Mr. Willard

At the time I moved to Port St. Joe nearly a decade ago there were several offers I was considering.

But my wife and I did not want to live in a big city again; we had enough of that in our travels in the hotel industry.

Further, we wanted to put down stakes in a place where we could live the rest of our lives stoking our respective passions in a community that was, well, a community.

This area of the world appealed to us greatly, we had lived in Panama City for more than 12 years give or take, and Port St. Joe seemed to offer the best of everything we could desire.

The Memorial Day weekend we moved proved how right we were.

I'll try to briskly skip over the part where I was unable to actually park a U-Haul truck, forcing us to unload the thing before we could move it out of the sand I had managed to become mired in.

I will also quickly cover - though it never leaves my mind - the kindness of two men, Harlon Haddock and Perky White, who with chain and truck, respectively, somehow managed to free that U-Haul, though I will never quite understand how.

Maybe that is what Jesse Raffield, a standout on the Port St. Joe High School Odyssey of the Mind team featured on the front page, means when he talks about theoretical physics.

In any case, they pulled the track from what appeared to be a sandy grave without so much as any compensation than, "Thanks" responded to be "Glad to help."

I always figured they were thinking, "Geesh, what sort of idiot do we have for a neighbor here."

By the end of the day, however, another hero emerged.

As anybody who lives in Florida knows, the sunshine is mighty bright in late May, and Memorial Day weekend is one for beaches and barbecues.

Not lugging boxes and navigating furniture through doorways and since moving pretty much requires long pants, we were some fairly hot people by the time the day ended - roasted might be a more appropriate term, like a chicken on a spit.

Problem was, the air conditioner was not working correctly.

There we were huddled around a vent, as if in prayer, that was blowing nothing but lukewarm air, sweat oozing from every pore as if we were taking a sauna, lacking the relaxation part.

We inquired with our new neighbors and a fellow who was helping install a dishwasher as we were moving in and the name was pretty constant - "Mr. Willard."

Mr. Willard was Willard Richards, who tragically passed away of a heart attack last week.

Memorial Day weekend? No problem when somebody was in need, Mr. Willard came right on over.

He looked over that air conditioner, pronounced it inadequate for the job, but did what he could that evening to make it as cool as he could, but warned us, in so many words, that we were likely in for a clothing optional kind of night.

Even more amazing is that on the Monday of the holiday weekend, Memorial Day mind you, there was Mr. Willard installing a new air conditioner at the house.

Picked out one suitable for budget and coolness and holiday be darned, he was helping out, no matter how much we begged him and cajoled him that we could wait one more day, for crying out loud.

We could not believe it and from then on, seeing that old blue, if memory serves, van with his moniker on the side made me smile.

Some months later my wife just happened to see him or run into him somewhere and mentioned that we were having a problem with our clothes dryer and were heading to the coin laundry every weekend and Mr. Willard dropped what he was doing at the time to come out and take a look.

And fix it and not ask for anything beyond the cost of the small part he needed to retrieve from his van.

That was Mr. Willard, and my ephemeral meetings with him were, according to everybody in town, his modus operandi. Needed fixing, there was Mr. Willard.

Of course, the story was not destined to have a happy ending.

Mr. Willard was driving behind a trailer full of wood and building materials on the Tapper Bridge when the trailer came loose and caused a horrendous accident that ultimately cost Mr. Willard both legs.

What struck me when I went to talk to Mr. Willard and his wife shortly after the accident was the bravery both demonstrated in the face of such horrific circumstances - this was a family business that heavily relied on Mr. Willard's income without much in the way health benefits.

What also grabbed my attention were the ramp and additions being built on their house in Highland View to accommodate his disabilities, the construction donated entirely by neighbors and friends.

Just paying Mr. Willard and his wife back for the many kindnesses they had bestowed and for just being Mr. Willard, father, husband, neighbor and all-around-good-guy.

I knew my family was home.

Rest in peace Mr. Willard.