In Memoriam: William Hearne (1947-2009)

Merry Christmas, Bill!

2011-12-25T16:14:00.003-05:00

Bill's Bench

December 24th 2011

A Daughter's Eulogy

2011-12-16T17:01:00.000-05:00

Sorry this took so long to get posted (my fault, not hers). Here is the text, as written, of my sister's Eulogy for Dad:

"I want to start by saying: thank you so much for coming here to pay tribute to my dad. My family and I want you to know that all your thoughts and love really matter to us, just as you all mattered to my Dad.

Over these last few days, I have been taking stock of all the things that my father gave me. I won’t get to all of them, because I had the best dad in the whole world, and we’d be here for three years. But I’ve been looking in the mirror, trying to see. He gave me my short, stocky frame and my coloring. We both had bad teeth prone to cavities. I’m hoping he gave me that hair that will never really go gray. And frankly, he kind of owes me because, as anyone who has done an ounce of physical activity with him knows, he sweat copiously, no matter the temperature, all the time. Yeah, he passed that gift along to me. He also gave me the genetic disposition to get sappy and emotional at tender moments; he gave me a taste for asparagus. It’s something that has been very humbling to consider, in my simple love for him: that his legacy to me is not just the things he taught me, but it’s actually inscribed all over my body: that I gesture like him sometimes, and smile like him sometimes, and that no part of me would be here without him.

But what makes me even happier is the list of things that weren’t just gifts of chromosomes and genes, but were things I learned from watching him. He taught me that moving was always better than being still, though stillness has its place. He taught me to laugh at off-color jokes, and to make them as often as possible. He taught me to clean my plate, and to shamelessly eat other people’s left-overs too. Dad loved literally every single food except okra and, weirdly enough, kim chee, but luckily these didn’t come up very often. If you put a plate in front of him, he would eat away happily, every time. He taught me the joy in exuberant eating, though that shouldn’t surprise us, because he found joy in everything.

And I think we all know: my dad was a total rockstar. He was amazing! He accomplished so many impossible things that they became mundane. Of course he just ran fifty miles. Of course he just climbed Kilimanjaro, and then ran a marathon around the base. But lest his ironman physique fool anyone I am here to tell you: my dad also loved beer and Doritos, and he loved them a lot. How cute is that? My dad was pretention-free. I always found it so endearing: after running 17 miles, teaching a million classes at the Y and doing god knew what else, he’d lay on the couch and drink a bunch of beer and eat a ton of chips, cheerfully pouring the crumbs into his mouth when the bag was nearly empty. I want to paint you a family tableau, one that replayed itself too many times to count. Around eight o’clock we’d all sit down and pop in a movie. Dad would be horizontal on the couch, rattling his bag of Doritos and crunching loudly. We’d gripe at him: God Dad! We can’t hear the movie! but we needn’t have worried because within minutes the bag would stop rattling, and the crunching would slow and then stop. He always would sit up at the end and give us his review of the movie, which we might have believed, if we hadn’t heard him snoring away for the last two hours.

But when he wasn’t passed out on the couch, my dad was in constant motion, doing everything. His physical achievements weren’t even the most impressive thing about him, which is saying a lot. My dad could do anything capably. He taught me how to play wiffleball, how to do my taxes, how to stretch my sore hamstring, how to make friends with anyone. My dad could fix a bike, carve a turkey perfectly, pack the car. He sang beautifully. He told both really good and really bad jokes. For someone so smart, so funny, so strong, so loveable, the best part is that Dad was never haughty or superior. It would never have occurred to him to act like that. When I think of him, I picture running on the canal path with him trotting next to me, not caring how slow I was, chattering away blissfully. If we were climbing a mountain and he got a bit ahead, he’d wait at every turn. When we played baseball in our yard as little kids, he’d pitch underhand, straight at the bat, so we could know the pleasure of hitting the ball. He was never frustrated with our pace, as kids or as adults. And though he worked, uncomplaining, for thirty odd years behind a desk to support my family, he always fully supported the creative lives that my brother and sister and I have all somehow stumbled into.

Though my dad could run circles around so many of us, he was happiest when he was with people, anyone, everyone. We’d tease him, when we were all out in public together: Do you know everyone, Dad? Now it’s clear: he kind of did. My brother-in-laws was in the Supercuts at Eastview Mall two days ago. When he told the stylist he was here in town for Bill Hearne’s memorial service, five people in the Supercuts mentioned how much they loved Dad. People everywhere loved him because my father was, above all else, incredibly kind and open-hearted. My father was loving, and loved to hear anything you had to say. He had so much love that it took this many people to hold it, and if he had lived for thirty more years you know there would be hundreds more people in here. His exuberance and the way he cared for other people is, for me, the most inspiring thing about him. Though we can go on and on about how superhuman he was, the truth is that my father was, at base, and most importantly, a kind and lovely man.

My dad was like the sun. He was constant, warm, and beaming. If I hadn’t talked to him for a while, it was OK because I knew he was in motion somewhere, shining brightly. My dad, like the sun, lit things up with joy. My dad was freakishly cheerful. Maybe you all thought: no one could really be that cheerful all the time. But I grew up with the man and I have to tell you: he did not have some weird dark underside that made him to kick cats or anything like that. My dad’s joy was utterly sincere. These last few days I’ve wondered: how did he maintain these endless reserves of joy? But he just did. He couldn’t help it. That was the way he came to us. He was like the sun, and I was lucky enough to warm myself in my father’s light for thirty one years.

My father’s body gave out last Thursday, as all of ours will, sooner or later. But my Dad was right where he wanted to be: high up, surrounded by beauty and new and old friends, and as close to the sun in spirit as he could ever be. I’ll miss his light for the rest of my life, as we all will. Thank you."

Posted by James (way late).

UPDATE: this was reposted with the name of the author removed, at her request.

2011-09-17T19:54:00.001-04:00

Hey Bill!

We are running tomorrow- think of us!

On Your Birthday

2011-05-14T18:04:00.001-04:00

Bill Hearne

Hearne, Bill
May 7, 2009-May 7, 2011

Dear Bill,
We love you and we miss you,
Your friends

Published in Rochester Democrat And Chronicle on May 11, 2011

Hiking 2008

2011-05-08T12:06:00.001-04:00

posted by Bill's friends

2010-12-24T20:26:00.000-05:00

Merry Christmas, Bill! Miss you.

Dancing on the edge, The Post-Journal, Jamestown

2010-12-11T21:21:00.004-05:00

Dancing on the edge

Lakewood man shares delicate balance of reaching Denali summit

October 9, 2010 - By Lyndon Gritters, M.D.

It's method on the edge of madness ... balance on the edge of a razor ... a dance on the edge of life.

He was so close, and yet he failed to survive. Several feet under my boot, James Nasti lay quietly on the snow-packed knife-edged ridge heading to the Denali summit, the highest peak in North America. Like many, he was consumed by an obsession that he didn't fully understand. Like some, his obsession would claim his life - for there are many things that can go wrong.

THE METHOD

For days, the wind howls endlessly, ripping at our sanity and our tent fabric. Under the unblinking eye of the Alaskan midnight sun, we are smothered under the incessant whiteout of a week-long storm, the trip only just begun. Instead of climbing, we are reduced, frustrated, to merely surviving. Yet, it is a relatively comfortable survival provided by synthetic insulation, goose-down and ritual. Every four hours, we dig out accumulated snow from around the tent; every six hours, we boil water and eat; every eight hours, we repair the snow walls protecting us from the gale; and every 24 hours, we exercise and sleep. Time slows, one day becomes a week, and as we wait, we disappear into whatever paperback novel keeps us sane. Up ahead, someone has died.

After years of preparation, Bill Hearne, of Fairport, N.Y., collapses above Windy Corner.

"For Bill, running, climbing, teaching spin classes and just basically being a perpetual motion machine was fun. And it was the kind of fun he loved to include other people in. It was a welcoming, patient, laughing, goofy, grinning, all-inclusive fun. He was just one of those guys who met you and made you feel like an old friend in the same moment."

Windy Corner - the crux of the route to advanced base camp - is not technically challenging, but the first major step up a deceptively difficult mountain.

At advanced base camp, flags from all over Europe, Asia and South America quaver under the malevolent gaze of indifferent mountain sentinels known as Hunter and Foraker. The capricious weather is now placid and brilliantly sunny as we set tents and build snow walls. An open-air latrine sits like a naked throne at the edge of camp, and a cornucopia of languages contributes to the low level din of activity. A South Korean team ropes up to head out to high camp, a squad of Navy SEALS lazily suns themselves, an Italian group argues about a snow wall and a French party chatters excitedly over lattes.

