I first heard Bill Chinnock play at the Red Barn in Monroe in the late 1970s. A friend of mine, Jeremy Williams, who was Bill’s neighbor, took me to the show and later introduced me to Bill. Being unfamiliar with how bad local live music sometimes was, I did not immediately appreciate how good Bill and the North Country Allstars were. It did not take many more nights of bad live music nor many more of Bill’s show for me to appreciate how good he really was. He had incredible energy.

Jeremy asked me to go hunting one time with him. Bill, Bill’s brother-in-law Robert, and a friend named Bob. Robert told the best story about hunting in South Africa, getting lost and having to squeeze water out of elephant droppings to survive. Bill however, was the best storyteller. In fact, whether sitting around Bill’s camper the night before opening day or on stage, Bill was the best storyteller I have ever known.

Bill had told Robert and Bob they didn’t need to bring anything because he had blankets in the camper and it was heated. Bill, Jeremy and I had sleeping bags. When we ran out of kerosene Robert and Bob nearly froze to death.

In the early ’80s I was stationed in the Coast Guard center in Boston. I came home to Maine every weekend. As soon as I could pick up Maine stations I would start scanning the dial to see if and where Bill was playing. I saw him perform a lot then. As years passed, I saw him less often. I think I only talked to him once or twice since his son was born. The last time that I talked to him, he told me that his Lyme disease was under control. Obviously, he wasn’t telling me the full story.

Last night I turned on the radio and WKIT played a recording that was made at the last Bill Chinnock concert that I attended. The energy was still there and I moved with the music the way I had so many times before. In tears, I wondered what it was that I was feeling and why. Bill and I knew each other. As far as I know, he liked me, and I certainly liked him. In 1985, Bill appeared at a concert and picnic in Bangor to honor Vietnam Vets that I organized. But we certainly were not close.

When professional athletes retire they are often thanked by fans for the years they played. When I have seen this I have always thought, “Why are you thanking him? He got paid to do what he loved to do.” If I could talk to Bill one more time, I would not thank him. He got paid to do what he loved to do. But I would tell him that I enjoyed his music and it often made life more enjoyable, at least for a while.

I realize now that the tears that I shed last night were not for Bill, they were for what I have lost. Every time I have seen Bill perform I enjoyed myself and looked forward to the next time. At no time did I think that I had seen him for the last time. Now a part of my past and my future is gone forever. The only thing worse for me is if I could no longer ski.

Goodbye my friend. I will miss you and your shows. At least now you get to play with the Baron as long and as hard as you want.

Clark A. Stecher lives in Brewer.