| Notes |
- On March 25, I lost a fortune. In the currency of friendship, that is. A heap of other folks did, too.
A chunk of sparkle was chipped from my life and whisked to the sky. I can see it shine down on me of an evening, twinkling diamond-like, but just yet, it doesn't give me much solace. I trust the time will come when it does, but right now I feel powerfully sad.
Part of my life's good fortune was ensured long before I was born. That's because Bill Waller beat me to earth by 17 years. Once our paths crossed, he became trusted confidante for darn near two decades. But now, he's beaten me again; he left earth first.
In six weeks, cancer took him. It seemed an eternity, yet short as a heartbeat. I wouldn't have his pain prolonged, but time for good-bye was far too short. I'm shell-shocked. I've hit an unforgiving wall of reality.
Though cancer stole his life, it hasn't robbed memories of a life well lived. Let me share Bill with you.
Oh, he was a fine figure of a man! Even at 60, he was handsome as a summer day is long. His smile came easily. He had wavy white hair, and a bluish-gray scar etched crooked across the bridge of his nose. He tanned up easy in the summer sun. And then there were his pastel eyes. Their color, I'm certain, was on loan from the June sky he was born under in 1937. When tickled by someone's tease (often mine), his eyes crinkled into little stars, their blue disappearing behind his delight.
He stood a proud 6-foot-4 with broad shoulders and strong arms ready to bolster someone in distress - friend or stranger. He was formidable. That came in handy being a lieutenant for ISU police, director of parking, and a volunteer firefighter for 26 years.
But Bill's true essence was a good and pure soul. In his line of work, he had a window to the unsavory side of people. But he always looked for the best in folks, always looked for the silver lining, always tried to make something good out of a bad situation. I never heard a vindictive vow from him.
Bill's gentle spirit gave him a special way with little kids. And horses. And anyone in need, no matter their age. You've read about Bill twice in this column; he was Santa Claus. Each year I'd watch him work his magic and I'd learn a little more about appreciating life's little joys. I always felt my kids were safe with Bill Waller on campus. I knew he'd respond immediately to any call for help; he'd kept harm at bay for us before.
At Bill's memorial service, two of his best buds, Martin Krutke and Michael O'Grady, gave eulogies. They shared the crystal-clear mission of Bill's life - to make a positive difference in the lives of others. Even when life was overwhelming, he was committed to improving the quality of life for all. He didn't have a hopeless bone in his body. When a need in his community cropped up, he instinctively shifted into a problem-solving mode. Krutke echoed Bill's standard call to arms: "If something needs doing, then by golly, let's get it done. No sense in waiting." And wait Bill didn't.
Bill applied his talents as needed. He was a modest man, so he was content as leader or team player, whichever was required. But leadership naturally sought him out. And perhaps due to his naval training, he never shirked from duty. Over the years, he was a village board member and mayor in Hudson; volunteer firefighter and fire chief; member and president of the Lion's Club; and because his leisure passion was horses, he served as participant and president of the Corn Belt Horse Association.
Bill led with a compassionate heart, but his brain did his bidding. At the memorial, O'Grady told it like this: Hudson couldn't afford an ambulance, but needed emergency care. Rather than forfeit to finances, Bill spearheaded the Medical First Responder Program. Trained personnel now initiate life-saving measures to Hudson citizens while an ambulance barrels up I-39. Legend says more than a few breathe today because Bill Waller got off his duff and made a difference.
And Bill motivated others to make a difference, too. As fire chief, he encouraged his volunteer firefighters to become state certified saying, "The fire doesn't know whether you're a volunteer or a full-time firefighter, you need to be educated."
When kids needed a Little League program to exercise their minds and bodies, Bill co-founded one. When the holiday Love Basket program needed volunteers, there was Bill. He lent a helping hand to benefits for ill, needy or disaster-touched families. When fund-raisers were needed for vital equipment, like the "jaws of life" used in auto accidents, Big Bill was moving and shaking to get the job done.
When he became mayor of Hudson, a junk-ridden yard was a bone of contention. After two years of legal action, an elderly person was to be evicted and his house destroyed. But with those big, strong arms, Bill gathered up 40 volunteers and organized a weekend clean up. The neighbors were satisfied. And Bill could rest easy knowing his town didn't kick an old person out of their own home.
That's the kind of common sense Bill was known for. He was a truce-maker; he had a good head for reasonable action. Over the years, I sent more than one person his way for help or guidance, including my own boy.