With the sunset, temperatures plummet 20 degrees, and with the dawn, our fortunes permanently change for the worse. Two of our climbers retch and hack through the night, and eventually quit the following day due to the altitude. One of those lost is a guide, leaving us a party of five climbers with just one remaining guide. One more loss and the whole expedition will have to turn around.

THE BALANCE

The Denali headwall, a 50-degree 600-foot high angled ice wall heading to high camp, is a challenge that all climbers must confront on the way to the summit. It is intimidating to most, and can be brutal. Once surmounted, however, the climb gratefully follows the gentle rocky sinuous spine of the West Buttress route leading to high camp at 17,200 feet. High camp! Through the sleepy morning haze, the sharp crunch of cramponed boots on hard packed snow grows until it seems to come from inside my own head. I lie cocooned in my sleeping bag, wondering why my guide, John, seems so agitated.

"Lyndon - get up - we need you over here - now. Hurry."

My patient is lying, ashen, in his sleeping bag, complaining of chest pain. Despite having summited without difficulty the day before, he now looks terrible and requires immediate evacuation. After getting aspirin into him, park service climbing rangers strap him into a litter, and lower him 3,000 feet down the 60-degree rescue gully back to advanced base camp, where a helicopter whisks him away to Anchorage the same day. I never heard how he made out.

That night the weather deteriorates, forcing our team to make an unfortunate decision. We have a weather window of only three days before we have to depart the mountain. We will attempt the summit the next morning and take our chances with the unpredictable weather before things get worse. The next morning, shortly after leaving camp, however, something tells me to stop. My legs aren't right, the wind is heaving, and billowing purple clouds now obscure the route up to the Denali pass. I stop the team and I leave the rope. I decide to stay behind, watch my friends climb, and let go of the summit after six months of intense preparation. My team members seem puzzled that I have given up, but they remain silent. I am all right with my decision.

I watch anxiously as my friends ascend into the gathering maelstrom, and I finally lose them at 19,000 feet. Eighteen endless stumbling hours later they return to high camp - a normal summit bid usually taking around 12 hours. Two have fallen but have been caught by the fixed lines, and twice they have temporarily lost their way. One climber promptly vomits. I make hot tea and am glad that they are back, but I am also secretly jealous of their summit success. I am still (mostly) all right with my decision.

THE DANCE

Early the next morning, with one day left before we must depart the mountain, a neighboring team's guide approaches my tent, explains that they are making a summit attempt, and offers me a spot on his rope. The catch? I have to be ready to leave in 30 minutes.

It is hard to dance without toes. Despite having the warmest boots available and having ascended 1,000 feet to the top of the pass, my toes are now unmovable and completely numb. My issue is a common malady. In my scramble to join the other team, I didn't have the time to get hot morning liquids into my body, and the price for my omission is steep. Most frostbite isn't simply a matter of bad boots. It is usually a combination of cold, dehydration, exhaustion and poor judgment.

It is now my turn for fate to hang in the balance. It is a risk, but I decide to take my boots off to inspect my toes as the wind roars around me. The wind chill here is so severe that any exposed skin is at risk for loss. Taking a glove off - even momentarily - can result in frostbite. My toes seem to be dead, but an angel appears, silently hands me a pack of chemical toe warmers, and vanishes.

As I negotiate the narrow ridge leading to the small angled summit plateau, I step near a small buried mound of polyester covering the remains of James Nasti. The wind, so vicious several hours ago, has vanished, and in the late afternoon sun the Brooks Range is peacefully laid out in an amazing Technicolor repose all around. Our all-consuming goal, the summit, is a small angled shelf no bigger than a walk-in closet. From this vantage point, I can see our entire West Buttress route 13,000 feet below.

James Nasti was fit and climbing well the entire trip. Just before attaining the summit, he unexpectedly fell forward on his ice axe, slid head-first several feet down the slope and died. No one knows why. Resuscitation efforts failed, and as weather closed in, his team reluctantly abandoned him. His body was ultimately judged too difficult to recover due to altitude, weather and topography, and he was buried there with his family's approval. He is the only climber to be buried on the Denali summit.

More deaths occur following my departure from Denali high camp the next day.

"Two surgeons who were longtime mountain climbing partners have died after falling thousands of feet on Denali. The two were roped together and plummeted at least 2,000 feet to their deaths Thursday while on the Messner Couloir," the National Park Service said. "The two men were alone and had begun an ascent of the West Rib on May 30. It was unclear if they had gone off-route on their way up or were coming down a different way when the accident happened."

I immediately call my family on a satellite phone to let them know that I am safe and not one of the physicians who had recently died. For every death, 500 individuals summit successfully. Like most climbers, I survive, depart with 10 fingers and toes intact, and even manage to have fun.

This time, the method was sound, the balance was right and the dance was good.

(posted by Bill's friends)

2009 Denali Expedition

2010-11-23T21:46:00.002-05:00

Five Months Ago Bryan Howell Wrote

2009-10-06T21:38:00.004-04:00

TUESDAY, MAY 12, 2009

Bill Hearne

We lost one of the good guys a few days ago. His name was Bill Hearne.

Bill was a good friend of my sister Debbie’s, and I first met him years ago, back when I was living in Rochester. He and several of his running friends were going out to the Adirondacks to camp, hike, maybe do a little rock climbing, and just generally relax in the woods and enjoy each other’s company. My sister was part of this yearly tradition, and she invited me to come.

So I went. And that’s when I met Bill, and learned his unique definition of the term hiking.

See, for many people, hiking means going for a nice walk in the woods, maybe zipping up a little ridge, taking some pictures, going back to the tent and roasting marshmallows. That’s definitely what it meant to me, at the time.

For Bill, hiking meant waking up at some ridiculous hour of the morning – one that my mind has since blocked out – and heading out in a rainstorm intense enough to drown a carp. As we headed down the muddy trailhead, we passed another hiking couple, already in full retreat. As they passed us, the husband announced: “It has been decided. We are going shopping.”

But Bill led his group onward, and we jogged straight up a 4000-foot mountain (they don’t seem to understand the concept of the switchback in the Adirondacks, so I mean straight up), then down the other side, then up another one, then back again, down and up and down, the whole way back. Jogging. It was 14 miles. I counted.

That hike is one of my favorite memories, and the last thing I remember from that day is passing out in my tent as Bill and the rest of the Old School stayed up and partied.

The next morning, again godawfulearly, Bill invited me to join him for an actual jog. I politely declined. Mostly because I still could not feel my legs.

To say that Bill was an athlete is an understatement. Bill was theathlete. Back on that trip, when I was 19 and full of amazement at my own athletic skillz, Bill was around fifty, and I remember seeing him for the first time. He just looked like a normal guy. A little paunch around the belly, even. I did not yet realize that he was, in fact, the Terminator.

But there are lots of great athletes out there. The thing that was so great about Bill was how completely humble he was about it. Living in San Francisco, you get the idea that athletic ability gives you some sort of license to carry a chip on your shoulder and indulge in endless self-appreciation. If they put it to a vote, I’m willing to bet a good percentage of the population here would opt to have the city covered in mirrored surfaces.

Bill was not like that. For Bill, running, climbing, teaching spin classes, and just basically being a perpetual motion machine was fun. And it was the kind of fun he loved to include other people in. It was a welcoming, patient, laughing, goofy, grinning, all-inclusive fun. He was just one of those guys who met you and made you feel like an old friend in the same moment. There aren’t enough people like that around anymore. Especially now.

I was never very close with Bill, but I got an email from him a few years ago. I had just climbed Mt. Rainier, and he had heard about it through Debbie. So he sent me an email, telling me he was training for a climb on Denali, and wanting to know if I was interested in joining up.

I have to admit, I had a hard time writing a response that did not include the phrase “completely nuts” in it. Not for Bill’s sake – the guy was a machine, and I had no doubt that he’d make his way up Denali. But I had barely finished my Rainier climb, and I could not imagine the discipline I’d need for Denali. So I wrote back, saying thanks, but no thanks, and keep in touch, and good luck.

After years of preparation, Bill made it to Denali, where he died suddenly in the middle of his climb, carrying supplies from one camp to another. They say he went quickly, and without suffering. They say he died doing what he loved, and in one of the most beautiful spots on Earth. I’m glad for all those things.

But most of all, even though I didn’t know Bill as well as some of his many friends, all I can say is that Bill is one of the best people you could ever hope to meet, and if you never got the chance to go on a hike with him, then you really, really missed out.

