As the bagpiper in green plaid kilt played last Saturday, more
than 250 people bid farewell to Bill Paterson, a man made up of a
singularly eclectic combination of qualities: a swan, a scholar, a
seeker, a chef, an unusually accessible theologian and a
purturbatorist (one who stirred the manure in the Middle Ages).
As the bagpiper in green plaid kilt played last Saturday, more than 250 people bid farewell to Bill Paterson, a man made up of a singularly eclectic combination of qualities: a swan, a scholar, a seeker, a chef, an unusually accessible theologian and a purturbatorist (one who stirred the manure in the Middle Ages).
I was knocked off my feet when I first tasted Bill’s croutons. The aroma wafting through the kitchen was heavenly. Last Saturday’s printed program for Bill’s memorial service at Gilroy’s Presbyterian Church included his crouton recipe.** Bill had planned his own memorial down to a ‘T,’ prepaying the printing of 250 copies of the program, but in true Scotsman fashion had decided to let someone else pay if more were needed.
Bill did things with humor, with a little swagger and even joked with God when he prayed. Although he was my father’s age (born in 1932), he never made me feel like anything less than an equal and a colleague. One of the ways he accomplished this was with the thoughtfulness with which he engaged in dialogue over whatever subject most interested me.
When he first wrote to me six years ago, it was to weigh in on the subject of one of my columns, which criticized Bush’s pro-war stance on Iraq.
Bill had taken the time to write his rebuttal with the kind of depth and intellect that all writers dream of in their critics. Here was someone who would take the time to understand your position from all angles, making disagreement and debate possible with respect for each other remaining intact.
In spite of his own strong beliefs, Bill could discuss any aspect of religion or politics without vitriol or the need to demonize. It is a rare art to be able to both critique and encourage simultaneously, but Bill did it all the time.
One of my favorite descriptions written by Bill is this of his parents: “Mother was a serious Catholic before her untimely death. Dad was a lapsed Protestant who rarely attended church. He was admittedly a reluctant CEO (Christmas and Easter Only); but he loved to argue religion and could “prove” that baptism must be by total immersion in a big tub.
(Parenthetically, it hadn’t rained in Texas in three years, and the Southern Baptists were reduced to sprinkling, the Lutherans were using a damp rag, and the Methodists were issuing rain checks).”
His Op Ed pieces for the newspaper often stirred up debate, and the men’s Bible study he held in his home each Thursday brought together men from different churches in both Morgan Hill and Gilroy to discuss the ups and downs of the previous week and anything else they wanted to talk about.
He studied, he questioned, he reflected and he never lost the wonder – the wonder of the world around him and the wonder about worlds unseen, and worlds to come.
In spite of 17 years on the school board, he never became a cynic about politics, no easy feat. Bill emphatically believed that each one of us can galvanize change for the better around us, asserting, “One seed can start a garden, one smile can lift a spirit, one candle can light a room, one conversation can lift a spirit, one person can make all the difference, and that one is you.”
**To make Bill’s croutons: Bake fresh extra-sour Italian bread (four hours at 170 degrees) and then saute in heated light olive oil, blot, and toss in a bowl of Parmesan cheese. He added a few roasted, smoked almonds and served it with his 29-ingredient salad.
E-mail me for that recipe. Â
