Obituaries are a fairly bleak subject, but occasionally a man like William “Freddie” McCullough leaves us one that is also a reminder about how life isn’t meant to be taken all that seriously… and a bit of hope that when we go (and that’s when, not if), we’ll be remembered in such a raucous way.
So what do we know about William “Freddie” McCullough, a man we can only assume went by the name “Freddie?” First and foremost, he was relatable. He loved women and Jim Beam, and favored Reese’s candy over veggies. In addition to vegetables, McCullough also disliked hypocrites.
According to his recent obit, Freddie cut quite a swath through the female population before his death on September 11 (of this year), but hot damn, it sounds like he had a good time.
The writer remembers McCullough as a guy who not only dug on girls. They dug on him too:
“Freddie adored the ladies. And they adored him. There isn’t enough space here to list all of the women from Freddie’s past. There isn’t enough space in the Bloomingdale phone book. A few of the more colorful ones were Momma Margie, Crazy Pam, Big Tittie Wanda, Spacy Stacy and Sweet Melissa (he explained that nickname had nothing to do with her attitude). He attracted more women than a shoe sale at Macy’s.”
Some of those loves were big ones, and the obit goes on:
“He got married when he was 18, but it didn’t last. Freddie was no quitter, however, so he gave it a shot two more times. It didn’t work out with any of the wives, but he managed to stay friends with them and their parents.”
And that’s some kind of testament, isn’t it? The writer also remembers:
“Freddie loved deep fried Southern food smothered in Cane Syrup, fishing at Santee Cooper Lake, Little Debbie Cakes, Two and a Half Men, beautiful women, Reeses Cups and Jim Beam. Not necessarily in that order. He hated vegetables and hypocrites. Not necessarily in that order. He was a master craftsman who single -handedly built his beautiful house from the ground up. Freddie was also great at growing fruit trees, grilling chicken and ribs, popping wheelies on his Harley at 50 mph, making everyone feel appreciated and hitting Coke bottles at thirty yards with his 45. When it came to floor covering, Freddie was one of the best in the business. And he loved doing it. Freddie loved to tell stories. And you could be sure 50% of every story was true. You just never knew which 50%.”
So how did Freddie go?
Freddie was killed when he rushed into a burning orphanage to save a group of adorable children. Or maybe not. We all know how he liked to tell stories.
Does anyone else regret not having had a chance to hang out with William “Freddie” McCullough? What do you think of the lighthearted obituary trend?