Born in Albany, Calif. — Halterman’s father had a job at the shipyards in nearby Richmond — Bill moved with his family when his dad got a new job at the Ship Repair Facility at the Naval Operating Base Guam (“Crossroads of the Pacific”), a major naval repair facility, especially for the Seventh Fleet. Bill only stayed one year — his senior year of high school — but remembered the time fondly. He returned to California to attend Humboldt State University in Arcata for a forestry degree, and worked during school in timber cruising — surveying stands of timber for potential harvesting by nearby lumber mills.
Plans changed when he met a girl: Jeanie, a fellow student, caught his eye, and he quit school to support her and start a family. Staying in Arcata, he took a job in the propane industry, where he excelled in sales and customer service. He was promoted to manage the company’s outlet in Willow Creek, a popular student weekend getaway along the Trinity River, 30 miles away on a winding road. He volunteered with the local fire department for about a decade, and on the side he worked at a lumber mill to pay for a new hobby: he got his pilot’s license, which proved handy for the next stage.
He moved his family to Anchorage, Alaska, still working in the propane industry, pulling in huge contracts from the oil fields, which greatly pleased his bosses. On weekends, he built a house on the shore of Flathorn Lake near Susitna: he built a sawmill to cut the lumber, but everything else was brought to the property by his plane, boat, or snow machine. He built the house himself, with some help from his son and brother-in-law. After 23 years in Alaska, he and Jeanie retired to Hawaii.
Bill liked to ride motorcycles, but as he grew older he switched to scooters — not little putt-putts, but bikes big enough for cross-country rides. He flew from Hawaii to his favorite dealer in Anchorage, bought one he liked, and hit the road. Not to Hawaii, of course, but down the Alcan Highway to Ridgway, Colorado, because it looked like an interesting place to stop. He liked the town, especially that it had a tiny one-man distillery.
Kit and I never went to bars in town, but now and then we’d go to the distillery, since we knew that one-man owner, and I liked to talk with him about the craft. We rarely went in the afternoon, but happened to be sitting at the bar talking with Joe as he worked one afternoon, and I turned and noticed someone sitting next to me: Bill. We hit it off immediately, and quickly discovered his Humboldt State past — that’s my alma mater. He explained he was on the way with his new scooter to San Diego, where he would put the bike on a ship to Hawaii so he could use it there. He subscribed to This is True, and upgraded to Premium. Bill said he planned to bring Jeanie on his next visit.
Jeanie liked Ridgway too, but first they invited us to visit them in Hawaii so he could show us his favorite tourist-free spots. We swam in waters warmed by volcanic vents. After 10 years in Hawaii they were tiring of island life, not to mention the lava flows coming uncomfortably close to the house from Kīlauea, which destroyed the natural pool we had swum in. They decided they’d move to Ridgway, particularly to be near us. Bill had always wanted to live in a log home, and found one he liked on the mesa a few miles from our house. First it was for the summers, then they sold the Hawaii house to stay in Ridgway full time.
Bill lived to eat and drink: after dinner he would start to plan the next one. We visited each other’s homes often; he loved my enchiladas, and I loved his barbecue. No matter which house, I was the bartender, and somehow anything I mixed up at his house tasted better than anything I mixed up at my house, with the exception of my espresso and cherry-rum martinis. We met his son and daughter when they visited, and went for walks on the mesa trails.
When Bill was declining, he called to talk. “Looks like things are winding down for me,” he said, “and I’m OK with that.” We each expressed our gratitude for the other’s friendship, and said our goodbyes to each other, although we hoped we could talk again (and we did). He had a fantastic life: 61 years with Jeanie, great friends, and long-passed dogs that he still loved and talked about. Ronald Bill Halterman died in hospice in Montrose, Colorado, on September 25, at 83. I’ll miss the hell out of him.