As most of you have heard, one of my best friends, book dealer Bill Trojan passed away on the last day of the World Science Fiction Convention in Reno. Kris and I had already left Reno, so we didn’t get the news until early on Monday morning.
Shocked, yes. Surprised, no. For the last six years I had expected the day to come.
Actually, so had Bill.
For decades Bill was a book dealer at both mystery and science fiction conventions on weekends while working full-time as a computer programmer for Lane County in Eugene, Oregon. He retired in 2001 and was 63 years old when he died. (Thanks to John Locke for the great picture of Bill. I can’t begin to tell you how many times Bill looked at me with that look.)
Some are working on a party in honor of Bill this fall at a convention. I will announce it here when it is set up. There will be no service. Bill hated those and except for attending Damon Knight’s memorial, never went to them. He was very clear on that.
I first met Bill in 1984 when my first professionally-published story came out in a book called The Clarion Awards edited by Damon Knight. Bill had the books on his table at Norwescon and I walked up to his table and asked if he would like me to sign my story in the book. He looked at me and said, “Why would I want some neo-pro defacing my books?”
I think I said something like “F**k you.” And walked off.
That’s how I met one of my best friends and the man I talked to every day for the last six years straight.
When Kris and I moved to Eugene in 1986, we ended up becoming friends with Bill. We quickly learned that Bill had a gruff exterior at times that could irritate a monk, but inside he had a heart of gold.
When we started Pulphouse Publishing in 1987, Bill was the silent but important backer behind the company. I spent a lot of time at his house talking about the business of publishing, about books, and about money. Bill was a major financial backer of Pulphouse Publishing as well and when Pulphouse became a corporation he had a seat on the board of directors.
After Pulphouse, Bill pushed me to get back to writing and pushed Kris and I to start using what we had learned in Pulphouse to teach other writers. Behind the scenes he was a major supporter of writers and small publishers, but hated to have that knowledge get out.
And he called me a neo-pro until I published my tenth novel, then he acknowledged I was no longer a beginner and would stay around. He had that same standard for all writers because as a book dealer he had seen so many writers come and go over the decades, he didn’t call them real professionals until their tenth novel. But at the same time he went out of his way behind the scenes to help young writers.
When we started the workshops here and, of course, lost money, Bill stepped in a numbers of times to help out, paying for some workshop fees, and refusing to take any credit or even want to be acknowledged. Well, Bill, you’ve left us, so you can’t get mad at me now for telling the truth. So there.
The real truth of the matter: All the writers who have been through these workshops here on the coast and learned from Kris and my experience owe a huge thanks to Bill Trojan. There would have been no Pulphouse Publishing without Bill and no workshops either.
Around Eugene, Bill also had a soft heart for those in trouble. Just a few months ago he helped a young person who was homeless into an apartment, paid the deposit, and guaranteed the rent. And a large chunk of his money in his bank accounts is going to a homeless shelter in Eugene once I get his will all settled through the courts.
Bill had a will. For decades we couldn’t talk him into doing one, then two events happened a number of years back. Lance Casebeer died and his estate was auctioned off and Bill hated that. And number two, Bill had a stroke.
From the time I met Bill until the late 1990s, Bill gained a good hundred pounds plus and then about eight years ago became a diabetic. He refused to control it, even though he tested it twice a day. The stroke six years ago caused a number of things to happen.
First, he got a will and named me as executor.
His will determined how his books and money in his bank accounts would be dealt with. Bill was not a rich man, but he did have some money, a paid-off house, and a lot of books, much left over from his bookstore. Since I was his executor, he left me a few notes to do certain things with certain stuff of his. I will do my best to follow his wishes over the next few months.
The second thing that happened was that Bill and I talked every day.
We both hated the idea that since he lived alone he might end up on his floor not able to move for days. So we set up our check-in system where we talked every day. If I couldn’t reach him, I was to make the two hour drive to Eugene at once. On some days he would call me and say, “I’m not dead yet.” And then hang up. On other days we would talk for an hour or more about one thing or another.
I am going to really miss those phone calls.
Bill had no family at all. No children, no brothers or sisters, no nephews, no one. He had been married once and still hated his ex to the day he died because of what she did to him. I have very clear and funny instructions on how I am to tell her about his death.
Bill was a brilliant man with a masters degree in psychology. And he knew everyone it seemed in the older world of publishing. Some hated him, some loved him.
Bill had four really close friends in Eugene.
—Larry Woodside often traveled with him to ComicCon and the two of them often fought over art or pulp magazines.
