Lawrence Stanley Green

Three years after beginning a heroic battle with his declining health, Larry Green passed away on

January 29, 2021, eleven days after his 77th birthday. He began his life in Frankfort, Indiana and

at an early age, moved to Fort Wayne, Indiana where Larry resided the rest of his life. As

ordinary as that sounds, Larry’s life was anything but ordinary. At age 14, unbeknownst to his

family, he bought his first car, an inoperable Model A coupe. Through hard work and sheer will,

he managed to make it run again and his adventure began. He traded out cars like most people

trade out drugstore reading glasses. The Model A was the first of many hundreds of cars he

owned and drove as he canvased every town in, and around, the State of Indiana. Among his

accomplishments, Larry served in the National Guard for six years. He had a varied resume,

which included conventional jobs such as Real Estate Broker and Automotive Salesman. His

most notable career, and the one that defined his life, was being an entrepreneur.

Larry made it his business to learn everything there was to know about cars, cameras,

cookstoves, brass instruments, cigarette lighters, fountain pens, motorcycles, drum sets, watches,

binoculars, old radios, coins, violins, and teacups, to name only a few. In his pursuit of more

knowledge, he became an avid reader and continued learning his entire life. He was an

autodidact in the truest sense. He could tell you what kind of engine any vehicle had or what year

the design of a taillight changed. He devoured thousands of reference materials, service manuals,

and books to satisfy his unquenchable curiosity. Larry had a remarkable, innate understanding of

the beauty of style, the sometimes comical nature of design, and the mechanics of function. He

carried an excitement with him that was palatable, infectious, and one that only a truly free man

can know. That excitement coupled with his knowledge and curiosity, made finding and

collecting rare and valuable items his life’s work.

Larry was not only a collector of things, he was also an avid collector of dreams, music, friends,

lessons, and stories. Music coursed through Larry’s veins from an early age. He never played a

musical instrument but always had a newly discovered song to share and was not timid about

showcasing it. He often interjected melody into conversations to add comedic relief. He coined

countless song titles and brilliant band names. He created jingles spontaneously and frequently.

“The Bo-Diddley Shelving Company” was one of his first jingles and was spawned during a long

day building shelves from scraps. When asked his favorite genre of music, his response never

wavered from “live.” He loved songs with a steel guitar, Elvis, Neil Young, Rockabilly,

Honky-Tonk, Roy Orbison, and sometimes wept while playing old, sad, cowboy gospel songs.

To his delight, in the last few years, he discovered others enjoyed his singing (beyond its original

comic relief) and he could be found performing “Heart of Gold” or other poignant Neil Young

songs on a karaoke stage.

Larry was funny. Like his brothers, he had a quick wit and was gifted in the art of sarcasm: he

used that skill wisely and frequently. He could find humor in most things and it was both

welcomed and admired by his friends. He was underwhelmed by hyperboles and was staunchly

opposed to the use of idioms. The phrase “it was in the last place I found it’ both infuriated and

baffled him -- all of that was somehow charming.

Larry was a spectacular storyteller. He reveled in sharing his latest discoveries, humorous yarns

(complete with impersonations, if necessary), and the chronicles of his wild youth. When he was

feeling modest, he credited his distant Cherokee lineage for this gift. We all knew the stories

were his very essence: they were utterly captivating. Each story was, in its own way, an act of

love. It was the thread that connected him to so many people. The more he told his stories, the

more he became the stories and, in turn, they became him.

He was never late for anything. He had his very own breakfast club, which met weekly for

decades. Lifelong friends would gather, share their latest accolades, talk cars, have coffee, eat

and laugh. They would leave standing a bit taller, smiling, and on a quest for experiences to

share the following week. The breakfast club saw changing faces over the years but ended only

after Larry’s illness began.

Larry took great pride in helping people, whether it was changing a stranger’s tire, really

listening and talking to a person collecting dirty trays at McDonald’s, or rewiring his

son-in-law’s lawnmower. He could fix anything and loved teaching others to look for solutions.

As his illness progressed and his body limited the kind of help he had become fluent in, his help

came in the form of a carefully placed, cleverly disguised, and seemingly irrelevant anecdote. In

the twilight of Larry’s life, his perspective and wisdom grew exponentially. He gave outstanding

and objective advice. He shared his failings with remorse, an intent to teach, and in some cases,

an intent to heal. He had hard conversations and he faced the terminal nature of his illness with

unrelenting hope.

When he shared that he was trying to get stronger to take his best friend and wife, Karen, on a

motorcycle ride in a sidecar this summer, everyone thought those were the words of a dying man.

A few weeks later, when he purchased a motorcycle and sidecar from his bed, everyone thought,

those were the actions of a crazy man. Four months later, when he rose from his wheelchair and

mounted the motorcycle to drive it into my barn, everyone remembered who Larry was.

When the call came that Larry had passed away, it should not have come as a surprise, but it did.

He faced death frequently in his last years and to everyone’s shock, prevailed time after time. In

the end, he waited to make sure everyone knew how much they were loved and expressed

gratitude for his adventure. Then, when he was ready, in his own unique and epic style, he closed

his eyes leaving us another story to tell.

He is survived by his wife and best friend, Karen Green from Grand Rapids, Michigan;

step-children: Dani Patrick (Erica), Josh Horvath (Kent), Desire’ Jacobsen; ex-wife: Janet Green;

their children: Heather Backs (Charles), Adam (Lisa); grandchildren Vivian, Elliott, and Oliver

Backs, Emerson and McKinley Green; brothers: Don Green (Charlotte) and Arthur Green; nieces

and nephews: Ben Green (Tara), Jesse Green (Kelly), Catherine Gardner (Mark), and Nicholas

Green (Clodagh), He called many people friends but some he loved like family: David Lupke,

Bill Beard, Chuck Shamo, Chuck Surack, John Gutermuth and his beloved cat, Mabel.

Preceded in death by his parents: Edward Green and Mabel Austelle (James) Green; his

half-brother Edward J. Green; and his sister-in-law, Natalie Green.

A memorial service will be held when health conditions allow so family and friends can gather

safely.