May 15th 2009 Denali Expedition - Insiders' Account

2009-07-22T21:45:00.009-04:00

Day 1- Friday: We were postponed leaving Talkeetna due to weather. The TAT had their offices and hanger and bunkhouse across the road and hostel-type accommodations across the street/RR. When we woke, it was drizzling and overcast w/a low ceiling.
We had break at the Roadhouse and called TAT at 7:00am. We finally left Talkeetna at 11:45 and landed at KIA at 12:15pm.
The flight in on the Havilland Otter was breathtaking and even that doesn’t describe it.
I felt like a little kid marveling at all the neat animals at the zoo! I was ecstatic beyond words looking at the mosquito and bear infested marshes. I can see why Dr. Cook said any expedition to McKinley is a maritime endeavor.
The glaciers and lower snow-capped peaks, my God! It’s beyond anything I’ve ever seen. The ridges are all snow and serac. Ice covered knives and bergschrunds that would swallow an RV. And the real gem…Denali.
It completely silenced me in awe and dare I say, fear. The sheer vertical rise it lords over the rest of the Alaskan Range is impossible to understand until one sees it for themselves. It left me speechless. I looked over at Dan. I don’t know which was bigger, my eyes or my mouth. The severity of the trip finally hit home.

http://www.summitpost.org/trip-report/523722/Denali-2009-Summit-Bound-with-a-bunch-of-Nachos-.html

posted by Bill's friends

2 Mount McKinley climbers fall to their deaths

2009-06-13T11:47:00.001-04:00

ANCHORAGE, Alaska – Two experienced climbers fell more than 2,000 feet to their deaths on Alaska's Mount McKinley, raising this year's death toll on the mountain to four, officials said Friday.

John Mislow, 39, and Andrew Swanson, 36, were roped together when they fell Thursday afternoon along Messner Couloir, a steep, hourglass-shaped snow gully on the 20,320-foot mountain, North America's tallest peak. National Park Service rangers used a helicopter to recover their bodies Thursday evening.

The climbing partners began an ascent of the mountain's West Rib route on May 30.

Park Service spokeswoman Maureen McLaughlin said many factors about the fall remain unknown, including its starting point and whether the climbers were descending or still ascending the mountain, which is in Denali National Park and Preserve. Climbers are not required to disclose their descent route, although some do anyway. Mislow, of Newton, Mass., and Swanson, of Minneapolis, did not.

Rangers hope to learn more after viewing photographs in cameras belonging to the climbers, as well as from interviews with other climbers.

McLaughlin said the men fell at least 2,000 feet to Messner Couloir's base at 14,500 feet. Other climbers saw at least part of the fall, she said.

Rangers at the 14,200-foot camp were notified by radio within minutes of the accident. Three skiers in the vicinity were first to reach the climbers.

The deaths were confirmed by rangers, including medics, who were following close behind.

Rangers say Mislow and Swanson were seasoned mountaineers. In 2000, the two received the Denali Pro Award in recognition of setting the highest standards of mountaineering for safety, self-sufficiency and assistance to fellow climbers.

The two helped several teams in distress that year and assisted with visitor protection projects, McLaughlin said.

Swanson, who was single, was an orthopedic surgeon and practiced alongside his father, Gene, and older brother, Kyle, at the Orthopaedic and Fracture Clinic in Mankato, Minn., where he grew up. Each day, he commuted 60 miles from Minneapolis to the northeast, staying with his parents if he was on call, said his mother, Eydie Swanson. Kyle Swanson headed to Alaska on Friday to bring home his brother, she told The Associated Press in a phone interview.

While on Mount McKinley, Andrew Swanson called his parents every two days from his satellite phone. They last heard from him Tuesday, when he said the plan was to summit on Wednesday. If they couldn't summit on Wednesday, the two planned to turn around and head down.

Another call announcing the summit was expected but never came, Eydie Swanson said. That made her uneasy, but she reasoned the satellite phone had given out.

Eydie Swanson's voice broke as she talked about her son. She said he was a pilot and was passionate about climbing and bicycling. Most of all, she said, he loved donating his time twice a year in Africa as part of a mission working with children with severe spine deformities.

"He had the most wonderful face in the world," Eydie Swanson said. "He was so handsome, so kind, so irresistible. If you knew him, you loved him."

Mislow, a neurosurgeon, was married with children, McLaughlin said. He was a resident in the neurosurgery department at Brigham and Women's Hospital in Boston.

Mislow's family was requesting privacy for the time being, according to department chairman Arthur L. Day, who called Mislow a brilliant surgeon and researcher.

He was tirelessly dedicated to excellence, and always exhibited and demanded the best of himself and others in personal ethics and performance," Day said in a prepared statement. "His death is devastating to us all; the world has lost a great light, and his presence will be sorely missed."

Mislow and Swanson's deaths bring to four the number of fatalities at McKinley so far this year. There were a total of four deaths last year. The most deadly year was 1992, a bad storm year, when 11 people died on the mountain, McLaughlin said. Many years there are no fatalities. Altogether, 106 people have died on McKinley since 1932, when the first two deaths occurred, according to Park Service statistics.

In early May, 61-year-old climber William Hearne of Fairport, N.Y., collapsed after this team reached 13,500 feet and was pronounced dead soon after. On May 19, 41-year-old Gerald Myers, a chiropractor from Centennial, Colo., vanished after he left his climbing partners at 14,200 feet to make a solo summit attempt. His body has not been found, but McLaughlin said he is presumed dead. Searchers looking for him located the bodies of two Japanese climbers who went missing last year.

posted by Bill's friends

Bill in Yoga

2009-06-07T21:39:00.006-04:00

Bill practiced yoga for 4-5 years, and was a certified Yoga Fit and Yoga Stretch instructor.
Every Tuesday and Thursday morning Bill would be at the Metro Y in his Run’n’Ride from 5:30 – 6:30, followed by Spinning from 7:15 – 8.00 am. In between he would squeeze a 6.30 am yoga class, for practice, and then around 9.30 he would teach his Yoga Stretch class.

Bill practiced yoga with full attention and focus. His 6.30 am practice class represented his private time, when he was not preoccupied with community building, or encouraging and motivating others. Rather, his private practice represented a challenge to let go of all that, and explore the line between what he wanted to do with his body, and what was truly feasible. His heroic persistence did not always work for him. Some people are just not able to arch into an elegant Downward Facing Dog, a Cobra, or a full Lotus pose. Though quite advanced in his yoga practice, Bill knew when to push, and when to surrender into the Child pose. He could do strong Warriors, but for some reason could not transition from Three Legged Dog into a Lunge in one move. This did not bother him. His yoga was more physical, than spiritual - he would be the first one to admit that. But he liked our yoga rituals, starting with “grounding”, and ending with relaxation (what Bill would call his Snoring pose), and closing with the traditional yoga greeting "namaste”, which roughly translates as “the light in me recognizes the light in you”.

Bill would never leave the yoga room without uttering that greeting. Whether he was aware of it or not, he had thoroughly internalized the "namaste" greeting and all that it meant. His internal light recognized the light in all the people he encountered.

Bill’s yoga friends from Carlson YMCA.

2009-06-04T12:48:00.002-04:00

A couple of people asked me to append my talk from Bill's memorial service, so here it is:

I’m Kristen Kessler from Mercury Opera Rochester and I feel privileged to have known Bill. He was one of the founders of the opera chorus group that some of us started in the late 90s, and I got to know him very well as he became a board member and the treasurer, as well as continuing to perform with us. We sang together both in the chorus and regularly in quartets, we worked together on the finances of the group and numerous other issues, and we also ran and hiked together occasionally. I got to know Bill mostly through the good times, but I really came to appreciate him in the many struggles that the group had. In all the difficult times that we went through, Bill had an amazing ability to listen to very emotionally charged discussions, stay calm, manage the conversation, and keep everything in perspective. He had a serious side which he managed to keep under cover most of the time, but when you needed it, he was amazingly even-tempered and thoughtful.

I also appreciate Bill’s other side – the lighter side. Like many of us in the opera, Bill liked to dress up and make a fool of himself on stage. In looking through the Mercury Opera photos earlier this week, I was impressed with the number of different soldier costumes and peasant costumes that he wore. (The chorus regularly appears as either soldiers or peasants.) He was a blast to be staged with because he was never a stiff, never nervous, and he always knew his music. Sometimes he was still learning it in the dressing room beforehand, but by the time we got to the stage he had it down. He was a consummate flirt, especially on stage, and rarely missed an opportunity to have a laugh, or to go on a new adventure. He was a true energizer bunny and I still have no idea how he managed to fit in everything that he did.

