Today we mourn a great man who we sadly never knew. Raymond Alan ‘Big Al’ Brownley of Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania passed away last week at the age of eighty-two, and going by his epic obituary, the former plumber, husband and father of two was like a physical embodiment of a Bill Brasky and Ron Swanson sandwich covered in Chuck Norris sauce. I tried really hard to keep excerpts to a minimum, but there’s just too much excellence to be contained here — although I did take the liberty to bold a few choice quotes at my choosing.
Affectionately known as Big Al by his family and many friends, he was a plumber by trade, a tremendous gardener and avid hunter. He also enjoyed fishing and proudly displayed the stuffed barracuda he caught back in 1965, much to the dismay of his wife, Agnes Bargo Brownley, to whom he was married to for 24 years.
He despised canned cranberry sauce, wearing shorts, cigarette butts in his driveway, oatmeal, loud-mouth know-it-alls, Tabasco sauce, reality TV shows, and anything to do with the Kardashians.
He loved milk shakes, fried shrimp, the Steelers, the Playboy channel, Silky’s Gentlemens Club, taking afternoon naps in his recliner, hanging out at the VFW, playing poker, eating jelly beans by the handful, and his hunting dogs-his favorite being Holly Hill Rip Van Winkle, a loyal beagle that answered to the nickname of Rip.
Big Al was world-renowned for his lack of patience, not holding back his opinion, and a knack for telling it like it is. He was highly proficient at cursing. He liked four-letter words just about as much as four-wheel drive pick-up trucks. He was a connoisseur of banana cream pie and a firm believer that ham sandwiches should only be served on Mancini’s bread. He always told you the truth, even if it wasn’t what you wanted to hear. He was generous to a fault, a pussy cat at heart, and yet he sugar-coated absolutely nothing. To quote Winston Churchill: “He was a riddle, wrapped in a mystery, inside an enigma.”
His fondness of spaghetti Westerns was only surpassed by his love of bacon, beer and butter pecan ice cream. He fondly reminisced about good friends, good drinks and good times at the Tri-Valley Sportsmens Club in Burgettstown. He was a long-time member of the Elks Club in McKees Rocks where he frequently bartended and generously donated his tips to charity. Quite a teller of tales, Big Al’s elaborate stories often were punctuated with the phrase, “And that’s when I kicked his ass.” He enjoyed outlaw country music: Waylon, Willie, Hank, Johnny. He was also on a first-name basis with the Four Horsemen of liquor: Jack, Jim, Johnnie and Jose.
Big Al had strong beliefs in which he never waivered: dog sh*t makes the best garden fertilizer; Heinz ketchup does not belong on a hotdog; and PennDOT should be embarrassed of the never-ending construction, detours and potholes on Route 28.
We interrupt this excerpt just to second the ketchup having no place on a hot dog thing. Okay…
Big Al was known for his timeless words of wisdom, including “Life is hard; but it’s harder if you’re stupid” and “Don’t be a jackass.” He had a life-long ménage a trois with his homemade chili and Gas-X. He had a great fondness for sardines on crackers, stuffed cabbage (which he lovingly called hunky hand grenades), making turtle soup, and eating BLTs. And his famous holiday eggnog had enough whiskey to grow hair on your chest.
Also known as the Squirrel Whisperer, he communicated with the local red-tailed squirrels and fed them peanuts out of his hand. He took pride in his time served in the Navy on the USS San Marcos during the Korean War, often waxing nostalgia that the worst meal he’d ever eaten was Sh*t on a Shingle (creamed chipped beef on toast). His mantra of a girl in every port often led to a fight in every port. With a stink eye towards organized religion, Big Al was more spiritual than religious and enjoyed reading the Bible before bed each night and watching “church on TV” every Sunday morning.
What he lacked in stature, he compensated with an over-abundance of charisma, charm and feistiness. Big Al took fashion advice from no one. With his trademark white, v-neck t-shirts and strategically coiffed comb-over, his comfort far outweighed any interest in the latest fashion trends. He was well-stocked with white shoe polish to keep his tennis shoes looking pristine for prime rib dinners at Longhorn Steakhouse.
I don’t know what else to say other than that I want to go back in time and ask him to marry me. Sure, I’m technically already married but it’s to someone who puts ketchup on hot dogs (LOL Big Al knows what’s up). As the Don McLean song later popularized by NOFX goes, Big Al, “this world was never meant for one as beautiful as you.”
To Big Al!
(Post-Gazette via the Huffington Post)