Paul Schultz

As you can see from the below, which was written by George D. Schultz, little is known about my Grandfather Schultz’ youngest brother.

Born:
Died:
Parents:
Siblings:
Children:


Bernard on the left, John in back, Paul in front and Mary Catherine to the right — as you face the photo.

I don’t think that there are any people alive — in the year of 2007 — that can say much about my Uncle Paul.  I never met him.  And I don’t think anyone else on the VilleMonte side of the family has either.  I would bet the rent money that my Cousin Jerry, and/or my Cousin Dale, have never heard of him.

NO one — but, NO one — on the Schultz side EVER mentioned him.  Not to me.  Not in my presence.  My Grandmother Schultz — his own mother.  Not my father — his brother.  Not Uncle John nor Aunt Mary Catherine — his other siblings.  NONE of them EVER mentioned him!  EVER!

I think I was eight or nine — maybe even a couple of years older — before I even KNEW that I’d HAD an Uncle Paul on that side of the family.  I, of course, knew and loved Uncle Paul VilleMonte — my mother’s brother.  But, never knew that I’d HAD an Uncle Paul Schultz.

Before his death — in the early-fifties — I’d only heard his name mentioned once.  That was by my mother.  It was her suspicion/conclusion/theory/whatever that he’d been in jail for a long time.  She thought that he probably was still incarcerated.  She didn’t think it was at Jackson — Michigan’s state penitentiary.

When he passed away, I was in the Navy — stationed in Norfolk.  I got a letter from my mother that Paul Schultz had died — in Denver.  My father, I think, at that time was “between jobs” — and the family commissioned him to fly out to Colorado and bring the body back to Detroit.  (I’m assuming that he’s buried in the family plot in Mt. Olivet Cemetary on Van Dyke in Detroit — but, never personally checked it out.)

When Pop came back, he’d had Uncle Paul’s (sounds strange for me to say that name — when referring to this gentleman) widow in tow.  (Sadly, I do not remember her name.)

The widow and Pop became romantically involved.  I’m not certain how long they might’ve stayed in Detroit after the funeral — but, I don’t think it was very long.  Eventually, the two of them headed west, in a 1936 Dodge.  Wound up in California.

I’d never spoken to Pop about those days.  Well, about his relationship with the lady.  The only thing he’d ever said to me — relative to his days on the Left Coast — was that, at one time, he’d owned a 1946 or 1947 Lincoln Continental.  And that — on the trip in the ’36 Dodge — the only problem they’d had was a flat tire.

Once he’d gotten back to Detroit, he’d told my mother — and, I think, my sister — that he’d never married the woman.  She never came back with him — and no one seemed to know what could’ve happened to her.  I don’t think anyone really inquired.  I know that I never did.

When Pop had his completely-debilitating stroke — in the mid-seventies — he’d been working at a sort of rundown motel on East Jefferson, in Detroit.  When they went through his meager belongings, it was said that they’d found a marriage license — from someplace in California — which showed Pop and this lady actually DID marry.  That (marriage or lack of same) was never a big deal with me.  I’d never met her — or my Uncle Paul.

My one big — really BIG — regret is that, while I was stationed in Norfolk, I got an exceptionally nice letter from this lady.  I think that — having heard my mother’s rather strong opinion of the situation between my father and this woman — my mind was pretty well discriminatory against her.  Choody may not have poisoned my mind.  That’s probably too strong a term.  But, my view of the widow had to have come from SOMETHING or SOMEONE.

In any case, I wrote her a totally NASTY letter — telling her that I was not interested in ANY contact with her.  I’ll go to my grave regretting that.  It was NOT my proudest moment.

Outside of that, I cannot tell you anything further about Paul Schultz.  Anybody who could has gone to That Great Melting Pot In The Sky.

I’m sorry.