I have many wonderful thoughts about Bill while reflecting on so many years of friendship, and I’d like to share them here:
Bill and I first met at Covina Sunrise Rotary in the fall of 1984 where he was charter member and I was a ‘new boy’. We seemed to connect right outta the gate not knowing much about each other, but recognizing there was something there. Bill is somewhat of an enigmatic character which makes him puzzling. I think he thought the same of me. Our backgrounds are dramatically different …he an ol’ workin’ cowboy from San Bernardino and me a Philly boy with an ethnic background unfamiliar to him (Jewish mother and Italian father). He would look at me from head to toe and shake his head reflecting, ‘I don’t know what to think about this guy.’ Kinda like a dog looking at a cat for the first time. However, we got to know each other quite well over a fairly short period of time, and our respect and affection grew. There was a seminal event that captured a peek into the real Bill, and that was the passing of our Rotary brother, Tex Everson back in ’87. They were really close buds and this event was significant in many ways. It brought our community of CSR much closer …we all mourned Tex’s passing. This was not a planned event but rather an impromptu and organic invitation for all to meet at the conclusion of his memorial service. Grieving is difficult, and this kind gesture was very comforting to all of us. I’ve seen the Ol’ Cowboy cry only once…he took it hard. That told me a lot about what was inside this edgy yet gentle soul. The event morphed into a party and resulted in a closeness that endured for many years. Our Band of Brothers was born and Bill was integral part of that creation…coulda been the poster boy for our club.
Seven Spanish Angels – 1990
When you go backpacking with a bunch guys, you learn a lot about each other. I provided entertainment for our group having been a ‘street urchin.’ On my first trip, I asked, “how do you know we are actually on a trail?” That was the beginning of transforming a rookie into a ‘sorta backpacker.’ Bill was helpful to a degree, but found great humor in my lack of experience. He sat on a rock just to watch me set up my tent for amusement but then offer instructions after an hour of frustration. On our first of many trips to Wyoming, Bill wanted to stop at a bait shop for live worms prior to getting to our campsite. Bill was a fisherman and he and I were partnering on the separate rocks about 60 or so yards from each other. I baited my hook with one of these worms that looked like small snakes and casted into the lake. The line came back and hooked me in the chin. That ******* worm (again, small snake) was doing all it could to climb into mouth and I could not get that hook free. I had two choices: yank the hook form my chin and bleed to death or call Bill for help. I debated. The reason for debate: he had just insulted my boots by calling them ‘melon farmer boots.’ What was he gonna do and say once he saw my predicament? I yielded. I yelled for Bill to come over ’cause I needed the help. He casually approached not yet knowing the issue. Once he saw the happening, he wanted to laugh so hard but was restrained until the situation was resolved. He may still be laughing.
On another Wyoming trip, we decided to go on horseback. I had been on a horse once in my life when I was about five and a guy came around the neighborhood in So Philly with pony rides for kids. Bill being a former cowboy was all too familiar with horses. I was not. My horse was not properly cinched and I enjoyed an up-close and personal look at the underside of a horse. Bill and the boys (especially Bull Hubbert and Jon Pomeroy) had a good laugh. Dinner that night was equally enjoyable at my expense.
Lastly, on yet another Wyoming trip Bill and I had a problem. Actually, Bill had a problem with me. We luckily caught some pretty nice cutthroat trout and I was on fish cleaning patrol whereupon Bill offered me his knife. When my job concluded, I jammed his knife into a log and Bill went “ape****”. He screamed at me with ,”how could you do that my knife? I’ve had this knife since childhood and you just ruined my blade.” I offered a reason for my action and responded with, “in every cowboy movie I have ever seen, there was always somebody who did that.” I apologized profusely and Bill received the apology but did not indicate acceptance of such. He was quiet at dinner. Everyone knew about the dust up. I began to tell a story of my boy scout tenure (brief) where we had to pass a skill to advance to 1st class called ‘Knife and Ax’. The scoutmaster asked me several questions straight out of the manual and I answered them correctly. He then said asked, “how do you throw a knife into a tree?” I attempted to throw the knife and it hit the tree with a thud and fell to the ground. He said, “you fail.” I practiced throwing knives into trees ad-nauseum and I could stick a knife into a tree right handed, left handed, behind my back and blindfolded. I was ready for retesting but the scout master asked me how to throw an ax into a tree. I wasn’t ready for that and I failed to stick that ax. I practiced throwing axes and I could stick an ax into a tree at a 3:00 AM wake up call without a warm up. I was ready for retesting and I could easily handle any assignment thrown my way. The scout master then asked me to throw a knife into a tree and with a degree of confidence I said, “which hand?” I stuck that knife into the tree and it took three guys to get it out. The scoutmaster said, “you fail; never throw a knife or ax into anything that is alive.” The guys howled and Bill gave a polite grin…he was still not amused about the condition of his knife. Fast forward…upon coming out of the mountains we stayed in a little burg named DuBoise where they were having a mountain man rendezvous with black powder rifle & pistol contests, wrestling, hawk & ax throw, merchandise for sale and a lotta fire water. Over loudspeakers they announced for all contestants for ‘knife & ax” to report to the venue. I then heard, “Bucky Goldstein” please report to the knife & ax venue.” I knew that was me. I knew because there are probably three Jews who live in Wyoming and two were in synagogue…it was Saturday. I’m not sure if it was Bill, Bull or Pomeroy who did that, but I couldn’t not go after telling that story. “Bucky” was called and stuck that knife in the dead center of that target and no one in that crowd was more surprised than me. A raucous cheer came from the spectators and that Ol’ Cowboy’s cheer was the loudest and he couldn’t wait to congratulate me with a big ass smile, and a very hearty handshake. The happiest moment for me was the fact that Bill and I were good, and, I couldn’t buy a drink throughout the remainder of that trip. Not sure of his knife’s fate. See my article The Legend of Bucky Goldstein for more details.
I think a lot about Bill, especially during these most recent years where he was infirmed. I once visited with some staff explaining in some detail who this man is. The attendants knew Bill well and held him in high regard. He was respected, admired and loved. Here was a guy who said, “If you ask me to speak publicly at Rotary, I’ll quit the club.” Once he got hold of a mike, you couldn’t tear it away. Like many of us, he too was a walking paradox. Bill was an integral part of our members who became the cement of our very close group of buds…Bill was the poster boy. We were a group of oddballs who found each other and that was our magic.
I came upon a country western song written and sung by Bill Joe Shaver. It is titled, “Ol’ Chunk Of Coal.” I sang it in front of Bill (and others) some years ago and he loved it. He said…”that’s me.”
I’m Just an old chunk of coal
But I’m gonna be diamond someday.
I’m gonna grow and glow ’til I’m so blue perfect.
I’m gonna put a smile on everybody’s face.
I’m gonna kneel and pray everyday,
Lest I should become vain along the way.
I’m just an ol’ chunk of coal, now Lord,
But I’m gonna be a diamond someday.
I’m gonna learn the right words to talk.
I’m gonna search and find a better way to walk.
I’m gonna spit and polish my old rough-edged self,
‘Till I get rid of every single flaw.
Well I’m gonna be the world’s best friend.
I’m gonna go ’round shakin’ everybody’s hand, yeah.
I’m just an old chunk of coal, now Lord,
But I’m gonna be a diamond someday.
Yeah, I’m gonna be the cotton-pickin’ rage of the age.
I’m gonna be a diamond some day.
And a diamond he was. Rest In Peace Ol’ Cowboy
…your buddy misses you.
