Sunday, May 14, 2017
Dutch Dudczak was quite simply one of the kindest men I ever met.
I didn't know this would be so when I moved next door to him and Charlene on East Quaker in the late 1980s. I was just a young, scared Navy wife alone with a very tiny boy; and Dutch was just the long-haired guy next door who sold cool used stuff at his roadside stand and...well, I wasn't sure what else he did. I never asked. Or spoke.
Then, after a few months, small toys such as only a young boy would love began appearing on my doorstep. And within a year or two, my son was regularly toddling over with me to peer at the fascinating array of goods laid out by Dutch, who never once took my money but solemnly accepted my son's grubby nickels and quarters.
And over the next years, my eventual 2 sons and I, Dutch and Char become true neighbors.
But I didn't know what true friends I had until about a decade later, the night I called next door saying someone might be in my house -- and sudddenly Dutch was at my front door, panting, wild-eyed and branding the first thing he'd found -- a huge fire iron --ready to do whatever it took to anyone who might threaten Laura and her boys.
Char helped me keep my home and mood upbeat. She was there the morning an SUV rammed our house and took out my porch. She and Dutch were just always there. So, I'm going to paraphrase a famous movie line here, because no other works:
I never had neighbors like the ones I had when I lived next to in Dutch and Charlene.
Jesus, does anyone?
Rest in peace, Daniel J. And to Charlene: all my love, prayers and gratitude to you.
-- Lauri Githens
