I want you to imagine two brothers at the top of a long, steep ski trail on a cold winter day. Bill and I were ready for our final run before heading back to the warm condo at Lake Dillon. By now there were only empty chairs coming up the lift. Time was growing short. Then suddenly, gusts of wind and a rush of horizontal snow turned everything blinding white. The trail below disappeared. I could barely see Bill although he stood right beside me.
I was not a good skier. I certainly could not ski through a total white out. Bill leaned over, put his arm around me and said “Buck, I’ll lead you down. Stay right behind me.” He left no time for objections. He gave a loud yodel, pushed forward and disappeared into the white. Only the rear of his skis remained visible as he began his tight, graceful turns along the edge of the trail avoiding the moguls in the middle. Behind him I felt my body and skis swinging and adjusting to his rhythm. I had no sense of up or down or how fast we were moving. I was alone in a white cloud my eyes glued to Bill’s skis. We kept going down, down endlessly down. Then suddenly we were out of the cloud and saw the bottom of the lift. I was safe. Bill had pulled me through. I had never skied better in my life. His only comment was “Buck see how easy that was — now let’s go find some hot chocolate.”
That was my brother, the master skier, sailor, maintance wizard, boss, commodore, uncle, husband, father and friend.
But did you know Bill was also a pretty strong swimmer? He could swim for miles with his life guard pals in the choppy Atlantic Ocean. That was just after he returned from World War II when he took his little brother for joy rides along the Jersey shore in his nifty, sky blue 1928 model A Ford. The one he found in a junk yard, repaired, and re-painted. By then he was being drafted by admiring friends to skipper a small yacht for a night race from Bay Head to the mouth of Barnegat Bay. Bill was 20 years old. That was the year we walked to school together – Bill to finish high school and me to start first grade. In his closet hung his navy uniform and on his desk a crystal radio he had built. During the next year my Dad and I drove over to Alfred University to watch him play football with a bunch of other vets on the GI Bill. After the game the beer flowed as those ex sailors, soldiers and marines celebrated being alive. Then it was off to Colorado A @ M and the discovery of powder skiing. Sadly I only spent time with him off and on over the rest of his life.
But, we did take one last joy ride when we went on a Feed Products sales trip together. He was nearly 70 by then. We traveled across Southern Colorado, New Mexico and a very dry West Texas. Some customers were real cowboys. Several were suffering from financial hardship. The cattle industry was in a slump. Bill listened to their troubles and suggested ways they might survive. There were long stretches of road between sales calls. We had plenty of time to talk. Bill explained how business was changing because of the vertical integration of the animal supply industry. We visited Roswell NM and pursued our mutual interest in UFO mysteries. As a kid Bill was a big fan of Flash Gordon and Buck Rogers. He shared memories of skiing with Stein Eriksson in Utah and skiing vacations in Taos and Aspen. Bill recounted how he first met Lynn when he stopped on a ski run to help a cute red headed girl lace up her boots and found a partner for life. He described racing his Star boat over rough waters on the Great Lakes and off the San Diego coast. He bragged about Thor’s Condor Adventures and how proud he was of Kristie and her mountain woman strength. He told me how much he cared for his loyal Feed Products crew. There were stories about the life he and Pinky led before I was born. He was called Billy back then. And he reminded me about the wild ice boat ride he took me on when I was 10. As we drove along there were few distractions. It was just a time for us on another joy ride.
Bill was a man for all seasons asking eternal questions like “what’s next, when do we start, what are you waiting for, Buck — are you ready yet?” He was the leader of the after party, the gathering of the gang, the celebration of another great day. He was the first to help organize the next sailing club activity. He was the seeker of cheap gas, the finder of used parts, the fine tuner of Star boats, and the look out for a better pair of skis. His favorite holiday was the 4th of July. Usually there was a regatta, party and fireworks later. At night he often sat on the cabin deck searching for satellites over head. Near the end of his life, after he lost Lynn, Bill endured his loneliness listening to radio broadcasts of ball games just as he once did as a kid. He was 16 and never forgot it.
Bill loved God’s creations: the mountains he skied, the waters he sailed, the woods he walked, the birds he fed, the flowers he grew, the girls he teased and especially the dogs he cherished. There was always a pack of dogs following him around in the woods. He became the Pied Piper of Carter Lake. The dogs never strayed far from his side. Over the years, he also collected a number of humans to walk with. He was always ready to make a new friend. But — he was all about the dogs wasn’t he?
One early dawn along the edge of the lake Bill found and saved an abandoned black puppy he named Lucky. Later, Scruffy, a mutt from down the hill, joined his walks and ended up becoming his best friend to the very end. Who can ever forget Lucky, Scruffy and Bill wearing an old cap heading off on another hike collecting people and other dogs along the way? And, of course, Bill loved visits by the grand dogs. Bill’s all time favorite was a white husky named Twinkle who helped raise Kristie and Thor. Twinkle, loyal brave heart, playmate and family protector. His dog when life was still young.
I want you to imagine that when Bill passed on he found himself sleeping peacefully on a beach with a black dog gently licking him awake and then imagine the two of them walking up a hill to a cabin where a cute red head and a white husky waits. In the distance a Star boat floats beside a buoy. Soon old friends will drop by and Bill will find some fire works to celebrate being home. He will be forever young sailing that Star across heavenly waters, the weather ever fair, the red head sitting beside him and his main sail filled with a fresh breeze. From across the beyond if you listen very closely you might hear a distant happy yodel. That is not your imagination.
Farewell Billy. We will take another joy ride when we meet again.