My brother's name was Andreas, but he called himself Andy for the early part of his life. I think he hoped he would go unnoticed as just another "Aussie" growing up in Sydney in the 70s — when being called Andreas got you into nothing but trouble.
Going unnoticed didn't work out for Andreas, and he got into plenty of trouble. But, eventually, many long, dark years later, he woke up to the beautiful, bright truth of himself, with thanks, I believe, to the arrival of his daughter Ginger. She revealed him to be a really sweet, funny man — like the sweet boy he had always been, once upon a time.
In the 1980s, Andreas had a dog he called Sid Vicious. Needless to say, Sid was a crazy dog. A lot like Andy, Sid was impossible to contain. We had a garden wall that seemed about 7 feet high, and Sid Vicious, the dog, could scale that wall and be away before you knew it.
You know what they say about a dog and its owner? Well, it's true. Andy, like me and his dog, specialised in escaping. The difference was that Sid and I would do it quietly when no one was watching, while Andy preferred doing it out in the open, making lots of noise in the process. While Sid and I would get away, Andreas would invariably get caught.
Andy and I both shared the view that the world wasn't a place that gave you permission, but while I stood back and worked at rephrasing the question, Andy preferred to push his way past any opposition.
One day at School—at St Leo's College, Wahroonga—possibly around 1979, Andy tried to push his way past a School thug named John. I guess John recognised something in Andy that got his back up. Being the bigger and older kid, John proceeded to drag Andreas into the school toilets for what was called a royal flush.
At this moment, on the other side of the schoolyard, I was blissfully unaware of Andy's predicament until I was alerted by some cruel kids who were more interested in seeing a show than helping my brother. I groaned inwardly yet still felt compelled to walk across the yard up to John, who was dragging Andreas through the toilet doorway.
At about the same moment as the words "let him go" came out of my mouth, John's big, ferocious fist came up and hit my left jaw with a crack. Other than recalling John and me becoming an intertwined and violent whirling dervish and some of the more cruel and heartless kids cheering us on, I don't know what happened after that.
It turned out John had come from an abusive family, and after it was all busted up, I was asked if I wanted to press assault charges. At the time, Brother Burns, the headmaster, explained some of John's story, so I didn't. I don't think I would have pressed charges anyway. Although my left jaw had a hairline fracture and was almost broken, I had the good fortune of discovering that day that I had both courage and pride and that I did, in fact, love my brother even though I couldn't understand how he seemed so determined to get into trouble.
This was at a point in time when there was a definite switch in Andy's behaviour. Instead of climbing over walls, he tried to bash into them. I didn't know back then that Andy had been badly treated by one of his teachers, a so-called Christian Brother called David Johnson, who manipulated and abused him. Andreas kept it all to himself, preferring to act out his anger and mystify everyone around him — We were unaware of his secret pain.
Andy was all about standing up for the underdog and defying those he saw as being the oppressor. As if the abuse he had suffered at the hands of Brother Johnston wasn't enough, one day at School, when he was about 14, the new Headmaster of St Leo's College, Brother Byrne, at morning assembly, called Andreas up in front of about a thousand School pupils.
Without allowing Andy to explain himself, Brother Byrne named, shamed and called him a bully, horrendously humiliating him in front of the whole School. It crushed Andy. I didn't learn his side of the story until years later when he told me he had encountered a Knox boy picking on a younger kid on the afternoon train going home. In his less-than-level-headed manner, Andy taught that Knox boy a lesson. Unfortunately, the real bully of the story played the tattletaling victim.
Andy took it as just another blow from those his mother had entrusted with his education and well-being. Instead of asking themselves how a sweet, smart boy had become so angry, it was easier to put him in a box and destroy his life while falsely preserving the School's reputation.
Andreas left St Leos and was very pleased to be enrolled in St Ives High School. St Ives High is a co-ed school, with the bonus that Andy preferred the company of girls anyway.
One of his new friends at this School, Alec Smart, sent me a message the other day after learning the news of his death. I messaged Alec in one of our exchanges and explained that recently, I had started to relax about Andy in the knowledge that he seemed to be finally coming home to himself. I was really proud of him.
I told Alec that I had tried to encourage Andy to learn the stories of what his family had been through to bring him into being. Our family has great stories. All families have great stories. If you're alive, it's because others did heroic things to make life possible for you. According to Alec, I said, "It's good to know where you come from as it fuels the stories of what you bring into being."
Alec then proceeded to tell me a story, and I quote:
"Andy, for me, was one of those rare characters you come across in life that cause you to pause mid-stride, question your outlook and reshape your destiny. I had a miserable time in high School, suffering bullies and snobs. So Andy's arrival in my School with his then-revolutionary and courageous approach to life motivated in one 14-year-old timid nerd a profound sense of purpose and fight for justice that I carry to this day. And, his choice of music was bloody excellent too.
I sat next to him in maths lessons — the only classes we shared — for several months when he first arrived and picked his brains on the whole punk phenomena that was then shocking social values.
Eventually, Andy settled into our school hierarchy — the alpha males that whispered their intentions to beat him up (whilst genuinely fearful of his height and unpredictability) eventually warmed to him.
As you know, I often upload travel and gig photos to social media. Whenever I've logged on and found Andy had clicked a 'like' on one of my images — to which he frequently did on Instagram — the inner child in me could scarcely believe that this inspiring, larger-than-life figure deemed me worthy of a moment of his time. I always felt like I'd been visited by royalty and thought, 'Wow, Andy Truupold checked out my photos and liked them!'
I'm truly sorry for his passing. His youthful courage liberated me at a profound moment in my personal development, and I have no doubt he inspired many others in the same way."
That's the end of Alec's quote.
Not all of you would agree that his choice of music was "bloody excellent", but it was uplifting in an obnoxious kind of way. We've spared you from hearing some of his favourite songs, but Ginger's mother, Alison and I settled on Motorhead's version of David Bowie's 'Heroes' as his swan song today. Alison and I would have preferred the Bowie original, but this isn't our swan song.
Lemmy, the singer and bass player from Motorhead — in the same way Andy would have — edited out the original opening verse in his version of the song. I've copied it below, and I'm sure you will understand how it would be a display of too much sensitivity and vulnerability for characters like Lemmy or Andreas:
"I, I wish you could swim
Like the dolphins
Like dolphins can swim"
Andy died suddenly in his apartment in Riverwood, either late on Friday night or in the early hours of Saturday morning, 8th of September 2018. We don't know what happened yet or what caused his death, but we know he was very unwell with emphysema and that he had fainted several times in the days before whilst in the company of our mother, whom he had been doing some plumbing repairs for that afternoon. Andy was due to spend the usual weekend time with his daughter Ginger on the Saturday. However, when he failed to show up — which was hugely out of character for him — and then failed to respond to texts or calls, Ginger's mother Alison called my mother Maureen and insisted she call the police to check on him.
My brother's life and death has given me a determination to live my life with more integrity and continue to only breathe life into words and actions that ring true despite the agreement or disagreement of others. I hope his contribution is to help you become more of the person you are. Remember that if you can only find a way to let them in, people will always help you.
On behalf of Andreas Truupold's family, thank you for being here and helping us say goodbye.
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Written by Rory Truupold
In Memory Of Andreas Truupold
13/10/1965 - 8/09/2018
UPDATED 19 May 2024