Jay Dennis Shults

Jay Dennis Shults transitioned from this world to join the Lord in the Kingdom of Heaven early Monday morning September, 13th, 2021. He was greeted in Heaven by his parents, J.W. and Velma Shults, and brother Jerry.  He left behind his wife, Velda Shults.  Daughter, Tami Foster and husband Brandon Foster.  Daughter Amanda Saenz and husband Del Saenz.  Grandchildren; Kaden, Kyndal, Bailey, Rousseau, Victoria, and Abigail.  Brother, Leon Shults and wife Vickie Shults.  Sister, Elaine Kepley and sister, Janell Powell.   There will be a graveside service at 11:00 AM on Monday, September 20, at Crowley Cemetery. 300 N. Hampton, Crowley, TX 76036.  Flowers can be sent to Alpine Funeral Home 2300 N Sylvania Ave, Fort Worth, TX 76111.   Dennis was born on January 8th, 1950 to J.W. and Velma Shults.   Dennis, known as Daddy, PawPaw, Dent, Goose, and other colorful names, depending on who you were speaking with. Dennis was an amazing husband, father, grandfather, brother, father-in-law, and, to almost everyone who met him, friend. Dennis would give you the shirt off his back, the last Cherry Dr. Pepper from the fridge, or the tools from his bench.   Dennis was a musical connoisseur. He loved all genres of music and could be heard singing or whistling various tunes from his garage at all hours of the day and night. Dennis would often tell tales of playing the trumpet in his high school marching band and of being a substitute French horn player for the Fort Worth Symphony. Dennis’s love of music was passed on to his children and grandchildren.   Dennis was a Mister Fix-It. You broke it, he’d fix it. If he couldn’t fix it, then it wasn’t worth keeping. This ability to masterfully repair anything mechanical earned him the title of “Master Southern Engineer.”  It did not matter if you were down the street or across state lines, he could always repair what was broken. In his later years, Dennis would load his tools up on his electric chair’s footrest and zoom down the road to help those in need. He was also a gifted supervisor and could instruct the most inept novice on how to change brakes, repair radiator fans, or build anything you could dream up. He was an amazing teacher and the “original Google.”   Google might as well have asked Dennis for directions. He needed no map and could tell you how to get somewhere by recalling street names, landmarks, and cardinal directions. One could tell Dennis that they were across the street from a purple dinosaur next to a McDonald’s and he could get you home with no more information. His daughters referred to him as the Human Mapsco. If you were lost, call Dennis.   Dennis could talk to anyone and everyone and often did. He had long conversations with random solicitors and invited the cable repairman to dinner. His garage was as good as a therapist’s couch. Everybody came to talk to Dennis and he would listen. A quick conversation with Dennis would turn into an hour long conversation, and all participants would leave with a smile.  Dennis had many friends that, like clockwork, would call or visit for their daily chats. It didn’t matter what you wished to talk about, Dennis would listen; from conversations about the stock market to the troubles of his favorite Cowboys. He valued and loved each visit or call.   Dennis was an amazing father. He taught his girls how to tinker and the ins and outs of the tools in his workshop that was the garage. From using power tools, to mowing lawns, to doing maintenance on vehicles, they were taught it all. They would play in his garage skating around in circles or using his chairs to spin round and round. He loved them and they loved to be near him. Dennis always bragged about his daughters and how well they were doing. He raised his daughters to be strong and independent women. He was proud of what they grew up to be.   Dennis loved each and every one of his grandbabies. To them, Dennis was affectionately known as PawPaw. He loved to hear that name and was a sucker for anyone that called him PawPaw.  He always treated them with Braums, Cane’s, or really, anything that they wanted. He would sit in his chair at the entrance to his garage and watch them play in the front yard or burst bubbles from the bubble machine that he would constantly replace. The grandbabies loved to stand on his chair’s footrest as he took them for rides up and down the street and to the daycare. He would also turn the side of the house into a mini shooting range, setting up Sprite and Dr. Pepper cans, to be used as sponges for BBs, and kept the children supplied with CO2 canisters. In the summer, his garage floor would be covered with beautiful chalk art which the wheels on his chair would pick up and leave marks on the dining room floor, much to Velda’s chagrin. He passed on his love for popsicles, peaches, and pickles to them and would have “pickle time” with them regardless of what time it was, much to their mother’s dismay. He was also an expert apple peeler. Dennis looked forward to each day when he was able to pick up his granddaughter from school. He did this for many years, and loved each truck ride together. As often as he could, he would make the trip to watch them play sports. PawPaw was one of his many roles. It was a role that he loved and his grandbabies loved him.   Dennis married Velda, the love of his life and the prettiest woman he’d ever seen, on November 3rd, 1978. Dennis would tell anyone willing to listen that, “Velda was the best thing that ever happened to me.” Dennis’s love for Velda knew no bounds and he, after the many years of their marriage, was still in awe that someone like Velda could love him. Dennis would always proclaim to the world that he worshipped Velda. She was his rock, his reason, and his purpose. Dennis’s love for Velda would set the standard for how someone should love someone else.  His love for her didn’t stop when he passed on.