Whippoorwill sings 'Taps' for Bill Horne
By
Rory Ryan-hcpress@cinci.rr.com
Whippoorwill sings 'Taps' for Bill Horne
A whippoorwill just sang "Taps" in southern Highland County.
Believe it.
Bill Horne passed away this week at the age of 70. He loved to hear the whippoorwills sing.
We used to ask one another each spring: "Have you heard from 'em yet?" Some years, the whippoorwills got to me before they got to Bill, even though our properties were only seven or eight miles apart. He and his neighbor and fellow Ridgerunner, Sam Snyder, had similar conversations.
When Bill purchased "The Rocks" a few years back, less than a mile from the Ryan Outpost, we'd hear the whippoorwills at the same time. The Rocks are an interesting formation most likely left over from a long ago Ice Age and rumored to have been a hideout for Morgan's Raiders.
If you've ever been there, you'll understand.
Nelson Thompson's been there. He once photographed Bill and Connie and their family at The Rocks. Of the many photos I've seen of Bill, that one remains my favorite.
Bill's brother, Jim, knows about The Rocks, too. He should, of course, because their parents used to live across the road.
Bill used to say that when he first purchased The Rocks and Jim stopped by, Jim commented that the rock formations seemed really big "when we were kids."
"And they're still big."
Bill Horne wrote his final newspaper column the day before he died. The evening of Bill's death, I revisited The Rocks. Alone. It was time well spent.
There were no whippoorwills this time of year, of course. But there was the sad call from one lonesome dove off to the east. Just one.
On one evening at The Rocks, Bill and I tried to call the whippoorwills. On Thursday evening, I tried to call back the season's last dove. No luck.
The last sound I heard before the mostly cloudy evening turned to dark was a gunshot from a nearby woods. It wasn't a 21-gun salute by any means, but being that this is deer season, I'm sure Bill hoped the hunter was on target.
I first met Bill more than seven years ago when I called him and asked if he'd consider writing a newspaper column. I told him that local newspaper readers could use someone to provide some semblance of balance to my own opinions. Bill was the perfect someone.
Back then, as far to the right that I may have seemed, Bill seemed just as far to the left. And our readers picked up on the Right vs. Left appearances.
But appearances can be deceiving.
After a few years, our weekly conversations that were once political debates had become more of philosophical discussions, if you will. In fact, I can't recall the last time Bill and I argued over much of anything.
Simply put, Bill Horne was my friend. I hope he was yours, too. His loyalty was sincere, from the heart, and ever-lasting.
He was my oldest daughter's college instructor. He aggravated Caitlin once in a while, but to her old man he always praised her, saying she was one of the brightest students he's ever had. (Of course, Bill would always add: "She must take after her mother.")
Our mutual friend, Highland County Commissioner Gary Heaton, wrote this about Bill upon news of his passing: "Highland County has lost a true friend and advocate. Bill and I started our political paths together in 2002. We did not agree on everything, but I got to see, up close, the desire Bill had to make our area better for everyone. The one thing that stood out was how many of Bill's former Southern State college students would come up to him and thank him for the difference he made in their lives through his teaching."
And, then, Gary added this on Bill's final newspaper column: "I have now read Bill's final column for the fifth time. Each time, I have found something new that will remind me of a moment in conversation Bill and I had when we found ourselves together. Bill has left a legacy and a life that will not be forgotten. How many of you have one of those gemstones polished by Bill? If you have one, when you are feeling like there are no heroes, and you have nothing to contribute, take that gemstone into your hand and read Bill's last column."
Each time I read Gary's tribute to Bill Horne, I cannot help but say, "Damn you, Gary, for bringing tears to my eyes."
But then, I realize that Gary and I aren't the only ones to shed a tear or two.
Bill and I often joked that The Highland County Press had more Whiteoak High School columnists than what was reasonably necessary. There was Bill, Darke County Engineer Jim Surber, local historian Jerry Pruitt and this Ridgerunner. All graduates of our rural Mowrystown high school.
After high school, Bill served his country in the U.S. Army and went to college on the GI Bill. He was proud of that. He received his bachelor's degree from Central State University, and earned his master's degree from the University of Dayton.
Without fail, Bill stressed to his students that higher education was the greatest equalizer. He understood what it was like growing up on a small farm in rural southern Ohio. Without an education, one's opportunities were greatly limited.