Never one to miss a party, Bill was always the first one to volunteer to drive me home from the cast party when I had one glass of wine too many. That generally happens at about a glass and a half of wine, so over the years there were many varied opportunities for me to use his chauffeur services. He had a great sense of humor, and his energy, determination, and adventures were an inspiration to all of us.

The chorus of Mercury Opera Rochester had a concert last weekend, performing party scenes from a number of different operas. It seemed fitting that we dedicate those performances to him, because as we all know, Bill loved a party. And of course, Bill would have wanted to have a beer (or several) with us after the concert, so we did go out afterward to shed a tear together and raise a glass in his honor.

I sang with him, I worked with him, I ran with him, and I hiked with him. I’m sure he was just as surprised to find himself on the other side of this life as we were to find him gone from us. Bill was a great friend and I will miss him terribly.

YMCA Carlson Adventure Club 2008

2009-06-02T22:42:00.009-04:00

He climbed the trailless peaks first

2009-05-31T19:58:00.002-04:00

I have been fortunate enough to know Bill for almost my whole life. Bill and Deven have been close friends of my parents since before I was born in 1976. This friendship our families both have led to my sister and I growing up spending time with the Hearne kids. When I look back on Bill’s life I feel very fortunate to have known Bill and Deven as I was a child, young man, and as an adult.

When I was younger, my sister, father, and myself would go camping each summer with Bill, James (we called him Jamie back then), Libby, and Jennet. Each year we camped at a different park across New York State. We shared a camp site and had all kinds of fun hiking, swimming, playing wiffle ball, cooking, building campfires, and roasting marshmallows. Rain or shine we always went, and we always had fun.

Our two families have rented adjacent cabins on Eagle Craig Lake in the Adirondacks for at least the last 20 years. We would swim together, hike together, canoe, have more camp fires, singing, story telling, and staying up late watching the stars. I climbed most of the Adirondack high peaks I’ve done in the region with the Hearne family as well. I remember climbing Big Slide with Bill when he reached the final of the ADK 46 highest peaks. When we reached the top someone had brought Champaign. Bill had a drink and remarked “Champaign never tastes as good as it does on top of a mountain.”.

There was never a shortage of noise coming from the Hearne cabin, and it echoed across the lake, so I am sure everyone knew when we were renting those two cabins. I never thought about this until now, but one things I am REALLY going to miss is the sounds of Bill and Deven arguing in the cabin. After finishing our meal at the Eschmann cabin, us kids would trickle down to the beach area to watch the sun go down. Inevitably the Hearne’s would still be finishing dinner or doing the dishes, and some sort of difference of opinion would pop up, and we would be serenaded with the sounds of Bill and Deven discussing this difference of opinion. Yes Deven, it echoed across the lake, and I will miss it immensely.

Bill really could make friends with anyone. If you have hiked with Bill in the Adirondacks, you probably know that when he was doing his 46 peaks, he did the tailless ones FIRST. He was fond of that story, as I recall, and not bashful of sharing it with any and everyone he met on the trail. I also am pretty sure that Bill was responsible for the Ausable club not allowing hikers to ride the bus any more. You see, after one of our hikes of the high peaks, we raced down the mountain to try and catch the last bus back to the parking lot. As we flagged down the bus, the driver was not about to let a dirty sweaty shirtless Bill Hearne and a group of dirty kids aboard the bus until he put his shirt back on. He did, but it was no match for the smell of hours of hiking. I’m pretty sure the next year the club changed their rules to not allow non-club members aboard the buses.

Seeing Bill and the Hearne family every year up at the Adirondacks is something I will always treasure. Our two families grew older together. As I graduated High School, College, and eventually started working at Kodak, Bill and Deven were always there to hear how things were going, offer advice, and Bill shared stories of his hikes, swims, and bike rides. It’s amazing to look back and see how easily the transition went from “Good afternoon Mr and Mrs Hearne.” to “Hey Bill and Deven, nice to see you again, need a beer Bill?”. Bill always made things like that easy.

It’s tough to balance the sorrow I feel when I think of Bill’s passing, with the positive feelings I know I should have over the wonderful life Bill led and the many lives Bill has touched. When I think of Bill I will try and remember what Libby said at the Memorial Service, that Bill was a “freakishly cheerful” man, and that’s the way I want to remember him.

- David Eschmann

Bull Run Run 2008 50 miles Blue Bells

2009-05-28T13:16:00.004-04:00

Photos from the Bull Run Run 2008. Copyright Aaron Schwartzbard.

http://aaronpics.com/?gstring=brr08&sgid=109&sgpage=10

Posted by Bill's friends.

Mary Oliver: When Death Comes

2009-05-22T10:19:00.003-04:00

When death comes
like the hungry bear in autumn;
when death comes and takes all the bright coins from his purse

to buy me, and snaps the purse shut;
when death comes
like the measles-pox;

when death comes
like an iceberg between the shoulder blades,

I want to step through the door full of curiosity,wondering:
what is it going to be like, that cottage of darkness?

And therefore I look upon everything
as a brotherhood and a sisterhood,
and I look upon time as no more than an idea,
and I consider eternity as another possibility,

and I think of each life as a flower, as common
as a field daisy, and as singular,

and each name a comfortable music in the mouth
tending as all music does, toward silence,

and each body a lion of courage, and something
precious to the earth.

When it's over, I want to say: all my life
I was a bride married to amazement.
I was the bridegroom, taking the world into my arms.

When it is over, I don't want to wonder
if I have made of my life something particular, and real.
I don't want to find myself sighing and frightened,
or full of argument.

I don't want to end up simply having visited this world.

Posted by Bill's friends

Saying Goodbye to Bill

2009-05-20T15:47:00.002-04:00

Here are the words I prepared for Bill's Memorial Service last week:

My name is Russ McKnight, and I had the privilege of spending the last 10 days of Bill’s life with him. I thought the best gift I could give to everyone today would be a brief glimpse at that time we shared together.

TUESDAY – APRIL 28th
Bill and I hooked up in Minneapolis for the direct flight to Anchorage, Alaska. We both were excited and a little nervous. Climbing Denali represented a very important part of Bill’s goal to summit the highest points in every state. As you know, Denali, at 20,350 feet, is not only the highest mountain in Alaska, but in North America as well. Bill liked to dream big.

WEDNESDAY – APRIL 29th
Today we explored the city, and Bill immediately loved Anchorage - its broad streets and wildness, with bear and moose sharing the downtown bike trails. Anchorage was just feeling the first days of spring, and the winter cleanup – plus the additional cleanup requirement from the recent Redoubt volcanic eruption – were underway at full speed. The good weather put a smile on every face, including Bill’s.

THURSDAY – APRIL 30th
We rented bikes and circled the city on excellent bike paths. We were warned of bear maulings, but naturally Bill hoped we would have an encounter. No bears, but we were treated to a moose grazing by the path.

FRIDAY – MAY 1st
Bill had worked hard planning and preparing for the expedition, and was very eager to meet our guides and fellow trekkers. The introductions were followed by a detailed “gear check.” Many of Bill’s items were declared redundant, and if you know this about Bill, was both and bane and blessing to him. We culled a few items and added some more – we were ready to begin!

SATURDAY – MAY 2nd
We were packed and picked up at 6 a.m. The long drive north went quickly with views of Denali getting closer. Our excitement continued to grow as we reached the Talkeetna airport, where we weighed all of our gear and prepared the aircraft for departure to the Base Camp on the Kahiltna Glacier. Bill enjoyed the flight immensely as the plane flew daringly close to peaks and ridges before landing safely on the southeast fork of the glacier.

SUNDAY – MAY 3rd
We packed our personal gear, plus tents, food, stove, and other team gear into our packs and sleds. It was a fairly hard day – only 5 miles, but uphill with about 100 pounds each. Bill was annoyed at having misplaced his glacial sunglasses, but his great sense of humor served him well as he donned a substitute pair I fashioned out of a regular pair of sunglasses and every climbers’ favorite staple, duct tape.
MONDAY – MAY 4th
Bill loved the act of climbing itself, and the short but steep ascent to Camp 2 was his best day. He seemed to be adjusting to the altitude, and we were beginning to learn the routine of life on the glacier.

TUESDAY – MAY 5th
The climb to Camp 3 was very difficult. Bill rested that afternoon and did some soul-searching about the situation. The rest of our group were in their 30’s, and Bill wondered, as did I, if he would be a drag on the team.

WEDNESDAY – MAY 6th
We were buoyed by a full day of rest on Wednesday after 3 tough days. We also realized that all of our next climbs would be shorter and not full carries, meaning that we would stage – or cache – our gear with rest days at each new camp.