So you see, Bill showed us how to live life well. Prompting us to think about others not just ourselves, he made sure we had something to be proud of. By following his example, people gained a sense of community. That was one of his greatest gifts to us.
I've mentioned Bill's most visible achievements, but not his most noteworthy. His caring way with family, friends, co-workers, children and college students was his hallmark. In his eulogy, Krutke reminded us that Bill was big on a hugs. He said Bill's hugs always said, "I am here. You are not alone. Someone cares. You are loved." That was Bill through and through, tender and sentimental.
A time or two when my life wasn't smooth sailing, I found my way to Bill's ear. He'd nod and listen, and then always in just the right places, he'd say, "Oh, ain't that a shame," or "Now, don't that beat all." I know he did the same for many others. And to make sure the friendship stayed in balance, he'd let us return the favor when times got rough for him. He wasn't macho. He didn't ignore feelings or problems. He faced them, he dealt with them, or at the very least, he always tried.
During the service, O'Grady told a story that I'll paraphrase. It speaks volumes to Bill's life. "As an old man walked a beach at sunset, he noticed a young man picking up starfish and flinging them into the sea. He asked why. The answer was that the starfish were stranded on the beach by low tide, and if left until the morning sun they would die. The old man replied, 'But the beach goes on for miles and there are millions of starfish! How can your effort make any difference?' The young man looked at the starfish in his hand, threw it into the waves, then confidently said: "It made a difference to that one."
Bill made a difference to hundreds of us human starfish. I don't know anyone who didn't feel better about life after meeting up with Bill Waller. He radiated the innate goodness of man. His wife, Lyne, says he was an angel on earth. She won't get an argument from me; and none of his friends were left unchanged by knowing him. To prove it, we all showed up at his funeral. We wanted to show our gratitude; wanted his family - which includes five kids - to know how much we appreciated them sharing Bill with us.
His funeral procession was a mile and a half long. That doesn't prove a man's worth, but the symbolism did my heart good. Bill would have been so flattered, and I dare say a bit embarrassed. But I bet from afar he was grinning ear to ear. Leading the way was Hudson's flame-red fire engine, hood draped in black, flashing lights off for mourning. Eleven others followed. Fire trucks read like a map of the countryside: Bloomington, Normal, Bloomington Township, Lexington, Carlock, Ellsworth, Gridley, Towanda, Danvers, Heyworth, and LeRoy (from which Bill graduated high school when I was just two.) They all wanted to pay tribute to Big Bill; how proud it made us all.
ISU, local and state police cars followed behind. And then the rest of us, Bill's "civilians." It was an impressive, touching sight. We wove our way through ISU's campus, then out Linden to Hudson's cemetery. The burial was a fine tribute to a finer man. A bagpiper's music lilted on the westerly winds to the gravesite. A hesitant horse followed, no more eager to bury Bill than the rest of us. And then our friend was laid to rest near a tree; it will shade him when the hot summer sun is in the south. I'm grateful for that.
After final words, the group lingered; none anxious to start up life again without Bill. I stayed a while, hating to leave him alone that windy day - though in my head I knew he wasn't "there." But it wasn't my head I was wrestling with at the time.
As I watched the groundsmen cover our Bill with the soil of Hudson that he so loved, a little girl in a hot pink windbreaker was nearby. She was spinning head over heels doing one cartwheel after another, hair dangling in her face, hood strings bouncing off her cheeks with each twirl. I suspect her daddy was helping fill the grave. It might sound sacrilegious to you, but Bill would've loved seeing that. She was using every spark of life in her to enjoy the sunny, spring day. She was living life to her fullest and was completely in the present. She wasn't worrying about yesterday or tomorrow, but was savoring her today. Had he been able, I swear Bill would've joined right in with her. That image made me smile, so I sat for a long spell and enjoyed the girl's exuberance for the both of us.
But as O'Grady reminds me, there's a time to move on, to say good-bye. There's no use drawing it out; no use prolonging the inevitable. And no matter how much I write, I couldn't tell all the ways Bill befriended us.
Safe travels, Sweet William. You're officially an angel now. Thanks for everything you did for me and the kids. I hope to surf the stars with you when my time is done here, too. And may God and the heavens bless your big ol' heart forever. You surely blessed ours.
Wink Wink. Smile Smile. And a hug that lasts for always. Love, Karen.
Karen Stephens, M.S., is director of the Illinois State University Child Care Center, and an instructor in ISU's Department of Family and Consumer Sciences.
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Waller-Joos-Stetzler
1937 - 1998 (60 years)
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