He was a dead ringer for Harry S. Truman but his name was Dr. Howell and he was our principal at McKinley grade school.  I can still remember the damp spring day when he took the podium to say farewell to Mr. Bill.  The entire school was assembled on the playground to celebrate "Mr. Bill Day" in honor of his upcoming retirement.  We had made colorful construction paper hats in the classrooms that said "Farewell Mr. Bill" and there was excitement in the air.

It is hard to recall specifics about Principal Howell beyond his stoic face but I can still remember our school custodian, Mr. Bill, as if I had seen him last week.  Every child at school called him Mr. Bill.  William was his first name and his last name was occult
knowledge; a kind of unresolved mystery which generated many theories and discussions though never with Mr. Bill himself.  In retrospect, I think we would have been unable to pronounce his last name.  Still he might have produced the name as quickly as a smile if we had asked.

Mr. Bill walked with his shoulders hunched over.  This was understandable since he spent most of his time focusing on hard-surface floors and very short people.  Although he never seemed to stand fully erect, I think he was a man of short stature by adult standards.  His worn face was a road map of deep creases on tan, leathery skin which contrasted sharply with the stand of unruly white hair on top of his head.  Another of his features was a sizable paunch that strained the three middle buttons of his gray janitorial uniform exposing small patches of white undershirt.  One could almost pity those buttons, struggling, clinging to retain their precarious hold on the dignity of his appearance.

Mr. Bill's most important custodial duty of the day was acting as crossing guard.  On cold days he wore an oversized, pea-green, arctic style parka with a fur-lined hood.  He looked like a dogsled explorer from some frozen wasteland except for the large red octagon he gripped in one hand.  Even more imposing than his winter look was how very serious he was about our safety as we crossed over onto school property.  He ruled the intersection with a fistful of painted iron and no car, regardless of the speed, could sway him from his mission to see us all safely across.  His eyes were always on the cars but he often took the hands of the smallest among us to ensure that the less aware crossed as safely as the rest.

I sometimes wondered if it was really our Mr. Bill at the intersection since he would not joke with us or laugh or even smile very much.  I can remember gazing into the opening of his massive green arctic hood to check the identity only to recognize those undeniable traits; his face with the large round nose and the thickest pair of glasses I had ever seen.

When all students were settled in school, Mr. Bill would lighten up as the smiling janitor.  This was William's domain and I believe he was truly happy.  He was a jolly gray giant among throngs of devoted Lilliputians.  Whether he could remember them correctly or not, he told scads of harmless jokes.  Usually they were corny but occasionally they just left us puzzled.  One of his favorite tricks was to brandish a coin.  He then placed both hands behind his back.  When the two tan fists were brought back into view we were offered the coin if only we could pick the hand it was in.  We never won a single coin from him.

During school only two things could rob Mr. Bill of his smile.  The first was a stale and heartless prank--the old stuff and flush routine in which paper towels were stuffed into a urinal which was then repeatedly flushed until the tile floor of the Boys' room was submerged.  During these episodes the janitor would become angry.  Students looked on in shock as he worked feverishly over the drippy mess.  He would grit his uneven teeth as he worked.  Once, Bobby Fussner even claimed to hear him use "the S word" as he dragged his saturated mop across the violated tile floor.  I don't believe it.  The only other thing that could spoil Mr. Bill's smile was teacher intervention as children gathered around him to hear jokes, talk with him, or just bask silently in Billness.  The teachers seemed to resent these disruptions of the daily routine and seldom missed a chance to disperse the crowd.  As we parted, Mr. Bill would tramp off dejectedly to reclaim his grasp on the tools of his trade.

These cares were all behind him now.  Today was "Mr. Bill day" and there would be no more flooded floors, no teachers to spoil the fun, and no more cold mornings protecting the small ones at the crosswalk.  The farewell ceremony began with an "original" piece of music performed by Mrs. Meyer, our very high-strung music teacher.  When her slightly reworked version of "There's No Business Like Show Business" with janitorial overtones was finally finished, children hooted or booed according to preference.

After the principal had quieted us down he spoke.  In his opening remarks he told us that Mr. Bill would be leaving the school to retire and he told us all how sorry he was to see him go.  At the end of his speech he offered Mr. Bill the chance to say a few parting words.  William hobbled up to the microphone as Dr. Howell stepped away.  His white disheveled hair blew wildly in the wind and we clapped for him.  As he stood there his gaze landed cautiously on the microphone.  The applause eventually subsided but Mr. Bill scarcely moved.  After a very long period of near silence some began to mumble, "What is he doing?", "What is he supposed to do now?".  I think Mr. Bill was beginning to ask himself the same question.  The world can be a very cold place for a person leaving the warm comfort of familiar surroundings and William was going to need more than an arctic style parka to fend off the chill.

Mr. Bill finally tried to say something into the microphone but as he did a feedback echo in the P.A. system disrupted his first sentence and he paused.  After another short standoff, Mr. Bill wiped his eyes and stepped away from the microphone with a farewell wave of his hand.  A slow ripple of applause began in the crowd of students rising finally to a great clamor of small approving hands.  These were the hands he had taken as he led us safely across the street, and somehow we were using them to take him safely across too.
 

Greg Pate
MS II
First Place for Prose