William J. Blackshaw

Kerry Chestnutt (Granddaughter) Poem Tribute to Bill Blackshaw

 Bill Blackshaw

He escapes his age
At eleven o'clock.
He and Jim have talking to do.
Philosophy, politics,
The last book he read.
For only the sake of argument,
For stretching out ancient neurons.

Genius but messy,
A simple blue
Pinstriped oxford shirt,
With missing buttons
And spaghetti sauce stains.

A tribute
To never ending pasta dinners.
Chaotic but nourishing.
Italian,
Just the way he likes.

He speaks in Morse code.
Difficult to grasp,
But when you listen closely,
You might just catch
The words
That will save your life.

He is Amsterdam.
Era after era
Keeps passing him by.
Old city with a young soul.
No judgment.
Just experience.

If you look into his eyes
You can see straight through
To the end of the world.
Mesmerizing but sad.
That protective glaze
From a history of pain.

He took me in
When no one else would.
He lent me his car
When I totaled my third.
He pretended not to notice
When I'd smoke
Cigarettes
In his house.

My grandpa told me
He still is not sure
If he made the right choices in life.
Live, learn, love,
And please,
He said,
Never stop reading.

by Kerry Chestnutt
November 3, 2007
(Originally written 2/2007)

John Blackshaw on "Bill Blackshaw...My Guy!"

We are all here today because my dad touched all of us in some way. Over the past few days I’m sure we have all reflected back on those moments – whether is was recalling a story or funny joke he may have told or a discussion you may have had with him about history, music or politics. I’m sure we can all agree that he was one of the most interesting and enjoyable people you’ve ever met.

 For me, my dad was more than just my parent. He was a dear friend and confidante. To put it into more contemporary vernacular, he was “my guy.” He was the guy who I turned to for advice, counsel, and guidance in all areas of my life. I could and did talk to him about everything. And he was always ready with wisdom, a fresh perspective, or profound insight. And he offered it without judgment or condition. He gave me a safe place to go with my good and my bad. He was . . . “my guy.” I will miss him dearly. 

Remembering Dad