—Dennis Hooker who owns a sports card and comic book shop about a block from where Bill lived took Bill’s many package deliveries and ran favors for Bill when one of the people Bill was helping needed something.
—Writer Dave Bishoff shared many things with Bill and Dave’s kid often spent time with Bill and Dave watching movies together. Bill loved those visits and really loved Dave’s kid.
—Rob Preston, collector extraordinaire often opened his home to the group and talked pulps and comics and books with Bill.
The other night all five of us sat at Rob’s house talking about Bill and drinking home brew to his memory. Bill was the glue that held the group together. Now it’s the strong memory of Bill that will keep us in contact.
The five of us get different parts of Bill’s vast collection as Bill wanted and expressed in his will and in private instructions he told to me over the many phone calls.
So Bill succeeded in not having any auction of his stuff as happened to Lance Casebeer. Many of his varied collections are staying together completely. And that would make him happy.
Bill died on the last day of the World Science Fiction Convention in Reno, NV, from a massive heart attack, which was basically caused by the uncontrolled health issues. He was happy and had a great convention. It is the way he would have wanted to leave us.
But damn it, Trojan, none of your good friends wanted you to leave just yet.
You helped so many thousands of people behind the scenes, pissed off many others, and leave a huge hole in the world.
Damn I’m going to miss the phone calls.
Sorry for your loss, Dean, it sounds like Bill Trojan was a great guy. I wish I could’ve thanked him for getting you and Kris to do the workshops because they’ve changed my life and I’m in debted to him, you and Kris for that. So, I’ll just say thank you to you and Kris, and give my condolensces.
I’m so sorry for your loss, Dean.
I think your story illustrates how sometimes it’s the crusty, difficult or odd people who are the kindest and most giving (at least under that crusty surface). So sorry you lost Bill. I’m grateful you had him, because I and all the others who come to this blog benefit from his mentorship. So here’s to Bill!
Tori
That was a very nice tribute to your friend. I hope one day when I leave the world, I have friends half as good as you are to Bill, DWS.
My mother has diabetes and I understand how difficult those life changes can be. Some days it’s frustrating as a loved one, other days you just have to accept their wishes. I’m glad that your friend lived the way he wanted to, and I’m sorry you won’t have your daily check in anymore.
My condolences,
Elizabeth Ann West
Wonderful tribute, Dean. Sorry for your loss…
My condolences to you and apologies to my self for never meeting a guy who sounds like one of the good ones.
Dean, I’m sorry to hear about Bill’s death. I remember you talking about him in some of the latest workshops. He’ll be sorely missed. Take care, and please keep his memory alive!
Karen
So sorry for your loss, Dean…and it sounds like a huge loss for the book world as well.
It’s ironic that I owe a debt to a man I’ll never have the chance to meet. Keep him in your memories and close to your heart, Dean.
That was very moving. I didn’t know Bill, but I know he’s very fortunate to have friends like you to remember him by. My condolences.
Thank you for sharing your memories of him with us. What an influence to this day and beyond, and what a loss to the world. What a wonderful tribute to a good man, Dean. I’m so very sorry for your loss.
Thanks, everyone for the kind thoughts. Very much appreciated.
Now working with lawyers on the will. Actually have had three wonderful and very helpful lawyers on the process and both Kris and I will be doing blogs later about estates. After we have some of this down first hand. Ahh, the learning of doing. We already are setting up appointments to fix problems in our will after this is done.
So far, knock on wood, the legal and estate side is clear and smooth. Just a ton of details.
More later and after a few more days I’ll be back with an update finally about Worldcon and the electronic book cards. And more Sacred Cows and some new articles, and then even more stories for the challenge. Stay tuned. In the master classes here, we call what I am going through a “Life Roll.” Back from this one shortly.
Thanks for sharing all this wonderful information about a guy who, up until now, I didn’t know had helped me out, as well as a bunch of other writers. Thanks to him, and to you and Kris too for all you do for us neopro writers.
Just before I read your post about Bill I had been going through four enormous boxes of photographs from the last fifty years and beyond…some of those people were gone. And I miss them. Your comments about Bill made an impression.
After I finished your post, and chuckled, I thought about the stories of people I’ve lost and had to acknowledge that the joy of knowing them far exceeds the pain of their lose. But damn I will always miss them.
I think you and Bill were lucky to have each other. May the good times with him always make you laugh.
Dean,
Sorry for your loss. Sounds like he was a great guy, and I’m a bit sad I’ll never get the chance to meet him.