Bill even tried his level best to get me to enroll in some of his classes. I laughed. He didn't. He was serious. We compromised. He invited me (and my own academic shortcomings) to speak to a couple of his classes and explain why education is so important. I did. And, once again, the teacher made his point.
Bill liked to bet milk shakes. Years ago, he liked to gamble with higher stakes, but since I've known him, the wagers have always been milk shakes. He and I are even: one win, one loss each. My victory was that Pete Rose never pitched in a Major League regular season game. Bill claims Pete pitched in a spring training game once, but I won on a technicality.
The first year Bill ran for political office, he introduced me to his treasurer. Ken Shull. Frankly, I doubt that either Ken or I was impressed with the introduction. But Bill liked both of us. So, Ken always got the benefit of whatever doubts I may have had.
"Bill was a problem solver," Ken told us for a news story this week. "It was well known among the faculty, students and administration that if you had a problem, Bill was the go-to person.
"Bill had a teaching style that I have always admired. Like Aesop, he illustrated everything by telling a story. I feel like I have lost a brother."
Ken's comments, like Gary Heaton's are difficult to read. They cut right to the quick.
Bill was in my office for about an hour the day before he died. We talked about various issues in the news, as we always did. He apologized for missing his column deadline the week before – the only time he ever missed a deadline. Then, he took a few notes for a future column.
He also brought me a dozen fresh eggs. We've purchased our eggs from Bill and Connie for several years now.
Lately, his hens have been almost as contrary as Bill the past few weeks, and we've resorted to "store-bought" eggs. Maybe the chickens and the whippoorwills and the doves knew something the rest of us didn't.
But on Wednesday, the Old Hog Farmer brought a dozen fresh eggs.
"I don't know how many more I'll bring you," Bill told me.
We talked. And talked. His cell phone rang. It was Connie. "She can wait a few minutes," Bill said. Bill and Connie had quite the understanding, you know. Bill once told me that he and Connie had a pact: "It's OK to disagree, but let's not be disagreeable."
Before he left the newspaper office, Bill asked our online guru, marketing director and Lord knows what else, Angie Matticks if she would help him set up a website through which Southern State students could buy, sell or trade college textbooks. Angie said she would.
Bill then reached across my desk, shook my hand, and said "Thanks for everything." Little did I know those would be the final three words Bill would say to me.
Believe me, he's said a lot more interesting and occasionally inflammatory things to me!
When the news of Bill's death spread on Thursday, the calls and e-mails were unbelievable. Hillsboro City Council member Mary Brown Turner was among the first to call. "Please tell me it's not true," Mary said, not trying to hold back tears. She cried. I cried. She said "I'll stop by later." That was all either of us could handle.
Connie and I talked. Kevin Brown called, just trying to be sure everything was OK. The college called and e-mailed. Local and state media called. We shared what news we had, and we shared Bill's final, prophetic column. I thank all of you for calling, and caring.
"Life is fantastic, maybe 'fabulous' is a better word," Bill wrote the day before he died. "Life is also very short. But most importantly, it is the greatest of all gifts. During the everyday rat race to support our lives, many of us forget to live and enjoy life."
As Gary Heaton said, each time I read Bill's words, I think of something else. I think of the time Bill Lange, Brian Perkins and I fired footballs across a Walnut Street alley while Bill critiqued each pass. I think of the times I endorsed Bill and he said, "thanks for ruining my campaign;" and the times when I didn't and he said, "maybe I'll win this time."
I think of telling Bill that since the death of our mutual friend and longtime Adams County attorney Roy Gabbert, Sr., he (Bill) is the most cantankerous man I know.
Bill and I could argue, tease, antagonize and trade friendly barbs without either of us losing our temper. Perhaps that was because we both understood what loyalty and friendship really mean. Man, was Bill loyal. If he thought a friend needed help, he was right there. No questions asked.
When I needed someone to "save" a few things for me that might become newsworthy at some point in the future, I gave them to Bill. That confidence has never been broken.
Bill Horne was my friend. Outside of family, I don't claim to have many. But he was a good one.
As I was leaving work today, it occurred to me that the Gambler hit the Trifecta today. For the first and perhaps only time in the history of www.highlandcountypress.com, our home page lead story, lead column and lead obituary was the one and only Bill Horne.
He probably planned it that way just to aggravate me. And just to aggravate him, we are naming our HCP Page 5 as the Bill Horne Memorial Editorial Page. (Enter at your own risk.)
