John Waldecker: Family man loved soccer, Christmas lights
The phrase “living large” could have been coined with John Waldecker in mind. “He was passionate about everything he did,” says his daughter, Debbie Morrow. “If he liked something, he did it all the way.”
Waldecker’s sudden death several weeks ago shocked everyone, says Grace Waldecker, his wife of 51 years. He was an athlete, a musician, the life of every party and, until early last year, the general manager of a metal and wire retail business in Rochester. He had heart surgery a decade ago, but he was, his family says, fit, vigorous and always eager to learn new things. He was 71.
Waldecker was born in Mayen-Eifel, Germany, just before World War II, one of nine children. He started playing soccer at 4, became a competitive cyclist and stonecutter as a teenager (he built monuments and carvings for many churches) and knew firsthand the horror of war. For a time, his family lived in a cave, and had to root through farm fields for what little food they had.
He followed his sister to the United States in 1957 and within five years, he was married with two children (Debbie and son John) and had become a citizen. He loved his new country, Grace says, and never missed an election. When John and Grace were first married, they lived in Rochester, but they soon moved to Henrietta, to the home they lived in the rest of their married years.
When he first came to the United States, Waldecker played soccer on club teams composed mainly of other recent immigrants. He had a chance to play for the Rochester Lancers professional team in the 1970s, but he didn’t want to leave his full-time job or travel for road games. He kept on playing, however, until he broke his leg in his early 60s.
“He worked very hard,” says his son John, “but he always had time for a little one-on-one soccer in the front yard before dinner.” For a time, father and son played on the same adult soccer and hockey teams. Waldecker skated the canals in Germany as a boy, says his son, but he never played hockey until he was 35. He never had a fight off the ice, but he wasn’t afraid to drop his gloves during a game — even though the other players were 25 or 30 years his junior.
It took a year to recover from the broken leg, then he switched to bowling and golf. Waldecker started a youth soccer league in Henrietta through the Knights of Columbus, and father and son also coached together and against each other in youth hockey.
“He was always fair as a coach,” Grace says, “Everyone played an equal time. He never had favorites and he knew how to teach.” Aware of his teaching skills, a mother once brought her son to Waldecker. “She said, ‘He’s kind of awkward. See what you can do for him,’” Grace recalls. The boy, Cornelius “Corny” Southall, became one of the league’s best soccer players, and then went on to be a star football player at Sperry High School and Notre Dame University.
Waldecker was known for his Christmas decorations and light displays. “He was a jock,” Morrow says, “but he decorated like a woman. Martha Stewart would love him.” He hung thousands of lights and would start months ahead of Christmas. He filled the yard with trains and Disney characters and, one year, even characters on a ski lift. He had so many lights, he had to add an electrical circuit. With John Waldecker, nothing was ever half-hearted.
The family loved Halloween, and Grace and John always had the best costumes, Morrow says. In 2008, the Halloween party was also Waldecker’s surprise 70th birthday party. He came as Batman.
He loved music and sang in the Good Shepherd Catholic church choir. Morrow would often bring her karaoke machine to her parents’ home and practice songs with her dad — they’d sometimes sing “Edelweiss” at karaoke nights. Father and daughter also shared a love of scary movies and would have Saturday matinees at one of their homes. The gorier the better.
Waldecker loved garage sales, too, and he and Morrow often spent parts of the weekend making the rounds of sales. The father passed on his impressive dickering skills, and they’d sometimes compete for the best deals.
Years ago, Waldecker decided he’d like to play the accordion, Grace says. “I gave him one for Christmas, and then I closed the windows every time he practiced so the neighbors wouldn’t hear. It was really bad.” He taught himself to play a nice harmonica, Morrow says, and a couple of years ago, she found a free organ on craigslist, an online classified site. She asked her dad if he’d like it, and he taught himself to play Christmas carols.
He loved carpentry, but “sometimes things didn’t turn out so well,” Morrow says. When the family beagle died years ago, she says, “he decided to make a casket,” but the first version was tall and narrow, almost a cylinder. The poor pooch would have to stand on his hind legs for all eternity, she says, laughing even now. “But he went back and made another one, with a fur-lined interior. It really looked like a coffin.”
He was a prodigious volunteer, who taught swimming to special needs children, and gave countless hours to church and Knights of Columbus fundraisers.
But family was always first. “We’d have our little spats,” Grace says, “but there was never a night he’d go to sleep without kissing me.” It was rare, she says, that they’d go anywhere alone. When they were first married, before they had a car, “he’d even come with me to the hairdresser,” she says. “He’d just sit there and wait for me.”
And he’d do anything to help the neighbors, and absolutely anything for Grace. One night she pulled into the driveway after a steamy rain, and there were worms everywhere. “I honked the horn for him to come out,” she says. “I hate worms and I wasn’t going to walk over them.” Waldecker had broken his wrist (another soccer injury) and was wearing a cast. He swept the worms away, but before she could get out of the car, more appeared. “He picked me up and put me over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes,” she says. They laughed about it for years.
“He always thought beyond himself,” Morrow says. There was not a selfish bone in his body.
Says son John: “You know, there must be some truth to what they always say — that the good die young.”
If you’d like to nominate a local person who has died within the last six weeks for A Life Lived feature, contact Mark Hare at (585) 258-2351 or at mhare@DemocratandChronicle.com.
