I'm not sure Bill would call himself an artist but as I listened to his story unfold at Maison Navarre in Portsmouth, NH I began to see my fellow coworker in a whole new light. I have to admit I knew little about my coworker other than what he occasionally posts on social media. We worked for the same man, in very different capacities and the only intersection we had seemed to be very early in the morning when we would happen upon one another at the cappuccino machine before anyone else had showed up to start their day. In effect Bill might just be the original seed planted that sprouted into this project, want to buy me a coffee. Except I can't remember us talking back then when most people were just getting ready to leave their houses, it was more of just being in the same space at the same time. I remember his calm, even keeled demeanor and how he always greeted me with a simple smile and a nod of his head.
I've always enjoyed a good Steinbeck story, the grit of America being painted across the pages of a heavy, heart ladened novel, there's a certain authenticity that rises from the lines written about struggle whether poverty, addiction, abuse, and or tragedies beyond one's control. As children we are born into households that are our normal and it's not until we catch a glimpse of something different then do we begin to reimagine ourselves and our place in this world. Bill's story pulled me in, like Steinbeck or even Hemingway always seems to do and as I listened I realized once again we don't know what we don't know. All of the mornings we leaned against the stainless steel counter in the commercial kitchen before it awakened sipping some really good coffee, I could never have imagined his life having the incredulous moments it has and that is on me. Bill is one of the many great reasons I continue to have coffee with ordinary people like you and me, even in the mundane the extraordinary plays its hand and keeps us all engaged and showing up for our next chapters.
Bill was born the baby in a family of seven children. His house was large and imposing like the other homes built in the same era in Manchester, NH. His father was a workaholic and his mother drank just as much as his father worked. Bill's is not a woe is me story but one rather that explains how he became the person he is today. He remembers the music played by his older siblings filling the house and giving them all purpose. They had a make shift drum set with wire hangers as symbols that they would take turns keeping the beat while the Beatles, and later the Rolling Stones rang through the old Victorian house. He remembers walking to the music store, listening to new 45's with headphones to see which one would come home with him. His dad, was almost larger than life, being one of the first personalities on WMUR tv making the giant leap forward from a career in radio to television. As distracted by his work as he was he still took time to set Bill up with guitar lessons with a musician named Jerry for a half hour each week. At about the same time, Bill's mother became sober and began attending weekly AA meetings. He remembers being told that his mother wasn't a bad person she just needed help. Children often follow by example rather than direction given by adults and as his mother recovered, his brother's followed in suite and let Bill know that they were saving a seat for him.
Bill leaned forward closer to his cappuccino as he shared the most intimate details of his story. I appreciated the vulnerability he was experiencing sharing memories, thoughts, and feelings with an almost stranger. He confided that he first glimpsed happiness and its incredible promise as an elixir, taking guitar lessons with Jerry. Bill's eyes lit up as he described watching his teacher as a young boy find joy within the strings of his guitar neck and connecting with the songs that he played. Bill was almost giddy describing how he would practice at home, how that turned into being in a band in high school, and even now performing on Monday nights at 8:00pm at Napoletana Pizzeria and Bar where the old Breaking Grounds used to be in Portsmouth, NH. Bill turned his feelings of loneliness into a gratitude for solitude partly through his relationship with music. He began to remember chapters of his childhood with a sweet thoughtfulness and wonder rather than resentment and feelings as though he may have in some way missed out on being seen by his parents as a young boy.
I leaned in as he described hiking up the hill to the quarry so he could push through his fears and first jump from 18 feet, then 30, and eventually 55. He described how as he climbed higher to jump he began wearing sneakers so his feet wouldn't hurt if he forgot to point his toes as he broke the surface. He smiled as he recounted being put on a pop warner baseball team with a woman coach which was unheard of during those days. He admitted he couldn't hit or field balls. He had always been the last one chosen for pickup games at school and hated competition even more for it. The woman coach led his team to the championships and they won, he experienced victory as being the worst player on the best team. The irony is rich in Bill's story, filling in each chapter with the greatest of contrast as he fell into situations that are almost comical in a way providing him with glimpses of what another life might feel like as if was able to try it on for awhile. He saved up for college and hated it and decided to get out of dodge. He found a ride to Colorado and then made his way out to Arizona where his friend was part of an Ashram. He convinced him to leave and join him on his journey to the west coast where they camped on the Point Reyes national seaboard for a night and sat quietly while elk appeared and did what they do. He marveled at the unspoiled coastline and compared it to Manchvegas as I know it in my family. Throughout his life big glimpses kept showing up and lighted his pathway forward up and out of loneliness and and addiction to one of resolve and gratitude.
I asked him what finally led him to stop drinking. He paused and finished his cup of cappuccino. "My son was about the same age that I was when my mother stopped drinking. I had stumbled and fallen in front of him and his reaction was laughter. My wife set me straight and drew a much needed line in the sand. I saw it for what it was and made the decision to stop. I had been working hard, hustling my whole to keep the wolf at the door at bay. I thought I'd be working till I turned seventy-five, I couldn't imagine anything else, but I knew that there was a way past addiction, my mother and brothers had shown me the path forward."
Something inside switched for Bill and knew the time had arrived for him to do the same and follow them. He had worked beside convicts, who taught him how to work hard and fast, he had spun pottery and become sober for a year, there simply wasn't anything around to drink at that time and place. He had driven trucks and felt free from being under the man's thumb, and he had worked most recently maintaining more buildings than he could count in the moment in front of me. I nodded. That's how I knew Bill, as someone who was always working hard. He raised his head and said, "I'm a socialist." A bold statement even in our times of political chaos and division amongst parties and families. I nodded my head and remembered the times I sat listening to Bernie whether there were twenty people or twenty thousand who showed up. Bill knows hard work, what it has been to grow up around addiction and then to become an addict himself. He's pushed through fear in his life to get to the other side all the while being offered opportunities to always see it from another perspective. He rode alongside his mother who after having sobered up became a social worker for NH Catholic Charities and whose job it was to deal with unwed mothers and Vietnamese refugees. He came to understand compassion at an early age and what it means to recognize all individuals as people and not product. His father later was appointed the Administrative assistant to Governor John King and Bill became enthralled in politics even deeper by proximity. The policy of governing people runs through his veins.
I asked Bill if he has found happiness just as his guitar teacher, Jerry had. He nodded and replied that he thought he had. I smiled. Happiness, that elusive nymph that likes to come out and dance a bit before starting a game of hide and seek, it felt good to be sitting across from someone who had seemingly outwitted her if you will.
We all have stories to tell and there is much to learn from listening to others as they tell theirs. You can learn a lot when listen to someone else's story for even just an hour. I asked Bill for twelve golden bits of wisdom that he has mined from his own life and here is what he offered up.
1. music is air.
2. happiness comes from gratitude.
3. you can learn how to hustle.
4. i don't like competition.
5. being outside is everything.
6. i crave solitude.
7. when I had solitude, I didn't want it.
8. the wolf is always at the door, I worked hard all my life to keep it at bay.
9. working hard was never a choice for me.
10. love being retired.
11. don't go to bed angry.
12. we always have work to do on ourselves.