Godspeed, Bill. Your friendship, loyalty and orneriness will never be forgotten. We will toast you on occasion and quote you often.
See you at The Rocks.
A whippoorwill just sang "Taps" in southern Highland County.
Believe it.
Bill Horne passed away this week at the age of 70. He loved to hear the whippoorwills sing.
We used to ask one another each spring: "Have you heard from 'em yet?" Some years, the whippoorwills got to me before they got to Bill, even though our properties were only seven or eight miles apart. He and his neighbor and fellow Ridgerunner, Sam Snyder, had similar conversations.
When Bill purchased "The Rocks" a few years back, less than a mile from the Ryan Outpost, we'd hear the whippoorwills at the same time. The Rocks are an interesting formation most likely left over from a long ago Ice Age and rumored to have been a hideout for Morgan's Raiders.
If you've ever been there, you'll understand.
Nelson Thompson's been there. He once photographed Bill and Connie and their family at The Rocks. Of the many photos I've seen of Bill, that one remains my favorite.
Bill's brother, Jim, knows about The Rocks, too. He should, of course, because their parents used to live across the road.
Bill used to say that when he first purchased The Rocks and Jim stopped by, Jim commented that the rock formations seemed really big "when we were kids."
"And they're still big."
Bill Horne wrote his final newspaper column the day before he died. The evening of Bill's death, I revisited The Rocks. Alone. It was time well spent.
There were no whippoorwills this time of year, of course. But there was the sad call from one lonesome dove off to the east. Just one.
On one evening at The Rocks, Bill and I tried to call the whippoorwills. On Thursday evening, I tried to call back the season's last dove. No luck.
The last sound I heard before the mostly cloudy evening turned to dark was a gunshot from a nearby woods. It wasn't a 21-gun salute by any means, but being that this is deer season, I'm sure Bill hoped the hunter was on target.
I first met Bill more than seven years ago when I called him and asked if he'd consider writing a newspaper column. I told him that local newspaper readers could use someone to provide some semblance of balance to my own opinions. Bill was the perfect someone.
Back then, as far to the right that I may have seemed, Bill seemed just as far to the left. And our readers picked up on the Right vs. Left appearances.
But appearances can be deceiving.
After a few years, our weekly conversations that were once political debates had become more of philosophical discussions, if you will. In fact, I can't recall the last time Bill and I argued over much of anything.
Simply put, Bill Horne was my friend. I hope he was yours, too. His loyalty was sincere, from the heart, and ever-lasting.
He was my oldest daughter's college instructor. He aggravated Caitlin once in a while, but to her old man he always praised her, saying she was one of the brightest students he's ever had. (Of course, Bill would always add: "She must take after her mother.")
Our mutual friend, Highland County Commissioner Gary Heaton, wrote this about Bill upon news of his passing: "Highland County has lost a true friend and advocate. Bill and I started our political paths together in 2002. We did not agree on everything, but I got to see, up close, the desire Bill had to make our area better for everyone. The one thing that stood out was how many of Bill's former Southern State college students would come up to him and thank him for the difference he made in their lives through his teaching."
And, then, Gary added this on Bill's final newspaper column: "I have now read Bill's final column for the fifth time. Each time, I have found something new that will remind me of a moment in conversation Bill and I had when we found ourselves together. Bill has left a legacy and a life that will not be forgotten. How many of you have one of those gemstones polished by Bill? If you have one, when you are feeling like there are no heroes, and you have nothing to contribute, take that gemstone into your hand and read Bill's last column."
Each time I read Gary's tribute to Bill Horne, I cannot help but say, "Damn you, Gary, for bringing tears to my eyes."
But then, I realize that Gary and I aren't the only ones to shed a tear or two.
Bill and I often joked that The Highland County Press had more Whiteoak High School columnists than what was reasonably necessary. There was Bill, Darke County Engineer Jim Surber, local historian Jerry Pruitt and this Ridgerunner. All graduates of our rural Mowrystown high school.
After high school, Bill served his country in the U.S. Army and went to college on the GI Bill. He was proud of that. He received his bachelor's degree from Central State University, and earned his master's degree from the University of Dayton.
Without fail, Bill stressed to his students that higher education was the greatest equalizer. He understood what it was like growing up on a small farm in rural southern Ohio. Without an education, one's opportunities were greatly limited.
Bill even tried his level best to get me to enroll in some of his classes. I laughed. He didn't. He was serious. We compromised. He invited me (and my own academic shortcomings) to speak to a couple of his classes and explain why education is so important. I did. And, once again, the teacher made his point.
