William Van Kleeck, June 16, 1942 - July 4, 2008

This opinion piece appeared in the Townsman, July 10, 2008 edition

For most folks the connection will not be obvious, but for some who knew Billy Van Kleeck it will come as no surprise that his birthday was June 16. Yes, he was born on 'Bloomsday.'

Bloomsday is a world-wide celebration of the fictional account of Leopold Bloom's journey through the streets of Dublin on June 16, 1904 as chronicled in James Joyce's Ulysses, the novel that has in equal parts delighted and confounded readers since its publication in 1922. Whatever difference of experience or opinion, it is uniformly agreed Ulysses upended many of the prior conventions of the novel, and forever changed the course of literature. Only few would argue that it was not a masterpiece.

Billy's friends and loved ones will read this and wonder how on earth Billy and Bloomsday find themselves in one thought.

It isn't the stretch they might think.

The blood that ran through Billy was 100 percent 'old Woodstock.' Billy spoke in the distinct Ulster County patois with its clipped vowels and consonants so sharp they can cut stone. Billy behaved in selfless ways similar to the sons and daughters of the clans who nurtured and kept Woodstock beautiful through its history, and preserved the land that we now enjoy and inhabit with pride. But what distinguished Billy from many of his peers was growing up in Byrdcliffe.

Byrdcliffe, indeed, the hillside bastion of art and culture that distinguished Woodstock from its neighboring towns and infused its ancient mores with the charm, beauty, language -and indeed the sometimes colossal failure - of the artistic endeavor. Billy's father, Bert Van Kleeck, for a time was the property overseer, whose job it was to keep water running through the pipes, rain from falling through the roof, the buildings maintained and the roads cleared. Billy grew up in this world of honest toil performed in the service of the many creative people who came from far different environments to find refuge in Byrdcliffe's demi-paradise.

To try to explain Billy to a stranger would be both senseless and cruel, like describing a sumptuous meal to someone who did not partake. Senseless because capturing all Billy's wonderful qualities would be impossible, and cruel because even if one were to succeed it would only leave the listener all too sorry he had never known the man himself. Just let it be known that Billy's generous spirit extended to all, from the humble laborer, to the exulted artist, to everyone in between. To the comfort of some and discomfit of others Billy's eye discerned one thing in a man: his character. Whether clothed in overalls, tie-dye, fine silk or crude linen, it made no difference.

Funeral services are somber affairs, but so much lighter on our soul when they celebrate the life of a Good Man. There is sadness, there is sorrow but there is not that stuttering, incomplete sentiment that comes with saying farewell to a life not well spent. For Billy the church in Shady had never been so full. The family he leaves behind could not have felt more love. And even though the God of every creed forbids pride, there was not one person in attendance who did not feel it greatly for the privilege of knowing Billy.

Several people during the service told stories about Billy. They differed in detail but the theme was the same; he worked hard, he gave freely, he volunteered much, he took little and he forgave easily.

Were all the inhabitants of the earth to strive for such an epitaph there would be no war, no want, no fear.

So how do Bloomsday and Billy Van Kleeck find themselves in one thought? Bloomsday celebrates a great artistic achievement. Billy Van Kleeck's life was the essence of art; openess, hard work and regard for the truth. June 16 will never be the same.

One little story about Billy spoken at his service: For a while he drove for the Trailways bus company. One rainy day it pulled up to the stop in Woodstock, and when completely filled Billy had to tell a lady at the curb she would have to take the next bus. "How long's the next bus?" she asked. "Long as this one; about forty feet," answered Billy.

There's no replacing a man like that.