Obituary of Howard Welsch

Howard “Too Cool for a Middle Name” Welsch passed away on February 26, 2017 from complications of a broken heart. Known as Howie to many, and jackass to even more, his battle with this illness began at the turn of the century when grunge and metal faded away and society forced him to cut his hair. He made a remarkable recovery until a lawyer contacted him on behalf of Minnie Driver, issuing a “cease and desist” over his persistent marriage proposals. Howie again eventually rebounded, but suffered a relapse this past April with Prince’s death, and another during Green Bay’s playoff performance. He is survived by his mother Ronni; his brother Jeff and his sister-in-law Mandy; his girlfriend Marie; his cats Rhyme, Reason, and Loki; a dozen skateboards begging to be taken off the wall; a bunch of Shakespeare he read “for fun”; and about 1,000 concert ticket stubs. Howie, an unofficial spokesperson for VANS, was many things to many people. Listing his various roles reads like an HBO version of Golden Girls: friend, confidant, dealer, superhero… Though not one born out of tragedy, nor bitten by a radioactive animal. Howie was a real life Peter Pan, keeping himself and everyone around him forever young through nostalgia and poop jokes. Everyone he met is better off for having known him, however brief. More people are reading Preacher, Sandman, or Kurt Vonnegut. They watch old Batman cartoons or Robot Chicken in the middle of the night when they can’t sleep. They discovered amazing artists and musicians. They learned the value of having a friend who not only listened, but paid attention to all of the little things. A friendship with Howie meant receiving random and perfectly selected gifts. Painstaking thoughtfulness that came out effortlessly and was akin to seeing John Cusack standing outside your bedroom window holding a boombox over his head (yes, the guys all swoon, too). Birthdays were never forgotten and always elaborately celebrated… just not in fancy restaurants unless you wanted the cloth napkins turned into boobs. If he were here, he would berate us all for lamenting his death. He would insist on an epitaph that read “Here Lies an Ex-Howie”, or “I Know Something You Do Not Know… I Am Not Left Handed”. He would demand a transformer that morphs into an urn for his ashes. And he would insist that he couldn’t possibly have been this important to this many people. And yet, here we are staring down a dark and empty road. No more 3am conversations at Amphora or Silver Diner. No more texts beseeching you to check out a new band, or letting you know about upcoming shows. No more midnight toy shopping. No more wildly inappropriate yet endearing pet names. No more beautifully penned cards. No more stories about or pictures of the cats. No more hunched over, wide-eyed, high pitched “geeking out”. No more Comic-Cons or concerts. No more “hey doll” or “love you buddy”. Howie used his heart to its fullest capability every moment of every day, showering those around him with unconditional love and generosity. Perhaps that is why it only lasted him 42 years. There is now a deafening silence where a uniquely obnoxious laugh should be. Howie was many things to many people. Now, more than anything, he is simply missed.