Back in the 50s as a grade school kid in Fairmount, North Dakota, I got to know one of the most interesting people I’ve ever met - Warren Williams. He was the kid I used to notice hanging by his heels from the highest monkey bar on the school playground. Later, we ended up both singing tenor in the Methodist church choir which his mother,
Grace led.

It was Grace Williams who came up with the idea of Warren and I performing “The Chattanooga Shoe Shine Boy," for the yearly talent show they called the 4H Follies. I, as a rich traveler, was to sing the song while Warren, as a b1ue-eyed blond haired shoe shine boy, “popped a boogie-woogie rag” shining my shoes. We had so much fun rehearsing it out at Warren's folks’ Hereford farm, that we became fast friends, discovering that we both shared mutual interests in hunting, fishing, trap shooting and archery. We did lots of hunting and fishing together until I had to move with my family to Lebanon, Oregon, where I spent two years living a lifestyle a lot like the kids in “Grease” - minus the drinking, smoking and partying.

I lived at the base of a beautiful 2,000 foot butte that was alive with quail, grouse, deer and pheasants only three miles from town with a trout stream only a mile away. Needless to say, I lost interest in ball sports and spent most of my free time roaming and hunting Peterson’s Butte and fishing trout in the several lovely streams all within an hour’s drive of our house. Most of "my friends were a nerdy gang of mountain-man types, not the “in” crowd back at school. At the end of my senior year, I joined the Air Force in January of 1957 and by November of that some year, I was medically discharged with a service-connected eye problem.

I ended up back in Fairmount with my mom who had moved back there after her divorce. And of course, I renewed my friendship with Warren - hunting, fishing and both of us going to college - myself at (North Dakota State School of Science and Warren at Moorhead State. I became an English teacher and Warren an expert in teaching learning-disabled students. Oh yes, and we both got married as well.

At about this time we both joined the Northstar Bassmasters fishing club in Fergus Falls, Minnesota. We had both entered a tournament at Lake Marian in June of 1971 and were eagerly awaiting the blast-off on a Sunday morning when I found myself so weak I could barely make it down to my boat. Thankfully, Warren sprang into action, bundled me into my van, and hauled me all the way back to Breckenridge At Francis hospital. It was a badly bleeding ulcer, and I’m convinced that Warren's quick action probably saved my life. They pumped a whole bunch of blood into me and kept me under observation for nearly a week. Warren had foregone the whole tournament and the chance to win some good money just to help me out. That showed me what a decent cent and caring friend I had in “my old buddy, Warren.”

Now, maybe I’ve got a chance to do something for him; you see he’s recently been diagnosed with a stage-four cancer attacking his esophagus. To complicate matters even more, he’s always been doubtful about God's existence, unlike myself; so if he loses this battle, I may never be able to fish with him up home in Heaven like I've been hoping.

I’m writing all this to elicit the prayers of as many blievers as possible to get my dear buddy Warren not only healed, but saved as well. This little column barely touches the many great things I’ve seen Warren do. Back in the ‘80s he drove all the way down to Arkansas to encourage another mutual friend of ours who was dying of lung cancer. And I’ve heard that many, many of his students loved him dearly, and many bass masters too. So please, folks, ask the good Lord to touch my dear friend Warren. I know divine healing is real, and as the famous theologian, Bishop Sheen once said, “More things are wrought by prayer than this world dreams.” By the way, my brother’s web site www.friendlyarts.net has two of my poems about Warren: “Camelot Days” and “A Toast to Warren Williams.” Or they can be accessed or Google via Gene Pinkney North Dakota poet. I’ll write of other notable students of mine another time.

Uploaded, 01-08-2020