Free Hit Counter
Bill Gould was a very dear friend and
comrade in life. He was like an older
brother. I am so sad at his passing
on. Losing Bill is such a disaster.
I am very sorry not to have been able to
attend his funeral. I really wanted to
say good-bye to him in person. I know
the occasion was a warm one and that wonderful memories of Bill filled the
evening.
Where do I start? I guess with just trying to describe how he
was.
Though powerful of stature and presence,
Bill had a gentle and sincere nature. He
was the sort of man who would do no harm to others, almost no matter what. I felt Bill was a kind of saint, almost a
little too good for this world.
He obviously was very well brought-up to
have acquired such a great sensitivity to the people around him. He was such a kind and gentle soul, and
someone you yourself would want to protect from any harm, as he would do for
others.
He was strong, too, of course, and
big-built, and his voice was commanding when he so chose, and his singing voice
was wonderful. I was going to have him
record a song that I had written with him in mind but we just never got time.
He was always going to move back up to
The pathos of Bill's adventures never
failed to move me -- often to laughter -- because he would tell his stories
with such a wry wit. When he would get
exasperated -- that was always so funny, and yet so touching.
When I first met Bill, I was a little
intimidated by how tall and officious he seemed. But he never misused his power. If I said right now that he was a
"gentle giant", I can just hear him laugh with that combination of
appreciation and modesty and disdain for overstatement that he had.
I really don’t want to remember Bill –
I want to see him. I am very uncomprehending
that I can’t see him.
He had that little wisp of hair on top,
standing up. When he would come to the
door to say hello, he’d have his glasses on and he’d look like a big, friendly
bird.
Bill showed me how to make carrot juice
and I never make it but I don’t think of him.
We were always so happy to chat, when
one of us would call. He would greet me
with such enthusiasm, and he was always such a cheerful guy, even if he was
down. He had a way of looking up and
being the optimist, even in the midst of any troubles or suffering. I really felt he was living the way someone should
live towards his fellow man. I really
loved him.
He was so fond of his dad, and talked of
him sometimes. I loved his stories of
being in grade school and drawing cartoons for the kids in his class, and of
the delight this brought out in them and in him.
I never spoke with him but he didn’t
mention his former wife, Lois, and their daughter, Heather, and tell me of their
pursuits. He obviously had a
never-fading love and loyalty for them.
I was proud of his designs, and his
monarch-type conceptions, and of the burnished gold logo he would use as his
own design.
Oh, the stories he would tell! – about
Kronos, and Jim Swieten – and about all the Ginseng Rush exploits of Bob
Corr. When “Bob” was the Reader cover
story one week, Bill had me send the issue down to him. I can only imagine the hilarious set of quips
he gave out as he read it!
I was just at the flower show at Navy
pier and saw a Greek stand selling Kronos Gyros. I shouldn’t have (nutritionally, that is), but I did go ahead and
patronize them. I guess there seemed a
kind of link to Bill there
. . .
(Bill did all the packaging designs for Kronos Meats, and for Bob Corr’s innovative line of Ginseng beers and colas.)
Bill was never boastful in his good
fortunes and never without hope in his bad.
He had a reserve – like a reservoir of patience from which to absorb the
guff he would sometimes get from surly folks – and he had good character, and an
aura of decency and of goodness. Bill
practiced the Golden Rule. This I say
strongly. He had a natural empathy for
people, and he treated them with a kind
heart, as he would want to be treated.
In the rough and competitive world of
Just the way he called me late last year
and said, “Robb, I have cancer and they give me a month. Listen: I don’t want you to be gloomy about
me. I’m not in pain. Call me because I’d love to visit.” Very few would think of reassuring me in
their own crisis, and of drawing boundaries to make it more comfortable to
relate to them, and to commune. But Bill
was one of very few. He knew how to help
the communication happen, regardless of horrific circumstances.
