: 

“To laugh often and much; to win the respect of the intelligent people and the affection of children; to earn the appreciation of honest critics and endure the betrayal of false friends; to appreciate beauty; to find the beauty in others; to leave the world a bit better whether by a healthy child, a garden patch, or a redeemed social condition; to know that one life has breathed easier because you lived here. This is to have succeeded.”

Paul Leroy Filsinger succeeded.




					Eulogy for Paul Leroy Filsinger (11/19/1959 -- 10/01/2020)

					Written and delivered by Tammy Marshall, his niece

					October 17, 2020 -- Clearwater, Nebraska

Even though two years have passed without him, I still hear his voice in my head, and I talk about him every time I do an author appearance because his photos grace two of my book covers (“State of Georgia and Other Writings” and “Twinges”), and I have one of his photos at the end of “Ticker Tape.” He took my author photo, too, and I use that on my books and on most of my publicity flyers as well as on my regular newspaper column.

He should still be with us, making us smile and laugh, and enjoying life to the fullest only the way he knew how to do. He was only sixty when he died. Since his death, I’ve become much more aware of sunsets and sunrises and the beauty in them as well as the evening sky during my walks, and I often take photos of it and wish I could show them to him. He’s missed two seasons of Sandhill cranes and will miss countless more, and so much other beauty in nature has gone uncaptured by his amazing photographic eye.

I’m going to share a few of his photos with you behind the paywall — sorry to my non-paying subscribers. He was gifted. He is missed.

Tammy Marshall