Today, I grieve. There is much pain in growing old. You've heard comedians, lecturers of a certain age, authors and, perhaps, even those in your own family as they talk about the physical infirmities that come with the passing of years. Most of that pain has to do with bodily functions and various body parts wearing out and needing replacement.
There is, however, one pain that is almost never mentioned. That is the emotional trauma older folks feel with increasing intensity and rapidity as they bury their old and dear family members and lifelong friends. It is a deep and intimate personal pain that those of us in our advanced years understand all too well.
I am suffering that pain now. Billy Bye had been my friend for more than half a century. He was a dear confident, a reliable counselor, and a person of unrelenting compassion. That, by itself, is quite a statement because Billy knew everybody and everybody knew him and loved him. In all of the years in which he honored me with that special friendship, I never knew—nor ever heard—of anybody who didn't like Billy Bye.
His friendship, his optimistic outlook on life, his love of family, his devotion to the University of Minnesota, and his emotional commitment to the great life that could only be had living in Minnesota will stand as legendary reminders of how great he made life for all of us who were lucky enough to be a part of his sunshine. They say this about a lot of people, but Billy was truly "one of a kind."
Billy went through life picking up friends the way most people casually shake hands with people at a dinner party or reception. Except in Billy's case it wasn't ever just a handshake. Billy embraced people and put them in a special pocket near his heart. Not for just an event, nor just an evening. He held on to most of the people he met forever and he communicated that mystical connection so you readily understood that in Billy Bye you had a friend, tried and true for all time.
Here is just one example of how he made friends and kept them through the years. Back in the mid-1940s, Billy and his Mom, Dad and brother lived in Anoka. At that time, Anoka was considered a long way from the Twin Cities and the University of Minnesota. It was a time of scarcity and rationing and if you missed the streetcar, you had to thumb a ride. One day, Billy, still in high school, was hitchhiking to the U of M campus to watch a Gopher football practice. He was on one of the busier streets on the edge of downtown Anoka when a big sedan stopped, and Billy was offered a ride to downtown Minneapolis. The driver was the newly elected Mayor of Minneapolis, Hubert H. Humphrey. Billy and Humphrey were both great talkers and the talk started the minute Billy closed the door. It was a clash of the Titans of talk. Humphrey found talking to Bye—even at that young age—so energizing that he drove right past the Minneapolis City Hall and on to the University campus where Bye got out. Thus was launched one of the most enduring and deeply personal friendships either of the two men ever had throughout their lives.
I can recall an incredulous Vice President Humphrey talking to Billy, and saying, "You're always asking me to send a note to this person who is ill or speak to this group or participate in some conference for poor kids, but you never ask me to do anything for Billy Bye." In politics, everybody wants something—everybody, it seems, except Billy Bye.
That statement from Humphrey may be the best eulogy anybody could write about Billy. Because that truly summed up the Billy Bye that we knew: Nothing for himself, always thinking of others. That and my many personal memories of Billy will console me slowly over time, but what will ease my pain the most will be the memory of how lucky I was that for more than 50 years, Billy Bye was my friend.