He had an icy and clipped exterior he
would reserve for his initial business contacts. But on the other side of that was the most
sincere and well-intentioned guy you could know. I felt that Bill not only accepted those
around him but also accepted himself, with foibles and successes together. This was rare, and it made him so
relatable. He was grateful for life and
its blessings. Bill did not take for
granted the loveliness of this world. He
lived in awareness and thankfulness of it constantly. He truly showed forth a grace of soul that is
rare.
When I came and saw him in
And he had a million ideas for making a
little money here, and a little money there, and he was always generous and
enthusiastic to share with others anything they would want to know about his
ideas or methods. I never saw him clutch
anything to his chest in greed or secrecy.
To Bill, it was an abundant world; not a world of excess, but of
sufficiency. The sun shines on the good
and the bad alike, and Bill’s sunshine was the same. He knew both rogues and the noble, and he
never mixed them up, but he was not one to spend a lot of energy being punitive
or condemning. Instead, he was a
creative and flowing sort of man.
I remember when he reinvented himself
for the computer age and learned CorelDraw and other graphics programs. He kept growing and learning and exploring,
and sometimes fumbling, and looking for the gleam of new opportunity and new
projects. He paid a tutor to come in and
really show him, and he practiced night and day.
I think Bill was my first older friend
who ever talked about money openly, as a natural part of life. The subject was not obscene to him, or of any
shame. I never saw him obsessive or
niggling about money, but always very aware of it as a fuel that propelled
things. I appreciated this in him, and
admired it. My parents would only very
occasionally talk about money. My family
wouldn’t, either, much. My friends were
very quiet on the whole subject, as though it were better unmentioned. But, to Bill, money was as natural as water,
and just as ubiquitous, and deserved to be noticed and commented upon now and
then.
Bill had an eye for fine things but
never a lust. That was his beauty. His inner man answered to the ease and
elegance of luxuries but he never had to have them, really. He certainly
saw no need for condemning them, as many people do in a spirit of sour
grapes. He accepted the rich and the
financially common together. This was
beautiful, his nonchalance about the area.
He didn’t have an attitude of either being specially deserving or
undeserving of fine things. He simply
sometimes would have them and sometimes not.
Either way, he was happy. And,
seeing him, so were you.
I would have trusted Bill to hold in
safety for a year a pile of gold bars or a priceless diamond. For, though he pursued riches, and sometimes
avidly, and with system, they were not his god.
They were nice to have but he loved other things more. Money was all for freedom, and Bill did
thrive in free space, with only simple and subtle pressures to contend
with. He liked to be far from the nasty
and oppressive politics of a design house.
What did an office environment have in common with the happiness of
sharing caricatures with a fifth grade class in
. . . And he would go and have his daily
salad at the diner near his house. And
he would always speak in such a kind and friendly way to the server, like an
equal, never ordering the person around.
He had his little soothing rituals like that, that relaxed him.
Such a guy . . . I just have to believe that this is a bad
dream and that I will see and laugh with Bill again.
Bill was an artist but not a prima
donna. He would show you his art if you
asked but he would not push it on you.
He was surrounded with it, but not diminished by it, as though it were
important but he and you were not. He
was not bratty about his craft.
In my mind, I still see Bill riding a
bicycle or grabbing a cab. He is showing his portfolio, pitching a corporate
client for a logo assignment. He is
quietly working on his designs. He is
puzzling over a computer screen. He is
seeing something new in a
He is puttering around his back porch and wondering if a tree is getting enough water. He is fiddling patiently with a light above his table to get it to work, but never fussing or cursing when it takes some time. He is like a wandering saint in this world. I never thought he would leave this world. He is too strong. He is too good.
Bill will not leave my world. Bill is always in my world. Someone so good and so kind and gentle—this is someone who shows a grace that seems from another, better world. I guess Bill can walk in planes of light if he wants to.
Bill has a big heart. Bill’s love is still around.
What a gentle, gracious man, so real and
so human in how he always expressed himself . . .
I will never stop loving Bill Gould and
honoring his memory. He shone forth so
many virtues, and he loved everyone.
There are tears today, but there is gratitude, too, and that is what
will last.
--Robb
Murray