An apple, belatedly
As a writer, Bill Meyer never shined brighter than when he turned his pen to the task of crafting an editorial to mark the passing of a dear friend, a community stalwart, or a respected colleague.
Nearly 20 years since the death of my father, I still experience warmth and solace when I re-read the magnanimous tome Bill scribed about him.
Now Bill has moved on, and it's a darn shame he isn't here to write about himself. I suspect a handful of readers, those who mistakenly believed "Mostly Malarkey" was more a descriptor of the man than his regular column, may breathe a sigh of relief over that.
Instead, it is left to those of us with lesser skills to capture the essence of Bill Meyer, something we do as much for ourselves as for our readers.
For me, I'll always remember Bill Meyer, the teacher. It was a role he relished, and one at which I think he excelled.
Bill had an eye for spotting and nurturing talent, even in its rawest form. I don't recall the specifics of how, as a high school senior, I ended up becoming a part-time writer for the Record, but I remember feeling wholly unequal to the task when I first sat down at the typewriter.
Bill provided exactly the right measures of instruction, feedback, encouragement, and structure I needed to develop into a somewhat respectable writer.
He was so good, he inadvertently contributed to my eventual departure from journalism school. He claimed I'd already attained the skills of an advanced reporting student, and it must have been true, because I found the introductory journalism courses at KU to be boring wastes of my time. The Squire did his job too well.
Bill delighted in taking on journalism interns, teaching them the basics of reporting, and the unique aspects of community journalism. He followed their subsequent careers with a measure of satisfaction, knowing the experience they gained in Marion made them better reporters and editors wherever they went.
Supervising interns, teaching college courses, leading educational tours, sharing his insights on television, and writing editorials and in-depth features, Bill Meyer was every bit a teacher, every bit an educator.
The last time I saw Bill in the Record office, he took a few seconds to compliment my work, and then spent the next several minutes reinforcing lessons about style and composition.
Ever the teacher. One of the best I ever had, in any venue.
Somewhere among all the flowers at Friday's service, there should have been at least one bright, shiny apple sitting on a desk.
If there had been one for every person who benefited from Bill's tutelage, there would have been bushels.
— DAVID COLBURN
