By Simon Gonzalez
The annual corn day at the Williams’ farm by the airport took place last Saturday. Friends, family and neighbors came to help themselves to the harvest, just as they have for the past 30-some years.
It’s a practice started by Dr. Bertram Williams, who became a fulltime farmer after retiring from his medical practice. Dr. Williams passed away on Nov. 16 last year, and his son, Bert Williams, is carrying on the corn day tradition to honor his father.
I was out on the farm very early Saturday morning to get a story for an upcoming issue of Wrightsville Beach Magazine. It wasn’t until I was driving home that I realized the serendipity of the date.
This year’s corn harvest took place a day before Father’s Day. For the first time in his life, Bert wasn’t able to give his dad a present. But this corn day was the best possible gift Dr. Williams could have received. By keeping corn day alive, his son continues his legacy with friends, family and neighbors.
I also lost my dad last year. George Gonzalez died in Fort Worth, Texas, on Nov. 13, just three days before Dr. Williams.
Like Bert, this was the first Father’s Day that I wasn’t able to send a present and tell him I loved him. But I, too, know the best possible gift I can give him now is to continue his legacy.
It won’t be easy.
My dad was a special man. He loved his family. He loved his friends. And he let them know about it. In every phone call, without fail, he told me he loved me and was proud of me. It didn’t matter whether I was a baseball columnist for a daily newspaper, an anonymous writer/web editor for a nonprofit, or the editorial director for a magazine. The message was the same.
Come to think of it, my job didn’t have a lot to do with it. He told me he was proud of me as a man, a husband, a dad. Knowing my shortcomings, it was more than a little embarrassing at times. But that’s just the way he was.
I left Texas with my wife and two kids — his only two grandchildren at the time — to move to North Carolina 15 years ago. I know he was disappointed, but he never said so. He was a man of faith, and was instrumental in passing on that faith. I was going to work for a Christian relief ministry, and it was ample consolation that he thought I was following God’s leading. Besides, it wouldn’t have occurred to him to put a guilt trip on anyone.
He had an incredible work ethic. He started his own phone company, prewiring apartments and houses and installing additional outlets. I saw him use a hand-held vacuum to clean up after himself.
He was a perfectionist. My sister wanted a bunny one year, but first Dad had to build it a home. It took him forever to construct that rabbit hutch, but it was the world’s best bunny house.
He saw the best in people. He might not understand why you would vote a certain way. He wasn’t shy about airing his opinions about politicians — or anyone, really — who didn’t share his “God and country” passion. But when he got to know you, you couldn’t hope for a better friend.
He never met a stranger. We were in Walmart during one of his trips to see us in Boone. By the time we checked out he knew the cashier’s name, knew that she was attending Appalachian State, what she was studying, when she was graduating, and what she wanted to do with her life.
He was cared for at hospice toward the end. I was in a little lounge area outside the room, getting some work done on my laptop. A hospital chaplain came by, and stopped to talk to me to get some information before going in. I found out his name, where he used to live, why he moved to Texas, why he became a chaplain, what he wanted to do in the future.
It occurred to me that it was something my dad would have done. I’ve got a long way to go to live up to his standards in many areas, but it’s a start. Like Bert Williams, I, too, have a legacy to fulfill.
