A tribute to father-in-law Bill Hynd: His coming and going tied in with Arnie and Young Tom Morris

The truism that you can’t pick your relatives usually pertains to the immediate family you’re born into—mom, dad, brother, sister. But how does it relate to in-laws? Given the fact that you don’t woo your future spouse’s parents and siblings first—if, in fact, you even meet them right off the bat—to see if they’re desirable family surely shows you can’t pick your in-laws, either. You fall in love with your mate first and then it’s potluck who comes to the door when you make your first visit to meet your special someone’s parents.

During my youth through college, I had already found myself drawn a lot to the families of friends who exhibited a Cunninghams (“Happy Days”) or “The Waltons”-type traditional and normal home life. When it came time for me in the early summer of 1982 to see if my potluck options were going to be pleasing or distasteful, my plate overflowed.

On the big day my future wife, Mary, was to introduce me to her parents and family, I learned before I even got into her house that I would have to overcome my innate shyness and reserved nature. Following our two-and-a-half-hour drive, we had barely stepped foot onto the family’s enclosed front porch when mom, Mary Ellen, came out first and planted a full big kiss on the lips followed by Bill, with both arms extended, taking my right hand and shaking it vigorously while smiling broadly.

Hello Cliff! We wish to welcome you to the Hynd house!

I’m particularly remembering that dizzying day at this special time of year because that excited man, William Dale Hynd, was laid to rest today, at age 87. In the early hours of Christmas Day last week, Bill went to be with God on the same celebration day that Christ was gifted to humankind. Bill had been weakened in recent years from a mind too confused and unclear to function at full capacity and, most critically, in recent weeks by the cruel Covid virus that he had caught in his nursing-care facility. Damn that virus and all the misery it has heaped on our world!

Cub fan Bill Hynd and his Cardinal fan son-in-law make peace outside the Baseball Hall of Fame, 1986, in this portion from a photo scrapbook.

When you learn that Bill was the father of six girls (lovingly raised by him and Mary Ellen in a Christian team effort), it may seem curious why he was so happy. Beaten down and weary, yes, but happy!? To begin, that was Bill’s nature to be contented and blissful. That was clear on that first day at dinnertime. Five of the six daughters were present, gathered around the table, with Bill at one end and Mary Ellen at the other, closest to the kitchen. I was not used to family-time dinner, and as we ate there arose such a clatter that I thought something was the matter. But as I turned my head from one side to the other as at a tennis match, I saw this was the normal routine. All the time, Bill sat quietly, eating at a leisurely pace but then, lo, he stirreth to speak and as he did it was as if we were filming an EF Hutton commercial (go ahead, look it up on youtube.com). All the girls stopped in mid-sentence and listened to Bill speak his peace. When he went back to his plate, the girls went back to yakking, with momentary breaks to eat.

I like people who aren’t demanding and who don’t require any complicated conversation, just casual and comfortable. Bill was one of the most unassuming persons I knew, and it could be quibbled he wasn’t one to take the bull by the horns often enough. You did have to drive the conversation with Bill, but it wasn’t because he was aloof or didn’t want to speak with you. He was just The Quiet Man before John Wayne made the movie as one. He was extremely comfortable in his faith, his work ethic to make a living for his family as a tool-and-die maker, to being a role model for the girls: Theresa, Mary, Eileen, Patty, Karen and Janet. He adored Mary Ellen, the Hynd family heritage in the Quad Cities, family gatherings, being thrifty and wise in spending, recycling was one of his many simple pleasures, his yard work, riding his bike, supporting his children during their education, taking pride in his grandkids and pleased to be a great-granddad. He served his country in the Navy.

I have no recollection of Bill doing anything remotely mean-spirited to anyone or saying an unkind thing. If he felt that way about someone he kept it to himself, but something tells me it wasn’t in his blood to be spiteful or have unkind thoughts. When I eventually came to Moline to ask for permission to marry his No. 2 daughter, I found him out in the garage. As I explained my purpose, he was relaxed and calm in getting me through my nervousness as he said go ahead, get her off my hands. Can you fathers out there imagine having to marry off six girls!? That Bill did and I think he was over the moon excited that after each ceremony he had added a son to the extended family.

