His name was Bill Wild.
We all called him Wild Bill...even into our 30's...our late 30's. Our very late 30's. Maybe he was in his early 40's.
I will always remember him as a teenager best. Nothing slowed him down.
Nothing except himself.
He could laugh. Loudly.
He could cry. Too.
He could fall in love easily....and get hurt mightily.
Or he could play the field...in his manic comic style.
And he could dance...and I couldn't, but he never told me that. Bless his heart. We met dancing, actually.
At the Surf Club. I was sixteen maybe....seventeen? He might have been a bit older, but I never asked. It didn't really matter at the time.
He love Karaoke...his favorite song was "Daniel" by Elton John. Not very danceable...but he sang it well.
When I left home, I didn't see Bill for years....and years...and then some more years. When I saw Bill the first time after ten plus years, across the street and down the block in downtown Olympia, he let out a WHOOP so loud! He rushed to my arms. My friend. We danced that night in the street.
He died this morning.
Cancer. We've all known for a good long while now. Damn it, anyway.
The call came this evening from Jina, one of my oldest friends and another of his longtime dance partners. There are a few of us out here. There will be some tears being shed tonight... but maybe it is just clouds in our eyes.
I can still see him as a fresh faced teenangster, trying his best to lay a winning line on a pretty girl. I don't know how often it worked. We never talked about that. Mostly, we just danced together. And laughed. Swapped some gossip...in our 30's we discovered the extreme lowrider pants with thong underwear fashion trend while out together one night and laughed hysterically about it(we, the 198o something fashionistas)...Occasionally, over the second(or third) beer in later years, we shared serious news. News about divorces. News about old friends. News about cancer. Or? We just danced.
Immersed in immigration, I can't go home to dance at his funeral. I hope there is dancing at his funeral. There should be dancing at his funeral.
It's the only way to celebrate his life...and he loved a celebration.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2ayolhaLMUI
May this dance never end, Wild Bill. We love you.
We all called him Wild Bill...even into our 30's...our late 30's. Our very late 30's. Maybe he was in his early 40's.
I will always remember him as a teenager best. Nothing slowed him down.
Nothing except himself.
He could laugh. Loudly.
He could cry. Too.
He could fall in love easily....and get hurt mightily.
Or he could play the field...in his manic comic style.
And he could dance...and I couldn't, but he never told me that. Bless his heart. We met dancing, actually.
At the Surf Club. I was sixteen maybe....seventeen? He might have been a bit older, but I never asked. It didn't really matter at the time.
He love Karaoke...his favorite song was "Daniel" by Elton John. Not very danceable...but he sang it well.
When I left home, I didn't see Bill for years....and years...and then some more years. When I saw Bill the first time after ten plus years, across the street and down the block in downtown Olympia, he let out a WHOOP so loud! He rushed to my arms. My friend. We danced that night in the street.
He died this morning.
Cancer. We've all known for a good long while now. Damn it, anyway.
The call came this evening from Jina, one of my oldest friends and another of his longtime dance partners. There are a few of us out here. There will be some tears being shed tonight... but maybe it is just clouds in our eyes.
I can still see him as a fresh faced teenangster, trying his best to lay a winning line on a pretty girl. I don't know how often it worked. We never talked about that. Mostly, we just danced together. And laughed. Swapped some gossip...in our 30's we discovered the extreme lowrider pants with thong underwear fashion trend while out together one night and laughed hysterically about it(we, the 198o something fashionistas)...Occasionally, over the second(or third) beer in later years, we shared serious news. News about divorces. News about old friends. News about cancer. Or? We just danced.
Immersed in immigration, I can't go home to dance at his funeral. I hope there is dancing at his funeral. There should be dancing at his funeral.
It's the only way to celebrate his life...and he loved a celebration.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2ayolhaLMUI
May this dance never end, Wild Bill. We love you.
9 comments:
oh hon.
love.
I'm so sorry you can't be there.
Do a little dance for him tonight? So sorry for your loss.
oh, sad!
So sorry for you loss, but what great memories you have!
So sorry to hear about that. It must be so difficult for you not able to be there...
Sorry to hear about your friend.
[There will be some tears being shed tonight... but maybe it is just clouds in our eyes.]
That made me smile to myself, this was a very touching post.
hugs to you, soul sistah.
been there a long time ago. Not cancer but it's the same hurt.
all the hugs you ever need and then some xx
I know the emptiness. I’ve lost many friends in my long life, but none that hurt me like losing a man who I served with in the Navy back in the early 60’s and who was best man at my first wedding. The last time I talked to him he was studying for a final exam so that he could graduate college. I became a high school industrial arts teacher. He was married for 27 years to his first wife and six months to his second. The investigation is leaning toward suicide, but there are some strong feelings that his bitch girlfriend shot him. Like me, he was 63 years old, had retired from teaching, but went back to teach computer science.
From all that I have read on the visitor book on the funeral home web site, he was a very good teacher who cared for his kids. There are many statements of how he turned someone’s life around. And how dedicated and liked he was by other teachers.
I have been trying to find him for almost ten years, but his name never came up under any searches I tried. I wanted to sit with him for awhile and talk. I wanted him to go to a reunion and see some of our old shipmates. I wanted to tell him he was a friend. I didn’t push too hard because I figured that if he wanted to talk to me, I was available and could be found on any search engine. We only lived about 50 miles apart. I wish I had tried harder. I haven’t posted about loosing him because I don’t think anyone would really care, but thanks for letting me do this. I know you miss your old friend because I do mine.
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