September 11, 1937 - April 24, 2008

I have had the privilege of living next door to "Pa-Pa", as we call him, for the past seven years. "Next door" may be misleading. We are not exactly casual neighbors. Lori, Ian and myself, and Ma-Ma and Pa-Pa, have been, rather, one family inhabiting two structures which sit side by side in a park-like setting just south of town. Our lives became inextricably intermingled on the day seven years ago when we squeezed our belongings from our respective homes in Houston onto the same moving truck and headed West to settle into new houses, a new town, and a new lifestyle.

Eleven years ago I was successful in persuading a reluctant Lori to go on an informal date with me. She lived with her parents at the time, whom I met when I picked her up that evening. It was mutual love at first site. I don't mean Lori and me, as it took some time for her to be convinced that I was a worthy suitor. Lori's father and I, however, hit it off immediately. Our first encounter was brief, but we would come to see each other frequently, and we soon became good friends. Lori and I married within a year of that first date, and for the next three years pursued our careers in the city.

During our years in Houston Lori and I took a number of fun vacations. Returning home from one of them we found our yard had been freshly mowed, the house cleaned, and the laundry folded and put away. I mention this only because it is typical of the care and attention that Lori's parents have always given us.

It was the ripple effect of the collapse of the internet economic bubble that provided the catalyst for our relocation. I suddenly found myself out of a job, and Lori took singular responsibility for convincing me and her parents that we were all due for a move to the Hill Country. "A chance to start your own business", she told me, which meant I needed no further convincing. Lori's parents, in fact, had already expressed their desire to follow us should we leave Houston. So in less than three months the moving truck pulled into our new driveway, and a new chapter in all our lives had begun.

Until we moved to Boerne I had not come to know Pa-Pa nearly as well as I would. I suppose dinner time was a big reason. Ma-Ma is a passionate and prolific cook, and I a grateful benefactor. Thanks to our new proximity her meals brought us all together sometimes several times a week. On a typical night, laughter would erupt before we would even sit down at the table, and would continue until the last dishes were washed and put away and Lori and I would waddle back up to our house holding our full bellies. Pa-Pa, incidentally, was more of a late-night dessert person. Many evenings I would pop my head in next door for a final good night to find him sitting at the table behind a gargantuan bowl of peaches and ice cream. Enough to easily serve four. A mound of sweets behind which he could have hidden his entire head, save for his ears. And I can see him trying such a stunt, now that I think about it, just to be funny.

Pa-Pa loved to laugh and to bring laughter to others. He was a fan of the well-told traditional joke, and not above simply acting silly when the mood struck him. My own brand of humor tends to be mischievous, more likely to rely on another's ability to not take my joking seriously; and more more likely to offend, frankly. Pa-Pa's humor, on the other hand, may have been self-deprecating at times, but never came at another's expense. In fact, he would be quick to help rescue anyone whom he felt was being unfairly goaded. This was consistent with Pa-Pa's tendency to not only recognize, but to empathize with both joys and hardships of his fellow man. It is so easy to undervalue such empathy until one finds oneself on the receiving end of it. I found myself on the receiving end hundreds of times. Through starting a business and the multitude of ups and downs along that journey; through the joys and challenges of my own marriage; the emotional highs and lows associated with years of infertility treatments; the anticipation and simultaneous anxiety involved in the process of adoption; and ultimately the life change brought on by fatherhood. Through all of this, Pa-Pa was there, consistently. An inobtrusive and objective observer and at the same time a passionately interested stakeholder in my well being. Never, ever judgemental, and seemingly never more concerned about his own affairs than about mine. Always asking about me, I was told, if I failed to stop by next door on any given day.

My relationship with Pa-Pa was a special one, for sure, but I have no doubt that others also experienced his warmth and grace. One of his last gifts to me, in fact, is the joy of seeing the outpouring of love from our family and friends that accompanies his departure. On his behalf I thank each of you for that support, and for helping celebrate a life well-lived.

* * *

Claude Douglas Fulton, known as "Doug" for most of his life, was the third of three children born and raised in the small, rural community of Fruitdale, Alabama. Though his family was poor, and he was often stricken with respiratory illness as a child, he graduated Valedictorian from Fruitdale High School in 1955, and went to work for the Gulf, Mobile & Ohio Railroad. His employment was interrupted when he was drafted into the US Army in 1961. After two years of service to his country, primarily as a cook, he returned to the GM&O where he remained until 1964. After a brief stint with Southern Airways, he was hired as a steno clerk by the Canadian-Pacific Railroad, whom he served loyally for the next thirty-two years. Having worked his way into positions of increasing responsibility, he led the company's sales effort in Mexico and a four-state region in the southern United States when he retired in 1997.

In 1965 he married Cheryl Ann Valentine in Mobile, Alabama. The two had their one daughter and only child, Lori Alane, in 1969. Four years later Doug moved his family to Houston, where they lived, in the same house, until their move to Boerne in 2001.

In Boerne, Doug and his wife enjoyed living next door to their daughter and son-in-law. Up until the last year of his life, Doug would amaze his family by performing complex mathematical operations rapidly in his head. He would sometimes recount his life experiences in vivid detail, including the names of the stories' various protagonists - from as far back as childhood. He had a great sense of humor, and the family's dinner time was often characterized by laughter. He was a hard worker and a frustrated golfer. He loved to feed and care for the deer whom he befriended upon his move to Boerne. For years he kept the family's landscape impeccably groomed. He will be remembered as a kind, loving and loyal family man.

Doug died of respiratory failure on April 24 in a San Antonio hospital surrounded by friends and family. He is survived by his wife, Cheryl; his daughter Lori Figart, her husband Mark and their son, Ian Douglas, of Boerne; his sister, Mary Lou Walthall and her husband, Harold, of Austin; his nieces, Mauri Lynn Walthall and Lisa Kulawik, and Lisa's son Matthew, of Austin; and numerous cousins.

Friends and family will celebrate Doug's life at a memorial service at First United Methodist Church in Boerne on Wednesday, April 30 at 1PM. In lieu of flowers, donations can be made in Doug's name to a charity of donor's choice or to Boerne First United Methodist Church, 205 East James Street, Boerne, TX, 78006.