Perhaps the best thing about Enfilade is the opportunity to commune with old friends. It is always a pleasure to visit with Kelly Jones or Doug Hamm from the Vancouver area, or bump into Henry Thompson and yak about gaming in Portland. Kim Harris is someone I have missed the past couple of conventions. Kim, from the Tri-Cities, is busy with parenthood and staying ahead of the financial curve. It was great to see him; he even was able to shanghai a couple of tables to put on a Chancellorsville game.

Unfortunately Kim also brought bad news. Bill Cooper has died. If you ever met Bill, you'd never forget him. Chances are, if you never met Bill, but saw him, you'd still never forget him. At 6 foot 4, built like a rock pile, with a Marine flattop haircut, his appearance was as subtle as the Rock of Gibraltar. His stature was accompanied with a voice like a 737 accelerating to take-off, one that never knew a decibel level lower than ear splitting. Bill's enthusiasm for this hobby was boundless. Bill and Kim were very involved with founding a game group in the Tri-cities that was quite a going concern. Together they were also involved with their mid-winter gaming convention.

Bill was a great guy. He loved games. He loved to talk. Sometimes he would call me from the game room in the theater where his club met and we would chat for an hour. About games. About politics. About stuff. We were very different people. I am the last liberal on earth, Bill was to the right of ... well that place was hard to identify. He hated unions; I'm a member of the biggest union in the country. I was from the U of W, he was from Oregon. It didn't matter, we enjoyed each other. Bill had a big heart, and was willing to do whatever he could to offer help to another soul. When Dave Sullivan complained of his chronically sore back, Bill picked him up and cracked it right on the game floor at Enfilade.

I hadn't heard much from or about Bill the last couple of years. He was a Vietnam-era veteran fighting delayed stress and depression. His words at our last meeting, a few years ago were dark, and filled with foreboding. When I didn't hear from him, I was worried. Good friends, like Phil Williams, were unable to reach him. While Kim brought the bad news of Bill's death that occurred in April he also said that Bill was the happiest he had ever been. At the time of his fatal aneurysm, Bill was managing a hobby store, and having the time of his life.

I will miss the gentle giant. His unquenchable enthusiasm for gaming, Bill's generous spirit, and the mantle of ambassador for the hobby that he assumed in an ebullient, but unpretentious way, will be missed.