Our pal Bill

Bill Lyons was one of the first people we met when we came to McCook. Bill was an attorney, and represented the fellow from whom we bought the bakery.

In 1957, rental houses were scarce in McCook, and we were having trouble finding a place we could afford. When Bill learned of our trouble he volunteered to make a couple of phone calls. In just a few minutes he had found us a nice little place that was within our means. When we professed our thanks, Bill said, "No problem. I'm glad that I could help."

Over the next years we used Bill's services on numerous occasions. Though he was a practicing attorney, he was really an entrepreneur. He had been born into a prominent family in Des Moines. While he was still in school his father suffered great losses, and the family broke apart.

Bill was forced to earn his own way through the University of Colorado, which he did by using his wits. At various times he was a traveling salesman, selling thread and other sewing supplies, and the operator of poker games in the dorm, in addition to other more conventional occupations, all the time attending college.

Though Bill attained is law degree he did not practice law immediately. He worked for the J.C. Penney Co. for a number of years, working up to store manager. He came to McCook to work for Harry Strunk at the Gazette. During World War II he served in the U.S. Navy, as an officer on a supply ship, "A la Mr. Roberts, we operated endlessly between Ennui and Boredom, during the war," he explained.

Bill told that when the war was over their ship received orders to proceed to San Diego for discharge. They could proceed at their own pace, and make their own route.

Their skipper explained that all discharge points were swamped after the war, so they could take as long as they chose. He proposed that the ship could spend the next year on a cruise around the world, visiting as many ports as they wished. They would be paid the whole time they were gone -- the chance of a lifetime. Most of the crew chose the world cruise, courtesy Uncle Sam. However, Bill decided to come home, to his wife and young family, and get to work.

At various times, Bill acted as municipal judge (roughly comparable to today's county judge). In that office, I know from experience, he was fair and practical.

One time I was in a dispute with a painter. I did not feel that he had fulfilled his contract and refused to pay. He sought to sue me. Bill called the two of us together in his office and listened while we each vented our complaints. Then Bill talked for a few minutes. We recognized each other's grievance. We struck a compromise, and the fellow did numerous other paint jobs for us over the years, and we remained friends, thanks to Bill.

Bill was an avid reader, and especially enjoyed reading about the Civil War. Often at night I'd see a light on at the law office and would stop to visit with Bill -- or more aptly, listen to Civil War stories. He could have taught the subject in a college. I found this out, when one year Bill and I took a tour of Eastern Battlefields of the Civil War, out of Washington, D.C. We had a very knowledgeable guide, but sometimes other members of our tour would turn to Bill for explanations about the battlefield we were visiting, much to the consternation of our guide, and, I think, to the enjoyment of Bill.

Bill had a wonderful sense of humor, and it was always fun to visit with him. Occasionally he would stop at our house after a strenuous day, to unwind with a dram of spirits, which he called his "sigh." His first sip would provoke, "Aah, just a sigh!"

Then he would regale us with stories of his days in the Navy, or school, or with a problem customer, or just the routine of daily life. He could always see the funny side, and could laugh at these incidents, even if the laugh was on himself.

In later years Bill's hair began to thin and he bought himself a rather expensive toupee ("rug" he called it). About the same time he bought a two-wheeled scooter, to ride back and forth to work (to save gas, he said). Maybe both purchases were to recapture his lost youth, I don't know. Anyway, he drove his scooter for a few weeks or months, and took his share of ribbing for both the scooter and his "rug".

Bill was neither very dexterous nor mechanically inclined, and never did ride the scooter very well. One windy day he turned a corner and his "rug" flew off into a mud puddle. "The hell with it", said Bill. He threw away the toupee and reverted to his "premature balditude." Soon afterwards, the scooter was gone as well.

Bill liked fishing trips, and went through several "campers." One was too complicated, "It takes a rocket scientist to operate," he explained. Another, simpler machine, he sold to us when he tired of it, and we, too, enjoyed many fine trips.

Bill also had a boat, which he pulled with a vintage green Dodge. But he had trouble backing it down the boat ramp. The Farrell boys, among many others, helped him put the boat into the lake many times, but helpers were not always available, so Bill would sometimes make the attempt himself. Once, he not only backed the boat into the water, he managed to back the green Dodge into the water as well.

An experienced boatman who witnessed the accident, suggested that he put a hitch onto the front end of the car, so he could drive the boat down the ramp. Bill did this, but again lost control and put the green Dodge into the water for a second time. After that second accident, Bill always referred to the car as, "The Green Submarine." Bill loved to interact with people in various ways. He had a nickname for most of his friends and acquaintances. There was "Dr. Kindly," "The Happy Proprietor," and "The Philosopher" (for Jim Scott, who watched the world go by from his seat in front of the Temple building).

One year, on the Wednesday before Thanksgiving, when we were extremely busy at the bakery, Bill came in with an oil can. He went behind the counter and pretended to oil our cash register. "I just didn't want that cash register to overheat on this busy day," he explained to our startled clerk.

Another of Bill's businesses was Modern Appliance. In July, of the summer when our son, Matt, was born, our air conditioner conked out. We bought a new one at Modern Appliance, but his installers were busy and the weekend came and we were still without our Air Conditioner.

Jean was 81⁄2 months pregnant and miserable in the heat. Not to worry, Bill said, he would install it himself. So Bill and Walt, both mechanical incompetents, worked on the installation. It took some time, but we got it done. When we expressed our thanks, we got Bill's standard reply, "No problem. Glad to help."

Bill also owned Clapp's Store for Women, which was next door to the bakery. Once, after we'd been here for two or three years, Jean bought something at Clapp's and attempted to pay with a check.

The clerk, an elderly woman named Sophia, wanted identification, saying they had had trouble with "out of towners." Somehow, it struck Jean wrong. After all, the bakery was just next door, and Jean had been a customer at Clapp's since we came to town. She thought it odd that the lady did not even recognize the name. She complained to Bill. "Oh, Sophia, bless her heart," said Bill. "She's a good old soul, but she's getting forgetful. I fully expect I'll come in to check up some night, and I'll find a brassiere in the cash register, and Sophia has given all the money away." After Jean quit laughing, she forgot the slight and remained a good customer.