With Rodeo Bill at one of his favorite events, a relaxed family gathering.

As a golf-writer/historian, I thought it was meant to be that I’d marry someone whose father was born on September 10, Arnold Palmer’s birthday (four years after Arnie in 1933). Bill has now bookended that date with another notable golfer’s milestone: four-time Open champion Young Tom Morris died on Christmas Day (1875). Bill had a taste for all the classics in life: Abraham Lincoln as president, favorite hobby was reading, candy was jelly beans, card game was 500, flower the rose, and singer Frank Sinatra plus his song, “Young at Heart.”

Bill was a keen attendee at Notre Dame football games, taking the five- to six-hour bus ride to South Bend from the Quad Cities in trips led by Patty’s ND-alum husband, Tony, who Bill is now in reunion with in heaven. Patty and Tony’s son, Alex, who is now attending Illinois State University, was another object of Bill’s affection as he watched him play dozens of baseball and football games.

Bill was a marvel in some of the things he did and to some degree overachieved from normal life: 62 years married, six girls, 40ish years at one company, 40 years in the same family home, and he loved Christmas as his favorite holiday so much he left us on it. Then there is this: after retirement, he would go on all-day bike rides on the Mississippi River bike path on a one-speed bike! To commemorate his cycling prowess Mary and I doctored up a Lance Armstrong photo image on a Sports Illustrated cover to convert it to a Bill Hynd face and framed it.

Bill became “Rodeo Bill” in 1983 at my wedding to Mary when at our reception at the local American Legion Hall we served Rodeo Bill potato chips from Aldi. I think he liked the moniker, not only because it probably spruced up his image to have a nickname but Bill was universally known to savor his food. For some reason in my life, both my father, Donald, who died in 2003, and father-in-law, Bill, could spend all day eating a plate of food but not gain weight. They ate slow and in small bites and were easily distracted by the conversation to go even slower. If they went back for seconds, you had better tip your waiter NOW because they would go off-shift by the time you had to pay. Our daughter, Joelle, and I would deliberately try to go slow and outlast them but I don’t think we ever “won” nor did they know we were goofing with them.

Bill’s favorite season was summer and sport baseball. He was my kind of Cub fan. Being a Cardinal fan from central Illinois, in the middle between Chicago and St. Louis, I know all about the Cardinal-Cub rivalry. I want the Cardinals to beat the Cubs, but I’m not obsessively idiotic about it like some fans can be. Baseball is a sport, it’s not a critical life or death event. We have seen in 2020 what life and death is all about. Bill supported his team and loved Ernie Banks, but he was very composed about it. As Bill got older and still hadn’t experienced a World Series title and as the Cubs started looking like a contender, our thinking was “if the Cardinals don’t win it, we got to have the Cubs win for Bill.” It was fun to see how their 2016 championship delighted him.

The way Bill was about sports was how he was with most things in life. Neither too high or too low, and now that he’s passed, I feel similarly serene in my heart with my memories. I’m so glad I knew him, although it wasn’t even for half of his 87 years. I’m very glad that Joelle got to experience a grandfather in her adult life and that Bill got to meet the man she married, Josh, and vice-versa. And I’m glad for the memory Mary will have of her good FaceTime visit on December 21st with her father. On one of his good final days, he knew it was his Mary Margaret, his trouble-maker (relatively speaking, of course) of a daughter who he told “needed to behave” and then he told her to always help people and do kind things for people. He kept repeating that message over and over in the FaceTime chat, still dispensing fatherly advice.

It is often said at the time someone dies following an illness in which the person deteriorates into someone “we don’t recognize” anymore that we want to remember them as they were. I will still remember the older Bill because he was someone of value to cherish and it completes the total view of him. But the Bill of 1982, in his mid-40s, is looming large for me right now and probably always will. My first vision of him—of a man enthused to meet a potential future son, a man in full flight and in full vigor—that image will never be diminished or lost in time. God’s peace be with you, Bill.