A dear friend who found joy in life despite hardships
A good friend of ours died this week.
He was the friend who would call, all excited, to tell us where to find the first sweet corn of the season for the best price, offering to pick some up for us if we wished.
He was the friend with the nicest wheeled cooler, which we borrowed so often that he gave it to us, telling us he would borrow it from us instead.
He was the big, strong friend who would drop whatever he was doing to help move large pieces of furniture. Upon arrival, he would proceed to size up doorways, hallways, twists and turns, remove throw rugs and tripping hazards and design the optimal route, the optimal method and politely direct those of us useless to the task where to remove ourselves out of the way.
My grandmother’s curved glass china cupboard only survives today because he correctly judged it to be top-heavy.
He and my better half were called upon several times to help other friends move.
Mutt and Jeff made a great team, each with a good jigsaw puzzle instinct of how to fit everything into what always appeared to be a much-too-small truck, each with a sense of humor, each with trust in one another and each with a never-say-die stick-to-it-iveness.
Bill was one of two friends who would faithfully stand out in a sudden summer downpour, holding the umbrella over The Grill Master and the grill, getting soaked in the process, while the rest of us stayed dry and partying in the house.
He was also the guy who would cheerfully rummage through my kitchen to find forgotten serving utensils rather than interrupt and bother the too busy, too harried chef host.
He was one of the first out of his chair when anyone asked, “Could I get a little help here?” but he had a way of anticipating what was needed so that the question rarely had to be asked when he was around.
Bill had one of those big, joyous laughs that made all of us try to be more clever and more witty, just so we could enjoy the sound of his laughter, and he could talk to anyone about just about any topic any time, anywhere.
You would never know from his demeanor that he’d gone through years of adversity and financial challenges.
Bill was in sales, and over the last decade, management changes and new brooms sweeping clean, companies closing branches, businesses leaving the area to relocate to Kansas and a down economy caused him to go through stretches of unemployment and long periods of under-employment.
In his fifties, after making it through two or three interviews, finding he was in the final two applicants, he began to hear interviewers say, “We think you are over-qualified for this job. Or, “We can’t pay you what you are worth.” Or, “With all your experience, you wouldn’t be happy in this job.”
In between career jobs, Bill took whatever jobs he could find. I say “jobs” because often he would be working two or three part-time jobs, none with benefits. And some years ago, when no steady part-time jobs were to be had, he would go early in the morning to the local trucking firm in order to assure a day’s wages unloading freight.
In all the years I knew Bill, I never heard him say, “Why me?” I never heard him complain. I never heard him say, “Poor me.” I never heard him envy anyone or covet anything, and I never heard even a hint of bitterness.
Instead, we heard all about his ideas, avenues he was investigating, the number of resumes he’d sent out, leads he was tracking down or creative innovations he was sharing with his part-time employers to improve their businesses. He always had plans and was always actively pursuing one venture or another.
At one point, he even designed a three-by-five mini-resume with a tear-off business card in order to spread his credentials around more efficiently.
Bill would be embarrassed that I shared all this with you. He will undoubtedly give me a hard time when we meet again, if St. Peter gives him the opportunity.
I am hoping, instead, he will just be laughing that laugh that I am missing already.
This column by Carol Petersen appeared in the Intelligencer Journal/Lancaster New Era on Saturday, August 14, 2010.
Carol Petersen is a freelance writer, artist and photographer from Lancaster Township. Her e-mail address is cpetersencolumn@gmail.com.
August 17th, 2010 at 11:18 am
Dear Sue and Family,
We were so shocked by the news of Bill’s death. Chuck had known Bill for years in Sertoma, but I had only known him for a short time before the Sertoma club disbanded a few years ago. I know that he was one of the “workers” that made that club what it was for so many years. As Carol Peterson’s article so aptly states, he was always there to help.
We pray for your peace and know that your many happy memories will carry you through the days ahead.
Chuck and Jean Byers
August 17th, 2010 at 12:04 pm
To Bill’s Family-
I was surprised to hear of Bill’s death. I first met him at Pico Glass many years ago and then worked with him (while he was between jobs) at Way Messenger. Also was in Sertoma with him. The column mentioning his laugh hit home. Bill was a great guy and will be missed by all that knew him.
Lonnie Dawes
August 17th, 2010 at 3:34 pm
Dear Sue, Kirsten and the Updike Family,
Our hearts are with you all. We will always remember Bill for his quick wit, smile and willingness to share life and friendship. Our State Street neighborhood family would not be what is is today without it’s former “Mayor.” Big hugs, you are in our prayers.
Susan, George, Aaron & Willem
August 17th, 2010 at 10:55 pm
Dear Susan, Kirsten, Kristofer, and Jason (and Tom and grandkids),
What a moving, beautiful and fitting tribute the slideshow is! I can only hope when I leave this earth I will have led a life that elicits so many smiles from so many photos. I have always admired Bill for his dreams. But not only did he dream , he seemed to robustly charge forward in their persuit. My heart goes out to you, and to this world with its dearth of dreamers, for his loss.
Much love,
Terri Mastrobuono
August 19th, 2010 at 3:01 pm
I saw this posting on a classmates of Bill’s (Judy Pryor Watts) as a child growing up my family lived across the street from Lewis and Margaret, I landed between Lynn and Bobby age wise, but remember several time that Bill visited Kirsten was a toddler around that time and Lynn and I would take her for walks on that old graveled dead in street we lived on. Looking at the slide show it gave me chills to see how much Bill looked like his Dad, and I saw the picture with Lewis, Mark and Charlie. I smiled at the photos of a life well lived and loved. May God bless you all and be with you during this time. A wonderful tribute you have given thank you for sharing it
August 24th, 2010 at 12:30 pm
Dear Sue and Family, I was deeply saddened to hear the news of Bill’s passing from another member of the old Leadership Lancaster “gang.” He was in so many ways larger than life with his good humor and positive outlook, and that laugh, of course. I am so grateful for the opportunity to have known him during my time in Lancaster. My memories of living and learning in the city are all that much brighter for his part in them. My heart goes out to you. Tonight when I go out, I will look for the bright star that must surely be his. With love and healing energy, Jo Tyler
September 7th, 2010 at 10:51 am
I will always think of Bill,Sue, and the children as my cousins even if it was by marriage. He was a great husband, father, and human being. I am grataeful for the years I knew him and so grateful to Susan, his beloved, for allowing me to have some really precious hours with him at the very end at Hospice. I felt a special peace as I sat near him and prayed and as I tried to keep his warm forehead cool from the fever. As I prayed and watched him lying there, I was reminded of how little time we have here on earth and how important our family and friends are.That we should take time to see them, talk to them, let them know how special they are, and how much we love them. I am so happy I had a chance to tell Bill he was a wonderful cousin and I loved him a lot. Bill and his family were and are always so kind to me. Miss you, Bill. Love Gray