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| Bill Howard on Maine Coast |
Sometimes you meet someone, and they stay with you - if not physically,
at least in your heart. In the mid-nineties, I’d been - very much against my
will - temporarily thrust into management. I hated it, too right brained and technical
to manage teams. I got myself out of the position and back into what I enjoyed
a year or so later, but I came to realize God put me into that temporary place for
one major reason: I needed to meet a man named Bill Howard.
You see, every couple of years the company I had worked for back then
liked to disrupt employee’s lives (and livelihood) by laying off a percentage
of the workforce. I became manager and a week later was sitting in a room with
other managers and the names of every employee below our rank was pasted onto
the wall and, like kids picking whiffle ball teams, we took turns pointing to a
name and saying, “I’ll take him/her.” Insane, but I suppose as effective as any
other method.
A day earlier, a man I occasionally worked with - and I give him all
the credit aside from God’s hand in what would come - pulled me aside and asked
me to seriously consider choosing an older (at the time that would be 50, my
age now) man and long-time employee whom he was concerned about and asked me to
save him from the axe. He’d been through some rough patches in his life and was
a great guy and really needed this job. I was humbled, especially in the midst
of so much posturing from everyone over their own jobs, for this to be requested
of me for someone else, namely this man Bill whom I did not know previously.
Long story a bit shorter, I picked Bill and as many as I could to build
my team. I met him the next day and we all got to work. That was 20 years ago.
Bill was the most laid back guy I’d ever met (though he could get riled up over
some topics just like everyone), and this in a work environment that was so
stressful I’d lay in bed at night staring at the ceiling wondering how I’d get
through the next day. Bill was ‘old school…’ new technology was coming into a
fairly established department and it was hard to adjust to it at times. I’m his
age then, now (if that makes any grammatical sense) and I can relate. We worked
together, he did his job with a smile and a joke and never took it, or himself, too seriously. Over time, as I got to know him, I started to mellow out myself -
he had that effect.
I will highlight one incident that I’ve related to people in the past,
and I hope his wife Kate won’t mind I tell it, but it was just
so Bill… not long after he joined my team he had to present a report change
he’d worked on before a group of reviewers. Standard policy, but he was a
little stressed about speaking in front of a lot of people. Just before.. I
mean two
minutes before we were to head into the conference
room, he was toying with a loose tooth with his tongue and said, “Wait a
second,” reached in and yanked the tooth out. It was loose and annoying and
he’d had enough. Blood spilled onto his lips. I stared at him, dumbfounded, but
we were late and headed to the meeting anyway. I’m pretty sure I loved the guy right then (these
days I should probably add: “in a guy kind of platonic way, of course.” lol).
Seeing him do that changed me in some weird way. One thing about him - he was
himself and didn’t give a crap what others thought.
This is about my friendship with Bill Howard. Although his past life, with its mistakes and pain and heartbreak and joy and happiness up to that point
shaped the man I met, I won’t go into that. In our subsequent friendship,
three things about him always stood out - his love for his wife Kate (he
talked about her all the time with such a fondness), his love for and
unwavering faith in Jesus Christ and the Church, and his passion for painting.
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| Bob Ross |
Bill was a painter. And a master painter, at that. Did everything he
paint come out perfect? Of course not. Everything Monet painted didn’t come out
perfect either. But most of what he did was quite good, and much of it
incredible. About a year after we met, my extended family decided to do “make a
gifts” for Christmas by picking a name of a sibling or in-law, aunt or uncle,
and making something for them by hand. I drew my sister Anne’s name. I wanted
to paint a painting, but had never done it before. So I went to a Bob Ross (“Happy
Paintbrush!”) class at the local Michael’s store and learned his wet-on-wet
oil painting technique. I painted her a great (I think) painting. It’s not in
my gallery, never managed to get a photo of it, but I
began painting in earnest with this technique. When Bill learned what I was doing,
he got very excited.
“You’ve been doing that Bob Ross style long enough,” he told me one
morning at work. “It’s time you learned how to really paint.” So the next day
we went to his house (not far from work) where two easels had been set up. Bill began teaching me oil painting
techniques for shading, colors, shapes. Basic stuff to him that was revelation
to me.
“What color is the shadow on the snow over there?” he asked me once. I
knew enough not to say “black” by that time, so I looked, realized shadow on
snow on a sunny day is blue, because of the sky. Shadows around most objects
retain the color of the surface they’re on. And shadow was very important for
depth. “Look at that,” he’d say, pointing to one object or another. “You could
paint that.” When I said it wouldn’t be very good, he added, “Yes, if you tried
to draw it because that’s what beginners do. Paint brushes are never, ever,
used for drawing. They’re for blocking out shapes, making shadow, painting
darks and lights. Never paint the object. Paint the shadows, and the shapes. When
you’re done, what you are looking at will suddenly appear on the canvas.” (Yes,
I’m paraphrasing, but I’ve always remembered his lessons so these quotes are
pretty close.)
When I painted I felt awkward and clumsy next to him, but that’s to be
expected. He’d been painting for decades before me. When I paint today, his
voice is in my head all the time, instructing me, guiding me, reminding me to
focus on the shapes, even if that means blurring my vision so I don’t look too
closely at the object.
One day, years later after I left the company to work at my present job
and he soon after retired to Maine with his wife, I went to visit him. I spent
the weekend at their house. Every day he went to an AA meeting and seemed
excited to have me join him. We hung out with some of his friends, then the
next day we went to church, met people for coffee after another AA meeting,
then did some painting. He was into watercolors by then. He whipped together a
painting as an example and was going to toss it - but I begged him to let me
keep it - it was amazing. I still have it on my wall. (He almost didn’t let me
take it, not being happy with how it came out.) It was a fun visit, and I went
home. That was around 1999 or so.
