This is what happens when you scan a half-tone, alas
An old high school friend of mine died last week after a battle with lung cancer. We had drifted apart after our college years and I hadn’t seen him in a long time, but prior to that Bill Wheeler was the unquestioned center of a group of friends that meant a great deal to me.
We started out a couple of years apart, but I skipped my 10th grade and he took 5 years to graduate from Duke, so we ended up as classmates after all.
Bill . . .
- taught me about classical music (Pictures at an Exhibition, Appalachian Spring, Petroushka)
- along with Norman Littlejohn, built a kick-butt set of “Sweet Sixteen” speakers (16 cones per unit)
- taught me how to drive a Pontiac Bonneville using only your knees to steer (kids, do not try this at home)
- inspired me to go to Duke
- chided me (correctly) for being sarcastic to my sisters
- showed me how to change gears on a stick shift without using the clutch (this is actually a very useful skill)
- originated our Bastille Day parties, featuring cherry bombs inside scale model fortresses made of juice cans (they blowed up real good; Mrs. Wheeler was a saint)
- talked their high school-teacher boarder into a midnight swim with us in their pond; totally innocuous, but she nearly had a heart attack when she realized we were high school students
- probably thought up the phrase “crotch your can” (to hide beer if the cops were to stop us)
- showed me it was OK to use your brains
- could actually talk to girls
The first of the Sabachis to go. We’ll really miss you, Bill.
Update: there will be a memorial service for Bill Wheeler Saturday June 12th, 2010, at St. Andrew’s Episcopal Church, 2233 Woodbourne Ave, Louisville, KY 40205.
cleve callison’s blog 
Thanks, Norm. I don’t remember if you were on the same trip, but once Bill and I were camping on the Blue Ridge Parkway near Globe and Upton, I’m sure not in an authorized area. The Rangers came by and told us we were right in the middle of a very active rattlesnake area. I don’t know if they were just trying to scare us, but they succeeded.
–Driving along the Parkway in Bill’s MG-B, top down of course, was quite a thrill. Not to mention climbing all over the rocks at Linville Falls. All of the areas where we climbed are now totally off-limits to tourists.
Where does one begin with memories of Bill? I remember:
– all the parties at his house, of course
– how he taught his black German shepherd, Fraulein, to leap six feet in the air and snap a short straw out of his mouth
– camping with him on the Blue Ridge Parkway every September during our college years
– how he fired a .22 rifle through his basement ceiling into the family room, above (I don’t think Mrs. Wheeler ever found out about this. It was a .22 short, and it cracked but did not penetrate the oak hardwood flooring in the den.)
– his amazing ability to sit down at a piano and play an extemporaneous, original piece of music (having never had any piano lessons)
– his unsurpassed ability to sell refrigerators to eskimos. Once in a back room at one of his parties, I sat in astonishment (and excitement) as he talked a beautiful, young lady into taking off most of her clothes.
– his reaction when I asked him not to smoke while we were cleaning a carburettor in a can of gasoline. He looked up at me, took one last drag on the cigarette, and doused it in the can of gas.
Goodbye, Bill. You will live in our hearts forever.
Thanks, Bobby (oops, sorry, Robert). I mentioned Norman, but I should add Hugh, Brewton, Susan, Cynthia, Brenda, Martha, and many more. And Dr. and Mrs. Wheeler, the coolest parents of all.
I too remember Bill and all the parties, Iremember when his date threw up in his car door and Bill rished home to take the door apart and clean it that night. I remember going 110 miles and hour in a 56 chevy at about 2 am one night. I remember when he helped me build my own speaker set. Most of all I remember the person and a passion for life. Goodbye for now.