Wesley Jack Rine
September 12, 1949 ~ December 8, 2025
Wesley Jack Rine, 76, writer, died Monday, December 8, 2025
A private service and burial will be held.
Wes was born September 12, 1949 in Arkansas City, Kansas to Mary Marjorie Crabtree and Edwin Jack Rine. He was a member of St. James Episcopal Church. He graduated from Wichita State University, was a published poetry and story writer, and a very proud Civil War historian and re-enactor. Writing for Wes was next to breathing, he was never without a pencil in his hand. Following sculpture classes with Babs Mellor, he surprised us all with his prolific artistic endeavors in clay. He enjoyed dancing to the strains of Lotus at Margaritas along with his good friend Mark. Wes was also a diehard OU fan. Among the greatest joys in his life were a nice, rare steak, a trip to the casino, and his cat, Rocky, that he rescued as a kitten found abandoned in the middle of the busy intersection at Rock Road and Central.
Wes was preceded in death by his sister, Rebecca Elizabeth; and father, Jack Rine.
He is survived by mother, Marjorie Rine; brothers, Brad (Marilyn) Rine, Grant (Janet) Rine; nieces, Rebekah Rine, Mallory Rine (Shelly Walston); and his faithful feline friend, Rocky.
In lieu of flowers, a memorial has been established with St. James Episcopal Church, 3750 E. Douglas Ave., Wichita, KS 67208.
Services in care of Downing and Lahey East Mortuary.
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Charities
The family greatly appreciates donations made to these charities in Wesley Jack Rine 's name.
St. James Episcopal Church
3750 E. Douglas Ave.
Wichita,
KS
67208
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The world lost a good man. Our roots on Waverly run deep. If a neighborhood were a living thing the Rine house could’ve been the beating heart. It was the epicenter of many activities. I have fond memories of the basketball games, where we recall to this day Wes tilting his head for a swish from the top of the key…beyond the last of the bricks where the grass was made sparse, where he earned one of the eternal nicknames, that we all had. How we’d easily convince Wes to load up the white ’60-something Plymouth Valiant to go fishing. It comes as no surprise that Wes became an accomplished writer, for I recall how he was such an avid reader. I remember the south wall of his bedroom being a literal library, and how he could navigate the house while consuming a paperback book. It’s where I first learned of Pickett’s Charge and the Flatwoods Monster. I think back to Waverly and am saddened at the passing of an old friend.