Wednesday, November 27, 2013
The mere mention of Bill brings a smile to my face. He was a human blessed with a touch of leprechaun. Mischievous. Comical. Constantly chuckling. Master of the quip. And a marvellous storyteller, on paper and orally. He could find the humour in almost anything. And that kept everyone around him loose, no small feat in the stressful, daily deadline newspaper business. Early in my career at The Free Press, I was served with a libel suit for an investigative report on a cult. I told Bill I was scared. He looked at me with nary a hint of sympathy, unleashed one of his characteristic chuckling fits and said: "Kid, you're a real reporter now." My fears vanished with the notion that this was somehow a badge of honour, not necessarily a career killer. Everyone who worked with Bill, or hung out with him in the days when the beer flowed freely, has a personal collection of "McGoo" stories, almost all of them ending with a punchline. It's a pleasure to recount these tales. Bill was a great colleague, a loveable guy and a memorable character. God bless him, Mona and their family.
