07/08/2026
Greetings Everyone!
The following was written by Jim Casterton, who has given us permission to share the piece with you. It is a wonderful tribute to a man who has lived a very vibrant life in the central St Croix Valley.
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I had lunch with one of my all time favorite humans today and I have thought of little else since. Writing this has been cathartic for me and hopefully sheds some light on some of the qualities which endear him to so many people.
My Friend, Wade
There are men who leave behind stone monuments,
and there are men whose monument is found in the laughter of children,
the confidence of young people they believed in,
the thriving streets of a small town,
and the memories carried by grateful friends.
Wade is one of those men.
A Blue Jay from Taylors Falls,
he ran beneath Friday night lights,
played basketball,
and carried the easy confidence
of someone everyone wanted to know.
His classmates saw an athlete.
His friends found a loyal heart and a mischievous grin.
Fate took him from Taylors Falls to Normandale to St. Thomas,
where he met Carol,
the smart, beautiful swimmer
who became his wife, best friend, business partner, and mother of his three wonderful children.
Adventure never frightened him.
He went to Australia,
sold windows under unfamiliar skies,
and formed a friendship with Alex
so dear that his first son would carry that name.
He lived on Maui,
managed a restaurant by the Pacific,
then heard home calling.
Back to Taylors Falls.
Back to the St. Croix.
Back to the place he helped make better.
His drive-in was more than a restaurant.
It was summer,
neon at dusk,
1950s music,
root b**r,
fresh burgers,
teenagers earning their first paychecks,
families making memories,
and a patient boss teaching without seeming to teach.
He saw what others missed.
He imagined riverside paths,
businesses working together,
and a stronger Taylors Falls—
then quietly helped build it.
The underpass.
The bridge.
The riverside walkway.
They stand because Wade believed a town should embrace its river.
Life asked hard things of him.
He lost his mother on Christmas Day
while still in college.
Years later came the deeper sorrow
of losing Alex.
Yet Wade kept loving.
Kept serving.
Kept building.
Carol stayed beside him.
Gwen grew into a strong, smart woman whose compassion blesses children with special needs.
Peter found his own love in Carmen, and his father's athleticism, intelligence, and business accumen.
Wade coached without whistles,
led without titles,
and served without applause.
He could run a political campaign, mentor teenagers, shape a downtown,
and teach a nervous sixteen-year-old to do a job well.
He never needed to be the loudest man in the room.
He simply made the room better.
I still smile remembering our ridiculous claim
that Tony, Wade, and I
were the only men under thirty in Taylors Falls
who weren't volunteer firefighters.
Some friendships never need explaining.
Now Alzheimer's slowly steals the names, stories, and punchlines.
It is a cruel thief.
But it cannot steal character, kindness,
or the mark Wade has left on a community, a family, and on me.
For memory is not kept in one mind.
It lives in all of ours.
Every path along the river.
Every teenager who believed in himself or herself.
Every family beneath the neon lights.
Every friend lucky enough to share the journey.
And so, while illness may dim yesterday,
the story of Wade remains beautifully written—
not only in what he remembers,
but in what the rest of us will never forget.