Bill liked to bet milk shakes. Years ago, he liked to gamble with higher stakes, but since I've known him, the wagers have always been milk shakes. He and I are even: one win, one loss each. My victory was that Pete Rose never pitched in a Major League regular season game. Bill claims Pete pitched in a spring training game once, but I won on a technicality.
The first year Bill ran for political office, he introduced me to his treasurer. Ken Shull. Frankly, I doubt that either Ken or I was impressed with the introduction. But Bill liked both of us. So, Ken always got the benefit of whatever doubts I may have had.
"Bill was a problem solver," Ken told us for a news story this week. "It was well known among the faculty, students and administration that if you had a problem, Bill was the go-to person.
"Bill had a teaching style that I have always admired. Like Aesop, he illustrated everything by telling a story. I feel like I have lost a brother."
Ken's comments, like Gary Heaton's are difficult to read. They cut right to the quick.
Bill was in my office for about an hour the day before he died. We talked about various issues in the news, as we always did. He apologized for missing his column deadline the week before – the only time he ever missed a deadline. Then, he took a few notes for a future column.
He also brought me a dozen fresh eggs. We've purchased our eggs from Bill and Connie for several years now.
Lately, his hens have been almost as contrary as Bill the past few weeks, and we've resorted to "store-bought" eggs. Maybe the chickens and the whippoorwills and the doves knew something the rest of us didn't.
But on Wednesday, the Old Hog Farmer brought a dozen fresh eggs.
"I don't know how many more I'll bring you," Bill told me.
We talked. And talked. His cell phone rang. It was Connie. "She can wait a few minutes," Bill said. Bill and Connie had quite the understanding, you know. Bill once told me that he and Connie had a pact: "It's OK to disagree, but let's not be disagreeable."
Before he left the newspaper office, Bill asked our online guru, marketing director and Lord knows what else, Angie Matticks if she would help him set up a website through which Southern State students could buy, sell or trade college textbooks. Angie said she would.
Bill then reached across my desk, shook my hand, and said "Thanks for everything." Little did I know those would be the final three words Bill would say to me.
Believe me, he's said a lot more interesting and occasionally inflammatory things to me!
When the news of Bill's death spread on Thursday, the calls and e-mails were unbelievable. Hillsboro City Council member Mary Brown Turner was among the first to call. "Please tell me it's not true," Mary said, not trying to hold back tears. She cried. I cried. She said "I'll stop by later." That was all either of us could handle.
Connie and I talked. Kevin Brown called, just trying to be sure everything was OK. The college called and e-mailed. Local and state media called. We shared what news we had, and we shared Bill's final, prophetic column. I thank all of you for calling, and caring.
"Life is fantastic, maybe 'fabulous' is a better word," Bill wrote the day before he died. "Life is also very short. But most importantly, it is the greatest of all gifts. During the everyday rat race to support our lives, many of us forget to live and enjoy life."
As Gary Heaton said, each time I read Bill's words, I think of something else. I think of the time Bill Lange, Brian Perkins and I fired footballs across a Walnut Street alley while Bill critiqued each pass. I think of the times I endorsed Bill and he said, "thanks for ruining my campaign;" and the times when I didn't and he said, "maybe I'll win this time."
I think of telling Bill that since the death of our mutual friend and longtime Adams County attorney Roy Gabbert, Sr., he (Bill) is the most cantankerous man I know.
Bill and I could argue, tease, antagonize and trade friendly barbs without either of us losing our temper. Perhaps that was because we both understood what loyalty and friendship really mean. Man, was Bill loyal. If he thought a friend needed help, he was right there. No questions asked.
When I needed someone to "save" a few things for me that might become newsworthy at some point in the future, I gave them to Bill. That confidence has never been broken.
Bill Horne was my friend. Outside of family, I don't claim to have many. But he was a good one.
As I was leaving work today, it occurred to me that the Gambler hit the Trifecta today. For the first and perhaps only time in the history of www.highlandcountypress.com, our home page lead story, lead column and lead obituary was the one and only Bill Horne.
He probably planned it that way just to aggravate me. And just to aggravate him, we are naming our HCP Page 5 as the Bill Horne Memorial Editorial Page. (Enter at your own risk.)
Godspeed, Bill. Your friendship, loyalty and orneriness will never be forgotten. We will toast you on occasion and quote you often.
See you at The Rocks.
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