Straight From The Hart
By Joan Rowden Hart
Bill Nichols, We Will Miss You.
Contrary to popular belief, courage and bravery and perseverance are
not found just in those with strong bodies and good physical health.
Sometimes we find those attributes reflected in bodies worn out by
pain and years of struggle with physical handicaps, and the
frustrations of just making it through the everyday moments of life.
Bill Nichols was one of those people.
Born in 1941, he was afflicted with polio at a very young age and
spent his early life on crutches and then these past several years in
a motorized wheelchair.
But that didn’t keep him from enjoying his life of working and
building a successful business.
In high school at LHS, he was elected President of the Sophomore Class
in 1958. Under his senior picture in the 1960 Magnet yearbook, was
the caption “A Merry Heart Goes A Long Way”, which turned out to
be a most accurate description of the life he was to live out so
victoriously for the next 52 years.
His first job was working for Gene Laughlin repairing electric
motors. He was also a clerk at the sale barn for many years. He
worked in a supervisory position at the office at Detroit Tool. He
was appointed Director of the License Bureau, and then in 1969 he
became the owner of the W.D. Waterman Insurance Agency and real estate
office.
He went in to his office almost every afternoon to work right up until
the very last. He refused to let his pain and disability keep him
from doing what he loved most, including his work and his church.
Bill was very thankful for his church family at First Congregational
here in Lebanon. Although he hadn’t been able to attend for years, he
still made a vital contribution to the church in many ways, including
buying memorial flowers for the altar in remembrance of his mother.
One of Bill’s friends told me about a scouting activity at the church
when Bill was a very young boy. The scouts were planning an outing
and Bill didn’t think he could go because of his polio, but Hap
Coleman, one of the scout leaders, told Bill there was no way they
were going to go without him, and Hap promised Bill’s mother that he
would take care of him and be with him every minute.
Bill often looked back on that scouting trip as one of the highlights
of his life and he never forgot it, nor the man who convinced his mom
it would be alright for him to go.
On the other hand, Bill told my husband several times that the most
scared he had ever been was when my nephew, Frankie Cook, took him on
a dune buggy ride through the "hills and hollers" and across the
creeks of rural Laclede County back around 1970. That trip probably
made Bill appreciate his church even more!
I am reading a new book by Joni Eareckson Tada, entitled “A Place of
Healing, Wrestling with the Mysteries of Suffering, Pain and God’s
Sovereignty”. About 3 a.m. this morning when I was unable to sleep
due to my own pain, I picked up my Kindle and read for a long time
the portion of the book where she tells about the world-famous
violinist Yitzhak Perlman.
Like Bill Nichols, Perlman had polio as a child and walks with
crutches and braces. During a 1995 concert, a string on Perlman’s
violin suddenly snapped. Perlman stopped playing momentarily, closed
his eyes for a moment, and then signaled the conductor to begin again.
It seemed as though the artist was recomposing the piece in his head
as he went along inventing new fingering positions to coax the
magnificent melody from his three-stringed violin. When he finished,
and after acknowledging the explosion of appreciative applause from
the audience, Perlman said, “You know sometimes it is the artist’s
task to find out how much music you can still make with what you have
left.”
For Bill Nichols, as for Joni Eareckson and Yitzhak Perlman, life
became a recomposition, a series of new chords. And Bill played it
well. He loved to tease and he did it with such a straight face that
many times people thought he was being cranky when he was actually
just joking around. Even knowing him as well as I did, I sometimes
had difficulty knowing whether to take him seriously or not.
I last saw Bill just a few weeks ago at my husband’s barber shop. He
greeted me with the big smile he was noted for and I sat in the
waiting area with him as we got into our usual discussion regarding
politics and how the two of us could solve the country’s problems if
they would just let us do it. Even though both Milan and I knew how
fragile his condition had become, and how fast he was failing in his
health, I never dreamed that would be the last time I would see him.
I will remember him as a man who was truly brave and courageous in
fighting a life-long battle with pain and disability, but more than
that I will remember that a positive mental attitude can overcome days
of darkness and depression, and that a strong spirit can sustain even
the weakest physical body.
