Cousin Bill

We met in Las Vegas in the mid-1980s.  I was one of the owners of a brand new FM station in that city and, in addition to my management chores, I hosted the station's morning show.  One day as I exited the broadcast studio at 10 am and headed for my office our receptionist told me there was a guy in the lobby who insisted that he was a relative of mine.  Since my aunts, uncles, cousins are few and, according to Ancestry.com, only roughly seven-thousand people named Copper currently reside in the USA, this guest was either a sleazebag record promoter or a legitimate unknown member of my family tree.  Bill Copper was the real deal.

From the moment I stuck out my hand, it was apparent that Bill and I were related.  Cousins?  The shared gestures, close-set shifty eyes, and twisted cynical X-rated sense of humor all indicated that we had emerged from the same murky gene pool and funky family tree.  After comparing histories we determined that our grandfathers had been brothers, his the oldest and mine the youngest, of a large central Illinois clan.  Our fathers, being miles apart in age and geography, had not really known each other except by rumor.  My father's family had remained in downstate Illinois and Bill's had migrated to Chicago where Bill had grown up.

Bill, a star sales representative for Catapillar, had landed in Las Vegas a few years ahead of me and was enjoying himself immensely.  Never one to take anything seriously, he described his job as "driving around, cruising tunes and looking for guys standing by a pile of dirt" to whom he would then sell a fine Catapillar product.  It was even easier  than "sitting on your ass and blabbing for four hours a day to people you can't see."  The man did have a point.  He was a major character.  Always on, upbeat and ready for fun.  Just tell him where and when.

Over the years Bill and I became good friends.  After I left Vegas we stayed in touch and he even did an extended tour of Ireland with my wife and me.  He was a wonderful travel companion.  After Linda died three years ago I called Bill, now divorced, and suggested that we hit the road for a therapeutic road trip of some kind.  I could tell from his voice on the phone that something was amiss when he told me that there would be no travel adventures ahead for him as he had been diagnosed with a rather severe form of Parkinson's disease.  He was upbeat and as good-natured as ever and I knew that if anyone could shrug off this diagnosis it was Bill.  A few months later I heard from him that he was selling his house and moving to Guam to be near his only son, Matt, and his family.  He wanted to spend what he now knew to be limited time with his son.

Last week Matt wrote to tell me, and several others via email, that his father had passed away.  Positive to the end, Bill had gone out with a smile on his face and hope in his heart for his friends and very small family.  It was a pleasure to have known him and, as is often the case in these matters, replies to Matt's email began to come in from many who had a relationship with Bill and fortunately I was copied on several.  All expressed how likable he was and how "Bill's glass was always half full. what a funny happy guy."  All messages that had to have made Matt proud and Bill, wherever he may be, delighted with the best epitaph anyone could ask for.

My reason for sharing this is that, especially during this time of national tragedy, sacrifice, and monumental boredom we should all take comfort in the fact that America has an abundance of people like my cousin Bill.  We are a bootstrap nation that was built and continues to be maintained by "glass half full" types whose ancestors arrived here with "can do" personalities and a smile on their face.  There is no finer country in the world and, with our penchant for hard work, tempered by sarcastic ball-buster humor, we will all be healthy and wonderfully free once again.
Stay strong.  Together we'll be better and more appreciative of our freedoms and our fellow Americans than ever before when this is finally over.  Cousin Bill would expect no less.