The World bids Adieu to Wally Romero

by Roman Lewis

Wally Romero, an Acadiana icon whose big personality and outlandish style were matched only by his generosity and benevolence, died Saturday, Sept. 4, broke and alone.

He was 53.

And while his house may have lacked power the day Romero died, he surely did not.

Friends and family remember him as the as the straw that stirred the drink, an unstoppable force of nature and a man who would give you the last dollar in his pocket if you needed a hand.

Romero loved to cook and loved to eat, passions that lead to his studying at the world-renowned Le Cordon Bleu Paris, where he honed his skills as a chef.

Eventually, those skills -- like just about anything else Romero could offer -- often benefited others as much, if not more, than himself.

Friends of the Junior League of Lafayette estimate that his elaborate meals, often bid on by people from across the country, netted the nonprofit more than six figures over the years.

"He was an incredible chef and when he donated an eight-course meal for 12 in his home, people that could care less about the charity showed up to bid on what they knew would be an incredible and memorable night," said Henry Mouton, who met Romero in the 4th grade at Our Lady of Fatima School and remained close with him throughout his life.

In addition to his work for Junior League, Romero donated time and money to several charities, including the American Cancer Society and Coastal Conservation Association. But for many it was his generosity behind the scenes that set Romero apart.

Carlos Russo,  onetime director of The Well and an advocate for the poor, said Romero's altruism was not just for the cameras.

"In my 13 years of working with the poor, Wally was always there providing anything I needed -- from cash to personal time and a special touch for people in crisis," said Russo. "When I was down he was  the first to call and help me personally overcome the economic crisis that came from being tossed to the curb. He told me the best thing to do is to succeed and not give them the satisfaction of knocking me down."

"I only wished he would have allowed me to help him," Russo added.

Old School Lafayette

Walter J. "Wally" Romero was born Feb. 1, 1957 to Walter J.  Romero Sr. and Doris Higginbotham Romero. His father was in Insurance, his mother helped out with the family business when she could but mostly took care of Romero and his four sisters.

The family home, on Ronald Boulevard, was in the center of town back then. But a block or so from Fatima, the location proved a bit too convenient for Wally Romero's sake.

Wally Romero and his mother, Doris

"He would always bitch -- 'I'm the only one in this whole school who can't blame missing the bus for being late to school,'" said Mouton, who graduated a year ahead of Romero.

Romero, the pudgy kid whose quick wit and guttural laugh made people forget about his weight problems, always found a way to wiggle out of trouble at Fatima, said Mouton.

"How could you get mad at a kid who would make you laugh out loud as often as Wally did?" he asked.

Romero would graduate from Fatima in 1975 and go on to earn a business degree from the University of Southwest Louisiana (now ULL).  Soon after he joined the family business, and within a few years his father had pulled some strings and helped secure Romero his own State Farm franchise.

It was in the insurance business where Romero achieved his greatest success, affording him an opulent lifestyle, collecting antiques and fine art, traveling abroad and hobnobbing with a "who's who" of Acadiana.

The late-night parties and card games at his house on the Vermilion River were legend, say friends, as was his appetite for life, food, friends and family.

A true Bon Vivant

Jason Peck, who spent a lot of time with Romero in the '80s, remembered his grand entrances into LaFonda around Christmastime when he would arrive flanked by his entourage, replete with the Sleigh Sluts.

"In the 80s he was a fun-spirited, good-time-loving, never-meet-a-stranger, generous guy I was happy to call a friend," said Peck.

Phil Lank, who met Romero in grade school, described him as "one of the nicest and most creative people I ever knew." 

"Friends remember his annual Christmas party, his popular Wednesday gatherings and his annual Tacky Parties. Some of the best good-time memories come from his Tacky Parties. They were a blast and soooooo tacky that even the hors d'oeuvres were things like pickled pigs lips," said Lank.

Many remember Romero for his boundless energy and his sometimes short attention span. But Romero's cousin, Perry Dautreuil, remembers a man who could focus like a laser when he wanted to learn something.

"One of my fondest memories of Wally was watching my grandmother, his Taunt Lule, trying to teach him to say the Hail Mary in French. I had never before, or since, seen him so quiet and deep in concentration," said Dautreuil.

"He learned the Sign of the Cross that day ... and he was glowing with his sense of accomplishment," Dautreuil added.

Friends say the many success stories, big and small, never went to his head and, perhaps, steeled him for the challenges that would come later in life. 

If Romero's lifelong battle with his weight was a concern, friends say he rarely let on. Instead, he poked fun at himself, donning loud Hawaiian shirts that surely did not hide his belly. But eventually he grew concerned about the weight and chose to have gastric bypass surgery.

A few years later Romero, who at one point packed 400-plus pounds onto his 6-foot frame, explained his decision to The Independent.

"My Dad had had his first heart attack at 52, and I was only a couple of years away from that statistic. I wanted to at least have a chance at surviving," he said. 

His friend, Phil Lank, remembers the day before Romero traveled to New Orleans for the surgery in August 2002.

"The day before he went into the hospital to get his stomach clipped, he and Bern and Kevin (Gossen) went to Soop's in Maurice and Wally ordered the menu. Poor baby probably thought he would never be able to eat again," joked Lank. 

Svelte and styling, Carlos Russo said Romero felt liberated by the sudden weight loss.

"He abandoned the Hawaiian shirts and became very suave, and shopped mostly in Europe," said Russo, adding that "his obit' photo was the height of his fashion expression."

Lank said his friend was a good guy who made some bad choices.

"He had his struggles, as we all do, and it saddened me he was never able to overcome them. But that never deterred me from thinking fondly of him because he was such a good person ... and he was so, so much fun," said Lank.

After nearly 30 successful years with State Farm, Romero's fall from grace was as sudden as it was thorough.

He hit rock bottom in 2008, first when State Farm pulled his franchise after premiums came up missing, then when he was arrested for selling a friend's George Rodrigue painting for $25,000. 

At first, his spirits remained high, as evidenced by a sign he hung in the old State Farm office on University Avenue in December of that year.

It read, simply: "Lafayette, I am what I am. Merry Christmas. -- Wally Romero." 

But eventually, addiction problems and depression began to take their toll, and he never quite recovered. Romero died Saturday at his home on Smith Street, alone with his dog, in a house with no electricity. He sold the house on the river years ago.

"He fell down real hard. His family picked him up and he fell down again, this time harder. They got him up, he fell down twice as hard and they tried but the drugs were his down fall," said Henry Mouton.

Betsy Arabie, who lived down the street from Romero in the Arbolada subdivision, said through all the internal turmoil Romero was "a very loving, funny, and genuine" neighbor whose kindness never waned.

"It was my daughter's birthday ... and we had gone to his house to look at antiques. When he found out it was Kathryn's birthday -- she was about 7 or so -- he chose a special antique figurine of a tall slim woman in a blue dress and hat and he said, 'This is for you for your birthday.' I was really touched that he would do that for her," Arabie said.

Though in the end Romero had nothing left to give you could tell "in his heart" he wanted to help in any way possible, said his cousin, Dautreuil.

"He was a broken man," his cousin said. "The fall from grace is the most painful fall. It doesn't break bones, it breaks the spirit."

Roman Lewis, an award-winning journalist with over 2,000 articles published, hosts Roman Lewis Live Saturday nights on AM 970 The Answer. Contact him at romanlewislive