Laughter fades, but friend’s legacy remains

I’ve never laughed so much at a funeral.

Vic Quinn, a friend of mine and my husband’s, died Nov. 22 at age 65. A longtime friend of Vic’s who spoke at his funeral said the word “big” came to mind when he thought of Vic — big smile, big laugh, big heart, big mustache. I think big hair. My relationship with Vic, an insurance agent by day, was mostly as a cast member with him in murder mysteries directed by my dear and mega-talented friend Lillian Petrucelli. Vic had been other characters — Manley Cuss, the Wizard of Ahhhs, the Lone Stranger, a Kampus Kop — but the role for which he was best known and loved was as Jimmy Faye Pompadour, the Southern preacher.

Vic was a former basketball player and coach, and the salt-andpepper bouffant wig he wore added several inches to his long, lean frame. He’d have his handkerchief in the pocket of his white suit, and he’d come out evangelizing to unsuspecting audiences. He would quote from “Ephesaphlipaglossians,” or other chapters he made up.

My husband and I, along with others, collaborated on the shows, but Lillian created the script and choreographed the dances.

“After a while, I just quit writing lines for him. It didn’t matter anyway,” she said, throwing her hands in the air. Vic might say some of the lines as written, but his ad-libs were the best.

During one performance, he asked an audience member, the shy wife of another cast member, to finish the four Gospels: “Matthew, Mark, Luke and … ?” he asked, pointing to her. She tentatively squeaked out her own name: “Sandy?”

“No, haven’t you ever been to Sunday School?” he asked in fake disgust.

During a performance the next night, he asked a gentlemen in the audience the same question. When the man answered “John,” Vic said, “No, Sandy. Everybody knows that!”

We howled with laughter because we knew why he said it.

In another play, we were all together near the end of the show, and Vic threw us a curve. He produced a camera — not part of the script — and told us to get together for a picture with the “deceased,” played by Janie Ryan.

We all posed so perfectly and so automatically that Lillian for years swore we must have planned it, but we didn’t. Where Vic led, we followed.

He honestly could have done

1 1/2-hour show all by himself, and I would have paid to see it. He was hilarious, in character and as himself. A mutual friend I ran into at dinner last week said, “He was the funniest person I ever knew in my life.”

I remember Vic and Cathy, his wife of 42 years, telling the story about their son bringing a girl home from college, and their son suggested that they not embarrass him. Bad move. Vic said he and Cathy dressed as nerds and acted the parts to greet their son and girlfriend.

At the funeral, Vic’s friend Ritchie read several funny birthday cards that Vic had sent him through the years. Vic always included one stick of gum. On one card, Vic had written, “Oh, to be 60 again. But on the bright side, you look much older.”

I regret not sending Vic a card as he battled his brain tumor. Every time I passed his insurance agency in downtown Conway, I thought of him and told myself I’d send a card.

At the funeral, several of us who had performed in plays with Vic happened to sit together. We smiled at each other when Jimmy Faye Pompadour was mentioned. One couple, older than Vic, said, “Jimmy Faye was supposed to do our funeral.” They laughed, and Vic/Jimmy Faye would have understood.

I kept thinking Jimmy Faye was going to surprise us by coming around the corner into the sanctuary to whip the crowd into a frenzy with his jokes.

Everyone who knew Vic has a funny story about him. He lived life in a big way. I can’t help but picture Vic going into heaven, winking, grinning ear to ear and wearing that big wig.

As Ritchie said, “We are all better, happier and more entertained having known Vic.”

As Jimmy Faye would say, “Can I have an amen?”

Senior writer Tammy Keith can be reached at (501) 3270370 or tkeith@arkansasonline.com.