‘Dr. Smooth’ leaves lasting legacy among those he knew

In 1998, after years of trying, Wayne Hirschel climbed to the top rung of individual league play in the Lewiston-Clarkston-Orofino Bowling Association, winning the LCO men’s season championship in relegating the great Terry Stricker to second place.

But that’s not why an estimated 400 mourners attended a memorial service Nov. 19 for Hirschel at the Bennett Building in Asotin. Those people had gathered to honor an ebullient spirit.

“It was overwhelming,” said Clarkston bowler Danny Brown, a nephew of Hirschel’s wife of almost 30 years, Lona. “He touched a lot of people’s lives.”

Hirschel died unexpectedly two weeks ago, at age 75, of complications from atrial fibrillation, a type of heart arrhythmia. The death took place on Veterans Day, a half-century after he’d served as a U.S. Navy Seabee in Vietnam. He was honorably discharged in 1972.

During almost five decades as a talented and dedicated bowler in the Lewiston-Clarkston Valley, and almost a notable athletic career at Tekoa (Wash.) High School, Hirschel never claimed another LCO title after that initial breakthrough 24 years ago.

But he became one of the area’s most consistent bowlers of that time, developing a finesse-flavored style that earned him the nickname, “Dr. Smooth.” A consistent casher in the United States Bowling Congress national tournament, he was honored this year in Las Vegas for participating in the event for the 40th time.

He was ambidextrous, but that didn’t necessarily aid his bowling. Fifty years ago, as a left-hander in almost every endeavor aside from bowling, he perhaps could have simplified life in that sport by embracing the port side, where lane conditions generally were more stable and predictable before the proliferation of synthetic lanes in later decades.

But he was a bit old-school. Like virtually every serious bowler these days, he experimented with high-tech balls calculated to increase dynamic pin movement. Lona Hirschel is mulling how to dispose of a dozen of his balls of recent vintage. But there were limits to his experimentation. He remained true to the game’s core principles of accuracy and feel.

Given Hirschel’s hearty personality, his memorial service was sure to avoid excessive solemnity. But it hurt.

“Wounded — that’s the best description. We were all wounded,” said Sheila Striebeck, one of the two daughters of Lona adopted by Hirschel at the time of their marriage. (A year later, he welcomed into his life a previously unsuspected 25-year-old daughter of his own, Lana Lou Cochrane, whose physical and personal similarities to Hirschel are the stuff of family legend.)

“Every single person he came across was special (to him),” Striebeck said. “We all felt we were his favorite person. Not just his family. I’ve had more gentlemen tell me this week that he’s their best friend.”

Accustomed to bowling in three or four leagues per week, Hirschel curtailed his schedule the past year but in some ways raised his success rate. Amazingly, three of his six career 300 games have came in the past 13 months.

The son of a U.S. serviceman and an Australian mother he’d met overseas, Hirschel delighted in his Aussie heritage, seeming to embody its deadpan humor and humane cheer.

“I’ve never known anyone who didn’t like Wayne,” Lona Hirschel said.

His final day was a microcosm of his life since his retirement in 2007 after decades as a Potlatch Corp. shift worker. It was an ode to community. He made a list of seven local businesses where he could expect to score a Veterans Day freebie. He succeeded in visiting three or four of them, handing out droll smiles and quips in exchange.

Hirschel was healthy for almost his entire life, but in recent months he’d struggled with atrial fibrillation. Until the night of his death, he’d seemingly reached a truce with the condition.

After attending a girls basketball game at Lewiston High School — he and Lona were inveterate sports fans, though he was alone this night — Hirschel began driving home and evidently felt pain in his chest. He stopped the car at the Arby’s restaurant in the Lewiston Orchards, then got out. He immediately collapsed, leading many to think his death was instantaneous.

“He had the best life,” Striebeck said. “We just wanted it to go on longer.”

Grummert may be contacted at daleg@lmtribune.com or (208) 848-8207.