THURSDAY – MAY 7th
We began Bill’s last climb. He was strong during the first two legs, but found the final ascent into the famous “Windy Corner” to be difficult. When reaching the crest, his spirits rose and he took many photographs. This reminded me to get my camera out, at which time I took the photo of Bill that many of us now treasure. Moments later, near the very end of our objective for the day, Bill suddenly collapsed.

Bill carried an unopened birthday card, and looked forward to spending his 62nd birthday on Denali, which was Monday, May 11th. I took the liberty of opening the card, and left it with him on the mountain.

Bill touched all of us profoundly, a “communitizer” to the end. I bring you these 3 comments from his teammates who are still on the mountain:

From Kevin Woolsey, a fireman in Anchorage, Alaska:
To Bill: “I only hope I have half the energy and passion you have at 62. You will never know if you never try. God Bless, keep smiling, and enjoy the view.”

From our Lead Guide, Dave Ahrens:
“To a person who loved the mountains and had a passion for life. Many people at age 62 would be afraid to break out of their comfort zone. Not Bill. He was the most positive of the group from day one, and his smile was contagious. As a guide, this was the hardest day of my life. I take comfort knowing Bill died in an amazing place doing what he loved to do. My heart goes out to his family and all his friends. God bless.

And finally, from Giles Corbally, Wimbledon, England, who I think speaks for us all:
“…he brought an infectious enthusiasm for everything, even when the going got rough…I feel honored to have shared the adventure. Denali will always be Bill’s mountain.”

Epilogue: As it has been for all of you, saying goodbye to Bill has been difficult. Before I left him, I knelt down and told him where we were, and why we had come to this beautiful place, this mountain that had called him home. Then I kissed him three times - once for his family, once for his friends, and once for me. Bill seemed totally at peace.

Russ McKnight

Bill, you made everyone feel special

2009-05-18T17:14:00.003-04:00

It's hard to run into anyone in this community who didn't know of Bill. I am not an Oven Door Runner. I'm a triathlete and I met Bill through the Y Tri in 2001. It was 6 weeks after the birth of my son and I was so far from form...... yet he was so encouraging and so enthusiastic..... he timed my start time so I could pump!!!! The Y Tri became one of my favorite races, and I went back many times. We triathlete types don't like to race in the winter...... but how could you not when Bill was the director?

I remember the first time I signed up for the Hearnish 10K. I didn't know what it meant. I think it was Rauni who smiled at me and said...... Hernish miles are not real miles...... and with that I understood. I quickly learned what a Hearnish mile was.

The hard way.

My group runs on the canal every few weeks, we begin at Schoen Place and run towards Bushnell's Basin. About halfway to the Basin we cross paths with Oven Door Lite. Along with Doug, Jim and "Guppy" the only other person I'd know was Bill. Every time we passed you guys he'd have the loudest GOOD MORNING!!!!!!! Those Sunday morning moments were things I'd look forward to. I haven't run there since. I will this week, and I hope that you are out there too.

I didn't know Bill all that well, yet wherever I'd run into him I felt as if I was his best friend. As the news of his passing spread through the community..... people whom I didn't even realize ran.... knew Bill. I'd hear..... hey you have to take Bill Hearne's spinning class..... but never come on his birthday! I remember promising him I'd make it to one of his classes. And I never did.

There are people who leave behind performances and records...... but then there is a man named Bill Hearne. Who left behind community. He touched so many people through the years, he built an incredible community. As someone who did not know him all that well..... you can feel and see the feelings of family and friendship and love that he fostered through all of you. His energy was and still remains contagious.

As I looked at the picture that was taken moments before he was called home, I thought..... wow....... what a lucky guy. I imagine he saw the most beautiful sight and felt such incredible happiness at that moment.

So thanks Bill..... I can't tell you what an honor it was to know you. You have had a magical way of making people feel incredibly special..... no matter who they are.

Mary Eggers

Adirondack Adventures

2009-05-16T22:21:00.003-04:00

These past few days have been difficult, since learning of Bill's death. We have been friends for over 35 years. I am amazed just saying that-35 years! I remember Bill coming over to our apartment on Cor Mar Lane to joyfully announce the birth of their first child, Jennet. What a proud father.
We vacationed together in the Adirondacks each fall, renting adjacent cabins on Eagle Craig Lake. Our kids spent many hours together, running full speed off the dock and jumping into the water, or trying to see who could balance the longest on a floating inner tube. And Bill was right there with them. The child in him was alive and well. At night we sat around the campfire roasting marshmallows and singing crazy songs that Jennet and Libby had learned at camp. "I Like to Eat Apples and Bananas" was a favorite. There was always a contest to see who could spot the first bat and the first star. As the sky darkened, and the fire burned low, we searched the sky for shooting stars, while snuggling in wool blankets taken from the cabin, as the night chilled. Only Bill seemed content wearing shorts and tevas.
We climbed a number of high peaks together in the Adirondacks. And when Paul was unable to hike with me, due to an injury, Bill happily accompanied me-even climbing Allen, a dreaded 12 hour trail less hike, with no view on top.
This past Fall, I decided to attempt my 41st-45th peaks, so that I could finish the 46 High Peaks in August of 2009 on our annual vacation. At the last moment, I found myself without a climbing partner for Cliff mountain. I quickly called Bill. He managed to rearrange his schedule, finding substitute instructors for his classes at the YMCA, and accompanied me on a quick two day back packing trip in the Adirondacks. The hike in to the leanto was 7.5 miles, with full packs. Bill carried most of the weight. Temperatures dropped into the 20's over night. There was ice on the trail the next day.
As I attempted to climb a steep rock face, my hand slipped from a tree trunk and I fell backwards off the cliff, landing in a tree. Bill yelled, "Don't move, don't move" and climbed down to help me. I was not seriously injured, just shaken up. I could have fallen much further if the tree hadn't caught me. Bill encouraged me to keep going, that I could still make the top. We found an alternate route up the cliff. Bill carried my day pack for me, and we continued on to the summit.
Bill was always ready to help a friend, and enjoy an adventure in the process. He used to say that scars are just tattoos with better stories. When I finish my 46 peaks this August, Bill will be with me, just as we had planned. Bill always had a little time for each of us, but left us wanting more. We will miss you Bill. Love, Laurie and Paul Eschmann

Boot Prints on a Muddy Trail

2009-05-15T07:09:00.001-04:00

“Boot Prints On A Muddy Trail” - Thinking of Bill Hearne…

“A funny thing happened on my way to… (fill in the blank)…”
Bill and I used to this say to each other - whenever we would start off a story, about some road trip, or run, or hike…
I couldn’t help but recall this when my wife called me Friday evening to tell me my dear friend Bill Hearne had passed away…
I was on my way to hike Mt. Seymour in the Adirondacks - as I worked through my 46 High Peaks…inspired to do so by Bill …
My wife said “Joe - Do you want to come home” and all I could say was “No - I need to hike and I need to think…”
Saturday morning broke cloudy - fitting of my mood, but I needed to hike, and to think, to brood… I set out and climbed hour after hour, until the clouds finally broke into light rains that soon became a shower and later a downpour…
Yet as much as the rain tried to distract me I couldn’t get out of my head that… “The funny thing that happened on my way to Mt. Seymour was that I learned that my friend of 25 years wouldn’t be there to hear the story any more…”
As the rain continued beating me down my heart and mind could no longer take the pain and I sat down and cried for a long, long time…
I just sat there on a rock and stared - at nothing in particular - when it occurred to me that it wasn’t so much that it was raining on me but that the “Adirondacks” were just crying along with me - for they too had lost a friend…
This is when I saw it - a boot print on the muddy trail - prints that led up the trail to the top of the mountain and then I realized the boot prints in the mud were a kind of sign - symbolic of the fact that Bill was always just up ahead a ways... up over the hill, around the next bend, waiting for me to catch up …
I thought of our times together and I thought that whenever I see boot prints on a muddy trail, or foot prints in the sand, or sneaker marks on the shoulder of the road that I’m going to think of Bill - up ahead somewhere … waiting around the bend… hands resting on his knees saying ..
“Well, I’ve been waiting - I just got here ahead of you…”
See you soon Bill… Thanks for waiting… Thanks for being our friend…

Joe Gilroy
Oven Door Runner

How I knew Bill,

2009-05-14T22:37:00.001-04:00

The oven door folklore (and my own insecurities) kept me from showing up on Saturday mornings until I had run my first marathon. I started running with ODR in late August of 2001, it was such a magical time of year to join this running group. The trail options were plentiful and the laughter was a given. As I started with this group I quickly learned to keep Bill within earshot, because no matter what his place in the pack was he was leading the run. With a few well placed… “Hey! The turn was back here”s and a “Let’s see where this leads” or two, Bill managed to keep us guessing on the run and most importantly to keep us exploring and laughing. Bush-wacking was a given on those runs and to hear a few people say “Oh NO! Poison Ivy… that’s gonna leave a mark” was normal.

