Mr. Larry Paul Smith

February 28, 1933 ~ February 27, 2020 (age 86)


 Larry Paul Smith, born in Houston, Texas on February 28, 1933, took the chevy to the levee on February 27th one day before his 87th birthday. Speeding now into the infinite. 

Larry was the kind of man that would give you the shirt off his back (most likely that shirt would have some information about the great state of Texas or blood donations). He would give you the belt holding up his pants. Maybe his pants too if it was an emergency. The keys to his truck. The keys to his house.  He might give you money to hold you until payday and buy you a beer.  He would crack one open with anyone willing and sit with you on the porch watching the rain roll in telling you all his tales.

 He was a true renaissance man but with a penchant for fart jokes. He worked as a geological surveyor, roaming through the woods and sleeping in his jeep. He worked on a boat doing oil exploration. He drove an ambulance and worked in a funeral home. This allowed for horrible and enthralling stories over dinner. He served in the US Army where he was on the bomb disposal squad. He was an investor in a pretty rockin' bar in Austin where he fed his love of live music. He was once invited to leave a job at an architecture firm because of his vocal environmental opinions, putting the mayor of an unnamed city on blast- and saving a well-known local creek. He worked passionately on ADA compliance at Auburn University until he retired in 2003.

 He was proceeded in death by his first wife, Doris Cater Smith, the mother of Wynn and Paul Smith. He leaves behind his wife of 44 years, Danita (Dee) Braden Smith. His 3 children Paul Smith (Paula), Wynn Smith (Charlie), Spring Roberts (Jeff) and his dear sister Louetha Telge. The legacy of Abo lives on in his very good looking and exceptionally clever grandchildren: Eden and Julien Gerlock; Avery, Mayme, and Leela Smith; and Jhonen Alonzo. He perhaps narrowly escaped having to corral great-grandchildren. His reign of extracting candy canes and confiscating sharp sticks has come to an end.

He left behind quite a bit of miscellaneous items that he would happen upon during his day. Things he was unable to allow to be thrown away because he saw value in things others missed, or it reminded him of friends, family, or a moment in time. His dresser is a menagerie of well-organized bags of screws, antique tools, letters and gauges. Each a reminder of someone lucky enough to have been embraced by this fascinating, kind, and irreverent son of a gun.


In lieu of flowers and to honor the passion of the man himself please make a donation to your local blood bank. And for the love of God remember to pick up your d*** trash……and maybe a lot more.


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