Only the Good Die Young

Confession time. Despite the TERRIBLE accents, melodramatic performances, and silly storyline, I kind of love Varsity Blues. It’s a guilty pleasure of mine and, having gone to high school in Texas, I spent many years thinking it was a documentary. Apparently it’s not. Apparently everyone in this movie is an “actor” - and I use the term loosely.

I mean, who doesn’t cringe when James Van Der Beek confronts his father, in a painfully bad, stilted southern accent, with “I don’t…want…your life.”? So bad. So bad it’s good. But the best part of this deliciously awful celluloid is, inarguably, the beautiful Paul Walker.

With his piercing blue eyes and tall, athletic frame, he was the stuff dreams are made of.

Tragically, Paul and his friend, Roger Rodas, went the way of James Dean when they were killed in a car crash late last year. The details of the crash have been widely publicized - and won’t be regurgitated here - but what hasn’t gotten much press (at least not to my knowledge) and what bears mentioning, is a story that speaks not to how Paul died, but how he lived.

So often after someone dies, (s)he is essentially canonized in people’s memories. It’s almost sacrilegious to speak ill of the dead. Paul Walker was no different. So when his dad gave an interview about how wonderful Paul had been, how he was a generous spirit who loved his daughter and never denied his fans a photo or autograph, I figured it was to be taken with a substantial grain of salt. Then I read about an encounter my blue-eyed darling had with a soldier and his wife in a Santa Barbara jewelry store.
 

I really just can't get enough of his face.

In 2004, Kyle and Kristen Upham were engagement ring shopping when they came face-to-face with Paul Walker himself. The Fast and Furious star struck up a conversation with the couple, which is how he learned that Kyle had just returned from his first deployment in Iraq and how he was now anxious to buy his lady her dream ring. Unfortunately, dreams don’t have a budget, while a man on a limited salary does. Although they found the perfect ring, the couple left empty-handed. Imagine their surprise then, to later be called back to the store and handed a bag with the $10,000 ring inside. The only catch was that no one would divulge who their Daddy Warbucks was.

After the death of the Varsity Blues actor, however, the rest of the story emerged. According to the lucky saleswoman who happened to be working that day, after seeing the couple leave without the much-desired ring, warm-hearted Walker purchased the diamond for the pair. His only request was that his good deed remain anonymous. And it did. Until his death.

Kindness for the sake of kindness. What a novel idea. 

See?

Obviously I didn’t know Paul Walker. I don’t know what he was like from day-to-day. But I think it’s safe to say that a man – a celebrity no less – who purchases a gift, of any size really, for two people he’s just met and asks only that his generosity remain anonymous, well, that guy can’t be all bad; he’s probably not spending his evenings stealing hubcaps and kicking puppies.

All joking aside, it’s a lovely story and one that we can all learn from. May we all live in such a way that, when our card is finally punched, we leave behind an Upham or two. A group of people to recount to the world what amazing people we were and how pretty we were on the inside.

And, let’s be honest, the outside too.

Paul Walker: just as pretty on the inside