He rests where ever the wind turns a leaf on the forest floor…
He rests in the sunset illuminating a calm farm pond… he is not where the bright lights shine…as stealthy as the prey he hunted for food for his family…he travels without the lime-light and his spirit can be found in the night time sky…
Wayne Holdaway was not a man of these times….a costly burden to bear from a true man of the land. No time made up for his anguish dealing with these modern times.
He served his country in the National Guard. He was a true American…there was a picture of John Wayne in his living room.
His fuse was short and often got him in troubles…dilemmas with the law in one notorious case…barrooms bring out the worst in some, the best in others…and most fall in between from time to time. Wayne got into it with some other fellas, not sure if it was over a woman, but it was three against Wayne and he felt he knew what to do…head for the truck and a rifle… ‘now mess with me!’…law was called, ‘man threatening with a gun’…serious business for the law…and Wayne…when he was told to drop the gun, he turned and the law opened fire on him…shot three times, he fell to the ground…arrested, and in Harford Memorial Hospital fighting for his life…a guard at his door.
If Wayne intended to kill the law, he would have done it…no doubt in my mind…he was that determined to see things through and a pretty good shot. Drunk, he didn’t think clearly and he knew what he did was wrong…and he’s lived it over and over…his bond was high, too high to get the law out of his hospital room where he was under guard.
He’d been shot three times, the family said, ‘with hollow point ammo, which is why his arm was torn up so bad.’
His mother called me when it went down and asked what could I do to help…my wife and I did the only thing we could think of, we put up our studio in Bel Air for Wayne’s bond….and then he was alone in the hospital room to recover and soon home with his mom and dad on Deth’s Ford Road. There was never a doubt that the help we gave was the right thing to do. Wayne was surely in a fix and you stand by your friends…that’s all.
And he’d have been in a worse fix had he caught up with some of the guys who came after him that night. Turns out one of them, Tucky Little, had a change of heart and testified at the trial that Wayne hadn’t started the fight. The truth may not win all your battles for you, but most times it will set you free in one way or another.
Between the covers, Wayne worked as a welder…started his own business, traveled around doing jobs on farms and businesses. It allowed time for him to hunt when the seasons came, and work when the seasons weren’t. Not to be tied down, he hauled reefers from coast to coast, letting the wheels roll him across the land. Part-time trucking also allowed time to take a break to hunt…you could say the seasons, hunting and work were aligned in the stars for ‘the red-headed stranger.’
Later, he joined A.A. and quit drinking and smoking and met some new friends…he left no issue of record, and rarely ever admitted he was wrong. No, he wasn’t made for these times and now he’s moved on, but for those of us who had a glimpse of the man time won’t hold a candle.
Some of his adventures have been reported in this column over the years….I’ll miss him…sth
March 15th….Thomas Wayne Holdaway passes away
Born March 8, 1942
Died March 16, 2009
There was a modern day tomahawk and a knife that he was proud of, as well as hunting trophies, hunting equipment, a boat and lots of ammunition. His nephew gave me the tomahawk and the knife. The spirit of Wayne lives on…born 200 years too late, died when he’d had enough.
“Sad news to report….Wayne Holdaway, a life long pal of me and brother Brian, and many others has passed on at University of Maryland hospital.
He died this morning of a brain hemorrhage following a second, massive stroke he suffered while recuperating from an earlier stroke at the home of Billy Marshall, a life-long pal.
“Wayne’s mom, Mary, died a little over a year ago, and he had taken care of her for many years.
Wayne taught my brother and me how to bow hunt, and was an avid hunter himself, traveling to Maine and Canada on ‘food hunting’ trips for many years, as long as his health allowed.
“He was born 200 years too late, these times were not welcome to him, his was a simple, direct life…hard living, hard working…
He was a good man, sometimes angry at the world around him, but with his pals he was a stand-up man, full of life and honor…
“He leaves no family…to speak of…Billy and I will scatter his ashes where he hunted and taught so many of us to hunt…near Deer Creek, in Glenville.”
A long and strange trip indeed.
You cannot know the curious circumstances in which my late brother and I grew up which effectively robbed him of much of life, it saddens me to say.
From a weathering through point-of-view, though, at this autumnal-stage I have a great life. It’s simple and joyful. I’m more fortunate than many we know.
You, my friend, have endured events that would have toppled a lesser man.
This I know.
And I know you got zest.
You’re lucky too.