By Joan Rowden Hart
Bill Nichols, We Will Miss You.
Contrary to popular belief, courage and bravery and perseverance are
not found just in those with strong bodies and good physical health.
Sometimes we find those attributes reflected in bodies worn out by
pain and years of struggle with physical handicaps, and the
frustrations of just making it through the everyday moments of life.
Bill Nichols was one of those people.
Born in 1941, he was afflicted with polio at a very young age and
spent his early life on crutches and then these past several years in
a motorized wheelchair.
But that didn’t keep him from enjoying his life of working and
building a successful business.
In high school at LHS, he was elected President of the Sophomore Class
in 1958. Under his senior picture in the 1960 Magnet yearbook, was
the caption “A Merry Heart Goes A Long Way”, which turned out to
be a most accurate description of the life he was to live out so
victoriously for the next 52 years.
His first job was working for Gene Laughlin repairing electric
motors. He was also a clerk at the sale barn for many years. He
worked in a supervisory position at the office at Detroit Tool. He
was appointed Director of the License Bureau, and then in 1969 he
became the owner of the W.D. Waterman Insurance Agency and real estate
office.
He went in to his office almost every afternoon to work right up until
the very last. He refused to let his pain and disability keep him
from doing what he loved most, including his work and his church.
Bill was very thankful for his church family at First Congregational
here in Lebanon. Although he hadn’t been able to attend for years, he
still made a vital contribution to the church in many ways, including
buying memorial flowers for the altar in remembrance of his mother.
One of Bill’s friends told me about a scouting activity at the church
when Bill was a very young boy. The scouts were planning an outing
and Bill didn’t think he could go because of his polio, but Hap
Coleman, one of the scout leaders, told Bill there was no way they
were going to go without him, and Hap promised Bill’s mother that he
would take care of him and be with him every minute.
Bill often looked back on that scouting trip as one of the highlights
of his life and he never forgot it, nor the man who convinced his mom
it would be alright for him to go.
On the other hand, Bill told my husband several times that the most
scared he had ever been was when my nephew, Frankie Cook, took him on
a dune buggy ride through the "hills and hollers" and across the
creeks of rural Laclede County back around 1970. That trip probably
made Bill appreciate his church even more!
I am reading a new book by Joni Eareckson Tada, entitled “A Place of
Healing, Wrestling with the Mysteries of Suffering, Pain and God’s
Sovereignty”. About 3 a.m. this morning when I was unable to sleep
due to my own pain, I picked up my Kindle and read for a long time
the portion of the book where she tells about the world-famous
violinist Yitzhak Perlman.
Like Bill Nichols, Perlman had polio as a child and walks with
crutches and braces. During a 1995 concert, a string on Perlman’s
violin suddenly snapped. Perlman stopped playing momentarily, closed
his eyes for a moment, and then signaled the conductor to begin again.
It seemed as though the artist was recomposing the piece in his head
as he went along inventing new fingering positions to coax the
magnificent melody from his three-stringed violin. When he finished,
and after acknowledging the explosion of appreciative applause from
the audience, Perlman said, “You know sometimes it is the artist’s
task to find out how much music you can still make with what you have
left.”
For Bill Nichols, as for Joni Eareckson and Yitzhak Perlman, life
became a recomposition, a series of new chords. And Bill played it
well. He loved to tease and he did it with such a straight face that
many times people thought he was being cranky when he was actually
just joking around. Even knowing him as well as I did, I sometimes
had difficulty knowing whether to take him seriously or not.
I last saw Bill just a few weeks ago at my husband’s barber shop. He
greeted me with the big smile he was noted for and I sat in the
waiting area with him as we got into our usual discussion regarding
politics and how the two of us could solve the country’s problems if
they would just let us do it. Even though both Milan and I knew how
fragile his condition had become, and how fast he was failing in his
health, I never dreamed that would be the last time I would see him.
I will remember him as a man who was truly brave and courageous in
fighting a life-long battle with pain and disability, but more than
that I will remember that a positive mental attitude can overcome days
of darkness and depression, and that a strong spirit can sustain even
the weakest physical body.
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