I will never forget the run when Bill yelled STOP! with his arms stretched wide to stop us all in our tracks and then said “look… (pointing upward) geese”. My thoughts were in the moment… “Bill it’s Fall and this is western NY… it happens! Let’s run!” But that’s how Bill lived. He saw the magical element in everything… He knew that we all needed to be reminded of these things from time to time.

Bill was not a “respecter of persons” he didn’t care where you came from or what your abilities were, he was just happy you could make it and that he had the privilege of running with you. That is how he made everyone feel… No one felt less than, no one felt not good enough, no one felt unwelcome. No other person could have attracted so many people to do what he loved to do, no other person than a person such as Bill.

Through Bill and with Bill I have met some of the most amazing and wonderful people I will ever meet in all my life. I can never truly express what a profound impact he has had on my life, both in the experiences I have shared with him and in watching how he lived his life. He was one of a kind and will be sorely missed.

Gary Blatto-Vallee

My Memories of Bill

2009-05-14T12:37:00.002-04:00

I first met Bill in 1972 when he started at Kodak. We both worked in the Synthetic Chemicals Division. Bill and I were introduced to bike racing by Mike Carnahan and Bill and I were partners in the 25 mile 2 man team time trials held by the Genesee Valley Cycling Club. Bill was a groomsman at my wedding in 1973.
Bill, Deven, and family lived in the same Kodak Vista neighborhood for several years, as did my family. There was a small vacant lot next to my house that we gardened for several yers growing a wide variety of vegetables.
Both families used to get a hog from the Jestels and normally we would have it butchered to our desired cuts at a place in Holly, NY. One time, the butcher was not available, so Bill and I proceeded to cut up the hog on their dining room table. We had some very unusual cuts of meat that year.
Our paths separated when the Hearnes moved to Fairport and I only saw Bill on a few occassions after that. However, I will never forget him and the times we had together.

Bill, may you rest eternally with our Lord, Jesus Christ.
Jim Humphreys

The “Community Shepherd”

2009-05-13T20:26:00.005-04:00

I first met Bill Hearne in the spring of 1985 when a Kodak friend (Charlie Cornwell) and I went to Bushnell’s Basin for our first Saturday Oven Door Run. We were welcomed and befriended by Bill and the group. I can’t recall how far we ran that day (shorter than the planned route) but what I do remember is that Bill was the shepherd of the group. As we ran and the group broke into small pods of runners, Bill would circle from the front and middle of the group to Charlie and I (in the back) to keep us company and chat, make sure we were doing ok and having fun. Charlie and I enjoyed our morning run so much, that when we returned to the Basin, we purchased a few bunches of flowers at a little flower shop (that is where Bruegger’s Bagels now sits) and put a daisy on the windshield of each runner’s car as a little thank you for a great morning. After just one run, we felt we were a part of the group. For many runs and years to come, Bill was (and is) the shepherd of the group -- welcoming and checking in on new runners, sharing stories and laughs, keeping people company and smiling.

My next memory of Bill was soon after, when another friend brought me up to the Adirondack Mountains for a summer climb. Bill was at the Trail’s End with a group of hiking friends and he encouraged us to join the summer and winter hiking trips. Again, Bill was the shepherd of the group. As we started our hikes and broke into small groups hiking at various paces, Bill would from time to time, pull the group together, check to be sure everyone was ok, had water, snacks, blister protection, share a smile and a story, point out the next breath-taking view along the trail or take a picture of the group for future memories and stories. Along the way, he led by example in picking up small bits of garbage and debris on the trail, living the belief that you should leave the world better than how you found it. Bill certainly did this.

Bill encouraged all of us to get involved, whether it be a fun run, a local race, or community event. To volunteer, to participate, to give more of ourselves. He saw the best in each of us and brought out the best in each of us. He encouraged us to believe that whatever goal we had, whatever dream we had in our hearts, we could surely achieve it. He encouraged people of all abilities, to run, to walk, or to come out and sip coffee and chat with the group.
When I think back on one of the infamous Hearne expeditions in the Adirondacks, as the ‘described’ eight-hour hike turned into an 11-hour hike and darkness was quickly approaching, I am reminded of the phrase "Nobody said life would be easy; they just said that it would be worth it."

Among all the other gifts Bill has given all of us over the years by being the person that he is, I believe that I ultimately met my husband Dave through the activities of running, hiking, snow shoeing, x-country skiing, etc., that Bill encouraged me to become involved in. For this and so many other reasons, I am eternally grateful.

Bill, friend and shepherd, may God "raise you up on eagle's wings, bear you on the breath of dawn, make you to shine like the sun, and hold you in the palm of his hand" as you keep watch over all of us.

Debbie (Howell) Fenton

2009-05-13T19:26:00.002-04:00

Top Ten Things I Learned From Bill

10) If at first you don't succeed try, try again and then maybe try something else.

A few years back, in an attempt to further motivate his Run 'n Ride participants, Bill started time trial runs. As always, people did as Bill asked yet as the weeks passed we noticed a significant drop in attendance on Thursday mornings-the dreaded time trial day. However Tuesday mornings continued to be well attended. So Bill ditched the time trials (with no remorse for having tried them) and shortly thereafter began the now infamous "street light sprints' which continue to this day although we tend to think of them more as "pick ups" than sprints. That was the thing about Bill though. He was never afraid to try something new, nor did he dwell on the
failures.

9) Be kind.

In the 11 years I've known Bill, I never heard him say a smarmy word about anyone (discounting certain political figures, of course). He always gave people the benefit of the doubt. Even when you suspected a person might possibly rub Bill the wrong way, well Bill wasn't one to let other peoples' shortcomings negatively affect him. I have always admired his ability to think the best of people even when they proved him wrong.

8) Work to play.

I can tell you quite a bit about Bill's life. How he loved his wife and kids, his enthusiasm for Mercury Opera and other musical endeavors, as well as climbing expeditions and helping people reach and maintain fitness goals. Bill also loved a good party and every party was a good party in his book. Bill was also well read and enjoyed talking politics- especially this past year! Yet the only thing I knew about the job that paid the bills was that early morning meetings really annoyed Bill (they interfered with his work-out) and that he did crazy things with the people he worked with too!

7) Stop and smell the roses......

and lilacs, tulips (if they had a smell) daffodils and those darn flowers in the Ellwanger Barry Garden that we have yet to correctly identify. I will deeply miss Bill's widespread arms halting us to stop and take in the scenery no matter how engaged in conversation we are. Shortly after Bill's retirement from Kodak these pauses in running became a bit more leisurely causing some concern among the still employed. Poor Joy took it upon herself to inform Bill that we could only go garden hopping once a week. Bill, being Bill, was not offended in any way. However he never stopped trying to get us to pause and take in the world around us even if it was to see what could quite possibly be a weed.

6) Birthdays with Bill Sucked.

Bills idea of celebrating birthdays was a bit sadistic. To him years lived equaled the number of push-ups endured. You do the math. The older you were the harder it was and Bill was going to ask you and the whole darn class to do them. And you know what? You did. We are definitely feeling the 62 we did today. Yeah, thanks a lot for that legacy.

4) Lead by example.

You didn't have to do the push-ups, but you did. You didn't have to cross the log over the stream with water temps hovering around 32 degrees, but you did. You didn't have to run around the Liberty Pole hanging onto that tattered garland singing "Joy to the World" at 5:45 A.M. but you did. You didn't have to run through that field of poison ivy, but you did and then you did it again AND again! Without any pep talks or cajoling Bill just made you follow him. I still don't know how he did this. Did he have some kind of magic dust? Which leads me to...

5) "No Trespassing" signs are really just an Invitation to "Come On In."

Bill interpreted warnings as a sign that people must be hiding something good beyond. "Do Not Cross" tape was merely there to run through like the ribbon at the finish line of a race. Case in point: the infamous run to see every Horse on Parade in the year 2000 including the one in the middle of interstate 490. There we are, the teacher, bakery owner, and college university administrator (please let me know if I left some other fool out), all people with master's degrees by golly, traipsing after Bill, protesting feebly that we can't afford to get arrested as we pass the sign listing the 30 or so things prohibited on the highway, number one being pedestrians. Oh but up close the colors on that horse were vibrant I tell you and well worth the tear in the running tights I sustained climbing back over the fence to safety.

3) Sleep is over-rated.

