Our generation (as all do) dwindles. Today's newspaper carries the obituaries of two more friends - one was a friend from the 1960s and on, the other a co-worker in the 1990s and early 2000s. They join three other friends whose deaths have occurred in the past three weeks.
The person who will be missed the most, whose funeral I attended Tuesday, was my supervisor in 1980 and 1981. Bill Bloedel was supervisor of loads and stress for the Cessna Single-Engine Division, and I was a group engineer whose group was responsible, structurally, for all taildragger, a few of the current-production models, and out-of-production single-engine aircraft.
Bill was a good and decent person who was kind enough to always let me know what he really thought. From the time he took over the loads and stress organization, without flinching, he let me know that he was not comfortable having a woman in a position of responsibility over a fleet of aircraft - and - that he would be watching me. I went a little bit out of my way to keep Bill informed as to what I had been doing, how I had been handling things (for instance, suggesting that he might like to go through the file of customer inquiries that I had handled during the preceding year), and how I was handling things (for instance, inviting him to accompany me once when I had to fly to a production line that was about 50 miles distant from the main production facilities). At the end of his first six months as my supervisor, Bill invited me into his office and announced, "I told you that I would be watching you - and I have been. I think that you do an excellent job."
When I opted to leave the company, Bill asked if he had caused me to choose to leave. Absolutely not! It was strictly a matter of having been sought by another company that wished to give me a lot more money. Then, drawing a raise slip out of his desk drawer, Bill told me (with a twinkle in his eyes), "Aren't you going to feel silly when I give you a $100 per week raise?" It was annual raise time, but the actual raise fell far short of that number, of course. We both laughed.
Bill lived in rural Derby. We frequently heard Bill speak of the work he did on his small farm. When he had triple by-pass surgery, it was a matter of days before he was back to chopping fire wood. Physically small (I'm guessing 5' 6" tall and, not more than 145#), Bill loved physical work and flying, in equal measure.
Bill was huge in heart. Bill and his wife, Sue, raised (in addition to their own three children) three children who had been produced by one of their daughters. The daughter was emotionally unable to raise the children. Oh! How Bill doted on all of his children, grandchildren, and great-grandchildren!
The last time I saw Bill, at a bi-monthly retirees breakfast three weeks before his death, Bill was lamenting that his non-existent white cell count kept him from seeing his great-grandchildren as he would wish to do. As little germ factories, small kids can be deadly to a person who, as Bill was, is dealing with leukemia.
I'll miss that quiet, little-big man with the twinkly blue eyes. Rest in peace, Bill.
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When Hunky Husband offered his condolences upon the loss of my friend Bill, I told him, "We've come to an age where it is either our friends who will be dying - or us."
My commiserations. As we get older we have less friends, and not just 'cos we get more ornery :-(
When I turn 70 this year I will be inviting a bunch of friends for dinner one evening, telling them honestly that's because if I make it to 80, I'll no longer remember them :-(
FWIW, "Bloedel" is the German word for "Mess About!"
Posted by: Ole Phat Stu | March 02, 2014 at 11:09 PM
What a wonderful tribute to an everyday hero!
Posted by: Hattie | March 03, 2014 at 02:50 PM
Sorry for the loss. I remember (vaguely) you talking about him at times. Sounds like he was open-minded enough to keep his biases from affecting his work and relationship. And you really have to admire a straight talker like that; I could wish for a few more of those in my life - my present boss dances around subjects and trying to get me to work my way to where she wants me to go - a waste of time - just tell me and I am much happier.
Posted by: bogie | March 09, 2014 at 06:58 AM
Hattie--Thanks.
Bogie--Thank you. I, like you, always appreciate one who lays his/her cards on the table. Guessing can drive me crazy!
Posted by: Cop Car | March 09, 2014 at 05:38 PM