Paul Brutsche, Sr.

Condolences

Andy writes,
My condolences for the passing of Uncle Paul. I mostly just want to say he could make just about anything fun. Like Trout Opening Day on Ridley Creek when I was like, 6. When everyone else was shoulder to shoulder, he would give up his first fish of the day to wade across the bank and untangle my line out of the bush. He didn't say much, just laugh at me - more like a quiet snicker. He only asked, "You're not going to count that, right?" And then he'd move on down the creek. The most time I spent with Uncle Paul was when I was in high school and he hired me at Murray's Pharmacy in Media as a delivery man and run the front register on weekends. I remember a woman came in, and as I was ringing her up, I noticed Uncle Paul had this super serious face going on. He kept watching me, especially when she held out her hand for her change. After she left, I immediately went to Uncle Paul and told him, "That lady had the biggest hands I've ever seen!" Well, he seemed to be expecting that and broke into that snicker and said, "That wasn't a lady." The fact that it didn't dawn on me at first, made him laugh even more. I can't remember all of the concerts I've been to over the years, but for some reason, I remember Uncle Paul took me to the Jacksons at the JFK stadium. Yes, with Michael. I think he bought a block of 6 tickets and somehow he had an extra ticket left, so I got to go. I don't remember much of the concert, but I remember the Buick convertible to get there. He never missed any Night Blue fishing trips off NJ, even when there was a Nor'Easter off the coast. The head boat would be pitching and rolling and somehow Uncle Paul could walk right down the deck not holding onto anything but his fishing rod. Everyone else would be scrambling around all over, banging into the walls, bending over the railings. He had the whole side to himself when everyone else was inside the cabin turning green. I had a nasty birds-nest in my reel. He handed me his rod while he got the nest out for me, and I immediately caught a fish off his rod. ..."You're not going to count that, right?" He did like the outdoors. A regular at harvest time at Smithbridge Road, helping to hand-pick the corn. Then there was the famous Easter basketball games where we should have handed out helmets and body armor. And I can't forget the many 4rth of July picnics. He made things fun.
02/09/2023 03:11 pm
William & Lorraine Brutsche writes,
Fair winds Paul to your new life..... Condolences to his family
02/11/2023 12:40 pm
John (Jack) Cook writes,
Paul Brutsche, Jr (Laura) and Chris Brutsche (Karen), Holly Cicala (John) I received word of the passing of your Dad this AM. Please accept my most sincere condolences. I graduated from PCP in 1966 the year before your Dad. Paul was a great friend. He was an extremely talented basketball player. We met at basketball practice his freshman year. We hit it off, albeit my woeful lack of skill. I don't believe I ever saw him lose his temper. Paul joined the frat that I was a member of. His Dad would come to all of the home games. His family's kindness and generosity was part of my experience. I was often invited to their home for Sun. dinner. What saddens me more, after reading the obit and your cousin Andy's tribute, is that Paul and I had lots of commonality and I truly wish we had reached out to each other. God Bless the Brutsche's Brother Paul- Rest in Peace.
02/13/2023 11:24 am
Jamie Graf writes,
It was probably ten years ago (or more) by now. It was Uncle Chub’s last picnic, and he knew it. He was sitting on the porch chatting with Uncle Paul and Chub asked him to pitch some horseshoes. I think Paul said something like he can’t, and Chub replied he can’t either, so they got up went over to where the horseshoes stakes were set up. Their first tosses landed woefully short of the other stake 40 feet away. Chub got a gleam in his eye and like any older brother started ribbing Paul on his weak throw. Paul’s whole countenance changed and like any younger brother his competitive spirit ignited. For the next few minutes on a warm July afternoon age and ailments were gone and I watched two old brothers laugh, joke, insult, and compete with one another like they were kids back in Sharon Hill. Now that Paul has left this earth, I like to think that at the heavenly Brutsche family picnic, he and Chub are fixing to pitch some shoes, and insult each other, once again. Sail on Uncle Paul.
02/19/2023 09:50 am