The Music Man

In my senior year of high school, I started hanging out with this guy named Mike. For the life of me, I can't remember how it started, because Mike and I weren't in any of the same classes, and now that I think of it, I have to wonder if it was through a mutual friend, Chuck. But I'm only a few sentences into this and already rambling. Mike's older brother was in a band, and Mike and I auditioned to join. This sounds fancier than it was. I played bass, Mike played drums. It was through Mike's brother and his band that I met Bill, the topic of this blog post.

Bill was the singer in the band. Just a few years older than Mike and I, Bill had an encyclopedic knowledge of music, specifically hard rock and heavy metal. His enthusiasm and love for it was contagious, and I always enjoyed talking music with him. He seemed to know everything about every hard rock or metal album from the 1970s to the current day. I always thought he should've written for a rock magazine. Nowadays, he'd be perfect for his own podcast.

But I have more to thank Bill for than just great conversations about music. Some people are like forks in the road, setting you off in a direction, intentional or otherwise, that alters your life, in ways great and small. Bill was one of those people for me, and my altered life trajectory had nothing to do with Bill's love of music, but instead, his old job.

I could probably make a mind map of them: These are the people who led me to other friends or other things in life. Bill was moving on from his then-current job, and I was looking for work. He arranged for me to interview as his replacement. This was about 9 months after I'd graduated high school. It was before my career began. Before I had any idea what I wanted to do with my life. I was still figuring things out. The job Bill was, for all intents and purposes, gifting to me, was the job of a janitor.

I'd been a janitor before, while still in school, for the school I'd been attending. And this job was also...at a school. So I had experience. And it was through that job that I'd end up meeting people I'd have otherwise never have met. It also provided a respite in between graduating high school and trying to determine what to do with my life. I'm not on social media these days (with the exception of LinkedIn), but there are still friends I have that I met at that school. And it was a unique time in my life, a break really, while trying to figure out what the next step was.

But back to Bill. I got the job, and he trained me during my first week, which was his last week. I remember him showing me the keyring that would eventually be mine, and what the different keys did. "This is your Obi-Wan Kenobi of keys", he said about one which was particularly useful in a way I've long since forgotten. And then, of another he said "This is your Yoda of keys.". Hey, we both liked Star Wars.

After he handed over the keys (literally and figuratively), he began his new job as a courier, and got into a car accident. Visiting hours at the hospital ended before my shift at my new/his old job was over, so at least one night I snuck in to visit him.

We continued to hang out, as well as jam in a band that went nowhere. Eventually, the band split up, and I lost touch with them. I changed jobs a few times before deciding on a career, going back to school, and embarking on the next chapter. Sometimes life takes us along different currents and we lose track of people.

I saw Bill again years later, by chance, at Positively Records, this great indie music shop in our area. By that point, those currents of life had taken Bill across the country to California and back. He looked healthier than I'd ever seen him, a little more tan, and he was wearing a polo shirt that indicated he now worked for the state of New Jersey. "I go by Will now" he told me. I still never called him Will. Bill was too entrenched in my mind. I'd known the guy for years. We talked music (of course) and he was still the old Bill, despite the change in shortened name preference. At one point, he held up a CD and said "This is still my favorite music format." It was great to run into him again, if not a little awkward as it had been years since we'd been in touch.

At some point after that, we connected on social media. And that's where I heard, years later, that he'd just suffered a stroke. I went to visit him at Lower Bucks Hospital. I arrived after having a bad day, and he could tell the moment I walked in the room. "What's wrong?" he asked. Here he was, in the hospital after having a stroke, and he wanted to talk about my problems. I politely declined and proceeded to ask how he was doing. His prognosis was not good: he'd suffered neurological damage. Part of this included losing the ability to read. The hospital told him there was nothing more they could do for him, and were going to discharge him. Yet, despite this, his mood wasn't bleak. And we talked...music. Of course. With a focus on Van Halen. He'd been a longtime fan. We talked about the reunion album with David Lee Roth, "A Different Kind of Truth", and he went into some of the history behind it and the old demos they'd resurfaced for it. "It's the album of theirs I listen to the most" he told me. After a while, Bill's girlfriend and her young son arrived. The boy had brought a plush animal of his for Bill. That's when he got emotional. He asked, if I wouldn't mind, that he'd like to spend some time with them, referring to them as his family. I left.

We kept in touch over social media, before I stopped using it with the exception of LinkedIn. We talked about getting together sometime, and he had some music he wanted to give me. He mentioned meeting up anywhere he could take public transportation to, which made me a little sad as this obviously meant he was no longer able to drive. I could never detect any of what would be understandable depression from him, though one of our mutual friends told the circle of friends that his mother had gotten in touch and revealed he was depressed. Who wouldn't be? She requested cards be sent to him, and I immediately did so. But he never showed signs of it, not that I ever saw. And he was always there for others when they were going through a rough spot. He'd cross my mind and I'd think about that meet-up he mentioned, and more talks of music. The guy seemed to know everything about it. I could listen to him for hours.

Bill left us on November 29th, 2020. The world is a lesser place without him.