There were many theories over the years. Was Bill an alien? (I once asked to see his belly button for proof he was human, a request Bill gladly obliged.) Was Bill an android or did he just sleep at work? No one really could fathom how Bill did so much in a day with so little sleep. Someone suggested that Bill has probably organized some endeavor wherever he is now but maybe he's just catching up on some much needed sleep.

2) Be who you are.

Bill taught this to me on a daily basis. He had to do what he had to do and thank goodness because Bill's spirit of hard play, and sense of community were a blessing to countless people. I am so grateful to Deven, Jennet, Libby and James for sharing Bill with us, for allowing him to be the amazing life force that he was.

1) "It's not the years in your life but the life in your years."

Aptly I saw this quote at a Y on the day I learned of Bill's passing and thought that pretty much says it all. According to this ancient proverb Bill probably lived to be 661 years and 361 days give or take a few hundred years.

Thanks for letting me share. I love you Bill.

Linda Lopata

2009-05-13T13:49:00.003-04:00

My story, unlike many of yours, only goes back about a month or so. I only met Bill once. It was the first weekend in April...and the weather was awful. It was about 35 degrees, rainy, even snowy at times, windy, and dark. Although I've been running for a few years, I had just started running with ODR. As we set off on our run, most of the people were travelling in groups, laughing, talking, pacing together as if they had known each other for years (because they have!). Then there was me - the "new girl" - just jogging quietly along somewhere in the pack.

As the route veered off the pavement and started on the old train bed path, someone turned around, smiled, and said, "Hi, I'm Bill". We were about 20 minutes into the run, and I gladly welcomed the company. For the next hour and half, Bill and I talked about everything - his kids (who are about my age) and grandkids, my job, his career, my education, our past races, my family (who was coming to Rochester that afternoon), renewable energy, politics, running shoes, my recent wedding, hydration belts, yoga, the history of ODR, my upcoming hike in the Grand Canyon and his in Denali, etc, etc. It turned out we had a lot in common - despite the generation gap, which I've found naturally falls away while running. At one point towards the end of the run, Bill said, "You can go ahead if you want". I said, "No way! I would rather have the good company than a fast finish any day".

Although I don't have decades of memories to reflect on - all it took was ONE time for Bill to have a positive and meaninful impact. ONE. I feel privileged to have had the opportunity to run with him if only once. Eventhough our friendship was short, it was very clear to me that he is a role model for all of us in the way he lived life. I'm sure I will think of Bill at times when I think twice about getting up, despite the weather, to go on a run. I'll be out there - you never know who you might meet!

Caroline Wheadon

The Helpful, the Playful, the Persevering

2009-05-13T11:47:00.003-04:00

NOTE: I've copied my remarks from my original "Comment" along with some editing.

James and family,Thank you for setting this up to remember Bill. He was the consummate encourager and inspirer. Marilyn Rodak expresses the thought well, about him making everyone special. For me, there are so many ODR experiences to remember. I'll share a few:

The 2006 Bull Run Run was cold, wet muddy, and Hillary Cardin's first attempt at the 50-mile distance. Bill was the firm encourager to keep her going; when I passed them with about five miles to go and she was in trouble, Bill stayed with her, and not long after my own completion, here came Bill and Hillary toward the finish, finally smiling at reaching success at the end. Bill always made us WANT to finish, whether it was a race or a particularly grueling Saturday run.

On a lighter note, one summer Saturday run, making our way through Powder Mills Park trails, we pushed through a section barely visible due to being choked with... some type of weed. Then the itching started. You see, we had just taken a trail well-lined with stinging nettles, which some in the unfortunate group had never before experienced. He quipped, with the ever-present smile and twinkle in his eye, "I've taken that path many times before... on XC skis!" We were able to ease the sting with water from handy puddles. And we never did find out if he in fact knew they were there!

Finally, Bill was always pushing himself, always persevering. At Bull Run Run 2003 he twisted his ankle twice, jeopardizing the run. Thankfully, ADK and ODR friend Joe Gilroy was along for support, and in a stroke of luck they shared shoe size. With 30 miles covered and 20 to go, they swapped shoes, BIll putting on Joe's heavy mountain hiking boots. And he power-walked those last 20 to come in 220th of 255 finishers. His years of hiking mountains had turned the injured ankle into a minor inconvenience. He knew how to push forward.

Many more stories to share, I hope many more folks do. There are countless lessons to learn from way he led his life, so, thank you, Hearne Family, for sharing Bill with us. Best regards, Rick Cronise ODR

Pennsylvania ODR Connection

2009-05-13T10:11:00.002-04:00

We were living in Murrysville, PA near Pittsburgh as Labor Day 1994 approached. When a local 10K in which I had raced on 15 consecutive Labor Days was cancelled, we decided to travel to Rochester to visit my wife's sister and family. I asked my sister-in-law to try to find a race in the Rochester area. Although she was unsuccessful, one of her teacher friends said she had heard of a group called the Oven Door Runners that met at the Oven Door Bakery at the ungodly hour of 6:30 AM. I dragged myself out of bed that Saturday morning and found my way to Bushnell Basin, where I met Bill and was instantly invited to join the group. Bill had a unique gift of making everyone he met feel welcome and special, as if they were a lifelong friend. Amazingly, it was absolutely genuine, he really cared about people! Labor Day in Rochester became an annual event, as did running and socializing with the ODR. In 1996 we moved across Pennsylvania to Allentown. Over the years I ran with the ODR group on many occasions, including several of the annual Christmas/Awards parties, and was always happy to see Bill, especially. My many trips to Rochester were greatly enhanced, because I could always go "play" with my ODR friends.

His enthusiasm, zest for life, gregarious nature and natural leadership abilities were inspirational. In addition, his organizational skills, constant good humor and fun-loving attitude contributed greatly to making the ODR such a wonderful ad hoc group. In addition, Bill was obviously intelligent and multi-talented. In summary, he was an "ordinary" person with "extraordinary" gifts that had a tremendous impact upon everyone he met. I will certainly miss him.

Unfortunately, I haven't been able to travel to Rochester since Labor Day 2006 because of my 93 year old mother's health issues, but I consider Rochester to be my second home because of family connections, including the extended ODR "family".

With fond memories of Bill Hearne,

Richard Baldock, ODR ~ PA Connection
Allentown, PA

Handing off the baton

2009-05-12T20:39:00.003-04:00

The news of Bill's death reached many of us in an email on Friday morning. As I shared the shocking news with my co-workers, someone asked me, "Who is Bill Hearne?" As I started to answer that question, the enormity of that response hit me in the gut. It's very difficult to say who Bill Hearne is to many of us because he is so many things to each of us. Bill was a mentor and cheerleader, someone I looked up to, someone I cursed on long, hot runs leaving me lost somewhere in upstate New York (although, in Bill's defense, often these were the runs that had the best memories and have cemented some of my closest friendships). I probably met Bill at the Y Tri in 2002 - and later got to know him as I got the crazy idea to run a marathon for the first time. Like many, I had heard of ODR and was intimidated to join the group - but during a difficult time of my life, Bill and the ODR welcomed me and became a second family. Bill made you feel special - he was always thrilled to see you.

I think of the ODR as church sometimes - its a safe place where I can have confession, be cleansed, be healed and celebrate life and find strength - and in many respects Bill was the minister of the flock. Bill taught the importance of welcoming, attention, hospitality, celebration...as well as savoring life and adventure - but always, always in community. Dessert is always better shared - and Bill knew this. Bill loved teaching, sharing and evangelizing running and many forms of play, he loved nature, music...he loved sharing stories about his family and his children's navigating their way into adulthood...

So, Bill - thank you. Thank you for opening up new worlds, new friendships, creating community - We know that we have a very special community. You are a catalyst of the best sort - and the reaction will continue...

Cha Ron Sattler, Sluggoddess and ODR runner

2009-05-12T20:24:00.006-04:00

Photo: Top Photo - Bill preparing in the early morning for the 2006 Jay Peak Marathon. One has to wonder about folks requiring duct tape BEFORE a race, but Bill loved all the sick, silly details -

Next photo - Bill relaxing at a restaurant in Lake Placid. I had been working at a running clinic at the Olympic Training center and ran into Bill and crew cheering on the racers at IronMan 2006. Figuring that they still had a long day ahead, we stopped in a pub for some food and fellowship. I think this sort of captures the joy of being with friends and nature -

2006 Rochester Marathon. I was on bike patrol and snuck out to the east end of the course to say hello to the ODR water stop. Bill is always thrilled to see one of his crew. He always made you feel very important - even if you were running at the back of the pack. Hey, ESPECIALLY if you were running at the back of the pack!

