RIP, Bill West

When I first moved to the Peninsula, one of its draws was the relative safety the neighborhood provided.  So it was with a certain amount of denial that I ignored for three or four months the shuffling, dragging noise I often heard either in front of or behind me while on my nightly dog walks on Speedway. 

A Yeti, I often wondered, having swum from Nepal across the Pacific?  The Peninsula Scuffler—a serial killer who, with his loud dragging gait, slowly scared Marina residents to death?   Sleestaks on Speedway?  Many such thoughts ran through my head  before I finally encountered their source on Topsail one evening. 

“Don’t worry, my prostate has been ruined by cancer.  I’m no threat.”  Those were his actual first words to me, and they still resonate with alternating glows of wonder and profundity in my head.  At the time I surmised he wanted me to know he was not a troll of the ilk that loves to hang out by the jetty after dark.  So I permitted our introduction and learned his name was William West.  Bill to his friends. 

Thus was the beginning of a years-long dog walking friendship with Bill. 

For many years prior he’d struggled with cancer, far surpassing best estimates of the Southland’s foremost oncologists as to when he would finally succumb.  Bill was not one to succumb easily; his endurance proved it, and inspires me to this day. 

As a younger man, I did my duty to listen more than I spoke (not always so easy for a guy like me), and in turn Bill did not disappoint.  He spoke of how the Beach Boys wrote many of their songs across the street from his condo, in a house that had since been torn down in favor of—you guessed it—more condos (“cheap ones, compared to mine”).  He spoke of his ongoing conflict with a neighboring apartment complex’s residents over parking; I always viewed his new chapters in this bitter battle as metaphors for the physical struggle he was constantly under.  The residents provided no shortage of “displacement” enemies.    

Most of all he spoke adoringly of his son and baby grandson, wondering all the time if he could do anything more for them before he died.  And why his beautiful wife put up with him at all.

When I finally had the courage, after many walks, to reveal the crucible of my life that occurred just before my move to MDR (a series of worsening health events that led to such depravities so dismal they need to be addressed in later blogs), he revealed that he was a renowned psychotherapist, that he could tell when he first laid eyes on me I’d been through something horrific.  And he told me he could help me get over it all. 

He helped me a great deal:  casually, when our paths crossed, with his interest in my tragedies keen and fresh—especially with regard to how each one made me feel.  And he made me a promise:  I could tell when I was pretty much healed over this stuff when I could talk about it without shedding a tear, and that until then I should keep practicing.  And I can proudly tell you I am dry-eyed now as I refuse to write about all that stuff here, knowing that I could and still remain dry-eyed. 

I am a better man having had Bill’s help. 

After a couple, three years, the shuffling sounds on Speedway stopped.  I would write to  Bill’s email from time to time to let him know I was thinking about him, knowing he would not have the strength to respond.  And, finally, just last week, I learned that the kind, if not cantankerous, brilliant soul of Dr. William West had finally been granted passage out of an epic era of suffering. 

Thought I’d pay him some respects by sharing him with you here. 

The moral of the story, Dear Reader, is obvious:  meet your neighbors. 

We are blessed in Marina del Rey to have a range of characters who are as vibrant as they are, like us all, temporary.  We pay a lot of attention to the accoutrements of the fortunate lives we lead here, why not take a chance and reach out to the people behind those things who live here with us?  For therein, in my humble opinion, lie the true riches of this blessed bit of beachfront land we share.   

I thought Dr. West was a Sleestak.  In fact, he was Co-Founder of the American Board of Psychotherapy, The American Institute for Counseling and Psychotherapy, and, most of all,  a most helpful chance friend whom I will treasure for the rest of my living days. 

Rest in peace, Bill, and thanks for everything you gave to people while you made sure they weren’t noticing. 

If you would like to see a list of Dr. West’s accomplishments, please click here:  http://www.naap.org/personalpages/west.html