Developing Texas Trend In Brutally Honest Obits Holds Nothing Back

AUSTIN, TX — When people die, their obits generally erase any shortcomings they may have had in life in a study of restraint from survivors encapsulating a life. People who were ornery in life are somehow elevated to something akin to sainthood in the final account, their flaws left to the mists of memory if not in print.

But that seems to be changing. If one is to judge from a pair of recent Texas obits, a new approach is in the making suffused with candor.

Take Texas transplant Terry R. Million, for instance. The Indiana native died on Feb. 13 at the age of 71 in San Antonio, and it's clear he took to Texas like a fish to water as a reference to his favorite beverage makes clear. Million enjoyed Shiner beer, produced at the Spoetzl Brewery in its namesake city, the oldest independent brewery in Texas.

But he drank for medicinal purposes, according to the obit: "He wasn't big on natural remedies, but did rely on a few, his favorite being, if you can't pee, drink a Shiner Bock," the obit reads. "He died as a result of being stubborn and refusing to follow doctors' orders."

Like any good San Antonio resident worth his salt, he loved the San Antonio Spurs professional basketball team, and was something of an armchair commentator: "The heart attack will leave Spurs fans everywhere wit ha void in historical commentary," the obit reads.

"In lieu of flowers, go to the Spur's/Pacer's game," the obit's penultimate paragraph reads.

A 22-year U.S. Army veteran who served in the Vietnam War, Million was preceded in death by his wife and leaves behind two children, two grandchildren and 10 great-grandchildren.

That's candid, but nothing like another recent obit in Galveston, just outside Houston, that held nothing back. That brutally honest obit for Leslie Ray "Popeye" Charping, 74, has made quite the rounds on social media.

“Leslie's life served no other obvious purpose, he did not contribute to society or serve his community and he possessed no redeeming qualities besides quick whited (sic) sarcasm which was amusing during his sober days," his daughter wrote. "Leslie's passing proves that evil does in fact die and hopefully marks a time of healing and safety for all."

Ouch.

Another obit for Wayne Neal the tiny Northeast town of Lolita, Texas, (pop. about 555) didn't mince words either. His son wrote of Neal's passions in life that also revolved around alcohol.

"Wayne Neal has exited his rickety old body, having lived twice as long as he expected and way longer then he deserved," Eric wrote in a September 2016 obituary that ran in the Victoria Advocate newspaper. "He often wished in his later years that he had not treated his body like a tavern. Wayne never met a man he didn't want to Indian leg wrestle, or play mercy with. Mainly because he was an ornery ole bastard."

As for his favorite pursuits: "He had a passion for old cars, scotch, his construction company, scotch, travel and oh yeah scotch. Did we mention scotch?"

Despite his scotch habit, Neal was considered the best concrete contractor in all of Texas, according to his son. Neal is survived by "...his survived by his favorite son Buddy and another kid, some grandchildren, a few more great grandchildren, a trilogy of brothers, and one sister," Eric Neal wrote of his father.

Buddy is the late man's dog. That other kid is Eric himself.

Baseball player Roger Maris once wrote that he liked obituaries because "...when you die they finally give you good reviews." At least in Texas, that may no longer be the case.

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