- Cha Ron Sattler, ODR and Sluggoddess since 2002

2009-05-12T14:50:00.004-04:00

Bill was Born to Sing!

By Tim Mangan May 11, 2009

Bill was born to sing! Bill’s beautiful voice, a booming bass calling to each of us, bringing us together and urging us to sing with him. And sing he did from the choir at 3rd Presbyterian to the theater stage to spinning/run classes at the Y to every Saturday OD run and on every trail and mountain - he sang for joy all the while bringing us closer to him and connecting us.

One of my fondest adventures with Bill was a trip in 1998 to Ireland. Bill was coach of Leukemia Team in Training leading a group of western NY runners, including myself who were participating in the Dublin Marathon. My wife, Ann and I spent a wondrous week with Bill exploring every cathedral, castle, museum, rocky ledge and pub from early morning till the wee hours of the night. There was no such thing as putting your feet up before the big race with Bill. There was too much to explore, too much to absorb. Running the marathon proved to be the most relaxing part of the trip!

The day before the marathon, Ann and I found ourselves back at our hotel room, which we shared with Bill. Alone for a moment! The kids were back at home and Bill was off exploring the streets of Dublin. With adolescent glee we reveled in the prospect of….ahh, but Bill’s impeccable timing cut short our romantic interlude. Ann and I heard a knock at the door, Bill noisily fumbling for his room key. “Hey guys sorry to interrupt, I’ll just grab my book and head down to the lobby.” The twinkle in his eye revealed how much he enjoyed the humor of the moment. Bill’s penchant for running with a good story to enhance the dramatic effect surfaced 3 months later at the OD Awards party where he proclaimed Ann and I as winners of the Best Buns award! No one else knew about the story behind the award that Bill thankfully kept to himself, but as Ann and I accepted our award there was that twinkle in his eye again. Gotcha!

Life will never be the same without Bill, but I know that every Saturday morning at 6:35 I’ll still hear him sing out “Let’s talk about the route!!” Bill Hearne, an angel on earth, now an angel of heaven, but still with us in spirit singing his song. Dream, Live, Love. Bill, God bless you.

“You set my feet upon a rock
And made my footsteps firm.
Many will see, many will see and hear.

I will sing, sing a new song.
I will sing, sing a new song
I will sing, sing a new song.
I will sing, sing a new song
How long to sing this song? “

Excerpt from “40” by U2, adapted from Psalms:40

Seventeen Years of Friendship

2009-05-12T11:42:00.005-04:00

I joined the Oven Door Runners about 17 years ago and that's when I first met Bill. I thought that ODR was this group of super fast, super competitive marathoners. So one Saturday morning I timidly showed up and was welcomed to the group.

Bill really didn't do that much when he started ODR 30 years ago. It was simply getting some guys together to train for marathons and enjoy the company of other runners. No dues, no rules, just go out and enjoy running. But by doing so little he did so much. Every Saturday we're greeted by the familiar phrase; "Good Morning, Let's talk about the route " As many as 50 or 60 of us take off and break off into little pods according to our pace. Then after the run comes the best part, coffee and conversation for 30 or 40 minutes.

I've often said there's no other place I'd rather be on a Saturday morning and that's because I meet and greet the best friends I've ever had. And this all comes back to Bill. He's been so much a part of the best years of my life. I'm forever greatful to have known Bill and to have counted him as a very dear friend.
Dave Sek

Cool!

2009-05-11T22:11:00.003-04:00

I first came to ODR in the summer of 2000. After several months I knew Bill a little. He probably knew me less. Anyway, the following took place which captures the "running side" of Bill and, more or less, the essence of ODR.

Bill posted the route for that week's run and said the total distance was "thirteenish" (miles or Hearnes I don't recall). We ran out Thornell, West Bloomfield, Taylor, eventually worked our way over to Fishers, and made our way back to the Basin. I didn't know how far we went but I knew it was the longest 13 miles I'd ever run! So I retraced the route in my car - 16.7 miles.

Before the following week's run I went up to Bill and said: "I just thought you'd like to know that the route you advertised last week as being thirteen miles was more like seventeen."

He just looked at me, smiled, and said: "Cool!"

Clyde Sumner

An inspiration

2009-05-11T21:29:00.004-04:00

I did not know Bill for a terribly long time, but he was an inspiration to a lot of people, myself included. As much for his accomplishments in running, biking and outdoorsmanship, I admired him for the gentleman he was, for his soft-spoken drive to push the limits and for being a welcoming influence to so many. He lived a life many of us could only wish to live and seemed to enjoy every minute of it. I take comfort in the fact that Bill passed on doing what he loved and that is something many of us could only hope for. Bill has now ascended to a place higher than any mountain here on earth and in the end that is the greatest achievement of all.

Thank you, Bill, for making me feel welcome and for the snipets of encouragement you've given me in the time I've known you.

-Darryl

2009-05-11T20:41:00.001-04:00

Bill,

Happy Birthday!

So what's a little poison ivy?

2009-05-11T20:06:00.003-04:00

I've known Bill about 10 years or so and somewhere along the way he became one of my closest friends. Sort of snuck up on me. But I think that's true of alot of us - we all came to call Bill a best friend. That was Bill - you couldn't just be his acquaintance, he always took the time to get to know you better than that - always included you in his adventures - and adventures they were. As one of Bill's running buddies, I can vouch for his spirit of challenge and fun - each run he led us on had a "twist." Whether pushing a physical limit (serious hills), a legal limit (disregarding the "no trespassing" sign) a health limit (ankle deep poison ivy) or finally just pure enjoyment (the Ellwanger Garden run). Bill challenged us to not forget to PLAY despite our busy lives, careers, families and adult responsibilities. His boundless energy and enthusiasm was unique. Who else but Bill could organize and coordinate the Y-Tri, ODR freezeroo and perform in the Mercury Opera all in the same weekend? And this triple booking of events was not unusual but the norm for Bill. And the most amazing thing was he made it look easy! But the thing I will always treasure most about Bill was his unwavering ability to see the positive in both people and situations. I strive to emulate his gift to see the best in others and in life and in so doing reflect back to others their best selves. Bill will be part of every run, he'll be with me on every trail, and I'll always keep close his sense of adventure and fun. And I promise Bill to always risk the poison ivy for the wonderful adventure waiting off the beaten path. - Joy Valvano, fellow odr & dawn patrol runner

In Memory of William Hearne

2009-05-11T18:13:00.001-04:00

Bill, I knew you for a long time but not long enough. I enjoyed good times with you but not enough. You gave me good advice (about retirement and then what?) and because of you I tried new things (like rock climbing and opera!). You encouraged me in my running and then you gave me the opportunity to be a volunteer for runs when I could no longer run in them (the best ever hospitality team at the Corporate Challenge!). You had the ability to make people including me feel valued. You had that way about you. You knew how to be a good friend, how to be a mentor, how to have a good time. You were a fitness role model, a following your passions role model and a terrific organizer. You were an inspiration to me and others. I am a member of a large circle of people you helped through your leadership and friendship.

My head says not enough, yet in my heart I know, I know how fortunate I am to have had those times where you shared a bit of you with me. I am happy so many people gained through the knowing of you, through all that made you uniquely you. I celebrate the time we had with you.

Sending a Big Hug you way - Jean Ticen

All About Bill....

2009-05-11T15:30:00.003-04:00

Bill,
You've been part of my Tuesday and Thursday mornings ever since I arrived in Rochester & the Metro Y in 2000. You encouraged, cajoled, urged, "dragged me" into running in the Rochester winters, while I remonstrated about my hair, the weather, etc. Now you are gone ... it will be excruciating not have coffee with you and the rest of the Dawn Patrol Coffee group on Tuesdays and Thursdays. You just don't know how much you've touched my life.
I'll miss you sorely,
Nita Brown

2009-05-11T09:53:00.005-04:00

I've attached a couple of photos of Bill from a couple of different operas and performances and a Blue Mountain hiking trip in the fall.
Kristen Kessler - Mercury Opera Rochester, sometime singer, sometime runner, sometime hiker

2009-05-11T09:43:00.001-04:00

2009-05-11T07:47:00.005-04:00

From Dan MacPherson
Some photos from a group bike ride to Portageville several years ago.

2009-05-10T17:27:00.002-04:00

This is a picture of my father, taken (I believe) by his dear friend Russ, shortly before he passed away. I don't really have much to say just yet... but it is extremely comforting to see how happy he was, that he was somewhere he really wanted to be, and to know that he was with friends.

We've spent the afternoon looking through old photos... I'll try to post some of them once we get them scanned.

-James Hearne