Living then on the Maine coast, Bill painted up a storm, going through
phases of different mediums and styles. We would talk often over email,
sometimes by phone. He sent attachments of his seascapes or still-life’s and I
replied with my honest opinions. On rare occasions, I managed to crank out a
painting of my own and then send him a pic.
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| Bill's Painting |
When we were still co-workers, around ‘94 or so when he first took me
under his wing (in a way we were under each other’s wings: him under mine at
work, me under his at the easel), I asked if I could buy one of his paintings.
He waved an arm and said, “Sure, take your pick.” My eyes quickly locked onto a
beautiful still life, framed, in the corner. He bristled at first, because it
was one of his favorites, but only at first. He charged me: $100 AND an
original Dan Keohane painting when I felt ready to make one that I felt was worthy
to serve as payment. I knew that would take some time (the painting), but I
agreed. I paid him the money, took my new painting home (it’s pictured here)
and have lovingly had it hanging in my house ever since.
Like I said, years later I changed jobs and he retired. I had not yet made
a painting for him. I finally realized enough was enough. In 2003 (yes, we’re
talking nine
years later), I spend weeks working on what needed to be a perfect (as in
appropriate and decent-looking) artwork.
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| "...snatch the pebble from my hand..." |
I knew what I wanted to call it: “Payment To the Master.” It needed to
reflect Bill and his love of painting, but also have a Christian theme - thus enhance
the double meaning of the title. The composition consisted of a Bible, a loaf
of bread, grapes (I didn’t want actual wine so the grapes served as reference) a
can of paint brushes and, front and center of it all: an apple. Why the apple?
Like the old master holding out a pebble to David Carradine in the 70’s TV show
Kung Fu
(“When you can snatch the pebble from my hand, it will be time for you to leave...”
Look it up on YouTube), Bill told me that when I can paint an apple and have it
look
like a real
apple, I will be officially a painter. I practiced a lot with apples before
2003’s Grand Painting Epic.
I finished the painting. It came out pretty decent, if I do say so
myself. It wasn’t perfect, but it was right. I had to go visit Bill someday soon
and give it to him. It would be such a great closure to our earlier deal almost
a decade earlier. He & I did try to connect early on, but our schedules
never matched (the weekends I was free he was not, and vice versa). Over time,
Life took over our respective schedules, many crazy things started to
happen in my world, of course. In short, Life got in my way, as it is wont to do (if you let
it).
In ten years, I never once hung “Payment To The Master” on my walls, as
much as I would have liked to. Because it was not mine. It was
Bill’s, payment for his amazing and far superior work.
We lost touch for a long time, though I thought about him often. I
called him a year and a half ago. We talked for an hour on the phone, catching
up on our lives. It was a great talk, and I promised to pick a weekend when I
could come up. Even with life’s storms calmed around me, I never did. I’ve had
the words “Bill Howard” written on my To-Do white board in the kitchen for a
year. This year for Christmas Linda and I finally sent Christmas cards out to
folks, including Bill and Kate Howard.
Kate wrote us a letter in reply. Bill was dying. The doctors had given
him six months to live but it did not seem like he had even that. I called
their house, hoping to go visit him that weekend. Kate answered the phone and explained
that he was not healthy enough for visitors at that time. She and I had a good
talk, however, and we’ve kept in touch via email over the past couple of weeks.
On Monday, just after midnight (early this morning, as I first type
this), my friend Bill passed away with Kate by his side (where she’d been
through it all) and his family having come up to be with him all week, saying
goodbye. I’m certain he is in a much better place, free of pain and worry and
free of the past which likes to haunt us all. In God’s light forever. Happy.
Propped up on a hill somewhere (if heaven has hills or oceans, which I like to think it
does) and painting like a madman, waiting patiently for the day he will be
reunited with those he left behind, making sure not to draw but to paint Paradise
around him by blocking out shade and light and shapes and eventually stepping
back and smiling at what appears.
During my weekend visit with him in Maine years ago, he took out this
secret stash of Mereja (pronounced Mare-Uh-Jay… it’s French) painting medium , a
lead-based solution which is illegal to purchase in the US because of the
health hazards - it’s lead, after all. I asked him if he was worried about
painting with this stuff. He smiled that broken smile of his and shrugged his
shoulders. “Mereja medium is the best stuff for bringing out the colors, making
them almost luminous on the canvas. If using it now and then means dying a
little earlier, isn’t it worth it?”
In the end, he died too young. Using Mereja medium wasn’t the reason, though
it did bring out the colors and depth of his paintings and gave him joy. Painting
brought him joy, as did his family, his church and friends, prayer and people.
He was a unique and Significant man. We wonder sometimes if we
will make an impact on the world. When we do we’re missing the point. The
impacts we make in this world happen to one person at a time. The best way, the
only way, to have the most impact on others is to joyfully be the people God
made us to be. Bill was not perfect. I’m not perfect. We have flaws and we’ll
piss people off as much as we’ll raise them up. But even our flaws can become
endearing (over time, sometimes) when we are as real and genuine a person as we
can be to everyone we meet. Bill was that way. I’ve carried him with me since
those days we worked together, and in many ways it has changed me, subtly
effected what roads I’ve chosen at times, little decisions I’ve made, how I’ve
interacted with others. I’ll miss him. For a guy I have seen only once in the
past fifteen years or so, I sure do love him and will always treasure those
parts of our friendship I’ve held close to my heart.
Bill, I’m sorry I never got to hand you your painting in person, but I
hope you can see it now. I’ve just hung it up on my wall, where it will be a
reminder of those days. Goodbye, my old friend. I’ll see you again.
Dan
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