What a lovely tribute and remembrance of a dear friend. My condolences to you and Kris, and to all the other friends who will miss Bill.
Oh, Dean, I’m so sorry. I just read your post.
Some of your descriptions here made me think of Jon Gustafson. I can still remember driving him to the Albertson’s store for groceries in Moscow– once his diabetes got so bad that he had trouble seeing properly. He was such a good soul, but he just didn’t seem to control his diabetes either.
I’m sorry you lost your friend.
Yeah, Barb, it is similar. Jon was a great friend as well and he spent many nights at our house over the years when traveling. The first time I met John was in 1974 at a science fiction club he and Steve Fahnestalk set up at WSU Union building. We eventually moved the meetings to me store in Moscow and Jon was always a center of that. I still miss him as well.
Wow. You’ll expect that daily phone call for the rest of your life. But it’s a good way to remember him. Sad but good. I’m sorry for your loss.
Bill sounds like he was a really great guy. I would’ve loved to have met him.
Take care, and my condolences to you and Kris.
Glad to see his friends honoring Bill, but sorry for the loss to all of you. I’ll toss one back for him, even though I didn’t know the man.
And Dean, always remember: In Bill’s passing, in his own way, he continues to affect others and always will.
Dean, thanks for letting us in and telling us about Bill. You made it feel like I knew him a little and get a sense of the sadness in his absence.
A very informative and touching eulogy, Dean. My best and most heartfelt wishes, on the loss of your good friend. I sometimes think people like this are the unsung glue that holds civilization together — and they never get enough credit for it, because they never seek credit. They truly do their best work behind the scenes and out of the limelight.
Sorry, Dean.
I still miss Chris Bunch, who allowed himself to check out too early too. Still pisses me off.
Ditto to Tory: I did not know Bill, but I do know that passionate book dealers (kudos to Jack Brooks in Oakville) in the SF field can make a big difference. Their presence in any convention is like those supporting actors no one pay attention to; their absence leave a gaping hole in our community’s tightly woven fabric. The only thing we can do is giving a helping hand in our turn.
Dean, your love for Bill shines clearly in this post. I feel saddened that I will never meet him, especially since I owe him a debt of gratitude for his support of your workshops.
You are in my prayers.
We look back on the tears and laugh…
We look back on the laughs and cry…
Sorry for your loss.
Jonas
What a wonderful, wonderful testimonial. Deepest sympathy on your loss.
Damn it all. I knew Bill on one level–and only one level–for 20-some years; we finally lost contact maybe a decade ago because I would no longer buy books from him (long story, irrrelevant, onward.) More to the point, I got the feeling that I’d been somehow weighed in the balance and found wanting. I never got past that bastardly exterior (he sometimes made House look like June Cleaver) to know the apparently generous, decent man inside. Others–others I know and trust–have spoken of that man too often for me to doubt his existence, though I never met him. My failure, at least in part, and my loss. I really am sorry for *your* loss, though.
Dean,
I have been following your blog on and off throughout the year here, and I’ve got to say that this is a very touching and moving post here to top all others I’ve read.
I am very sad for the loss of your friend, and your description of him really causes me to wish I had known him too.
I am glad that he was successful in avoiding the auction of his stuff, and I’m glad for your sake that you are able to share in what he left behind. Even more than that, the trust that he showed you in allowing you to be the executor. That alone right there showed the level of friendship you guys had, and that’s definitely something to cherish.
May you have peace in this time of mourning, and may you always be filled with joy whenever you remember your friend rather than any sadness.
Thanks for sharing with us this very personal moment in your life.
Be encouraged,
David James
My sympathies. Bill sounded like a great guy. Thanks for sharing your story with us. Made me think…
One thing I guess I wasn’t clear on. Doing Bill’s estate didn’t really cause the damage to my eye. It was a serious of circumstances such as my blood pressure had yet again gotten out of control, I was pushing hard, and I wasn’t listening to the weather forecasts as I normally do here on the coast. I could have, and should have stopped in Salem and got a hotel room, but it was my choice to push on for the coast. I could have been doing anything, coming back from a bookstore run for example, and hit the same circumstances and caused the same damage to myself. It happened when moving estate stuff, but not completely caused by the estate stuff. More my standard stupid decisions. (grin) Like playing 100 plus holes of golf in a tournament with two untreated broken ribs. Still paying for that silliness to this day. (grin)
Dean, thanks for this great tribute to Bill, and for all the work you did on his behalf. So sorry to learn about the eye problems.
I remember when I first met Bill in the mid-eighties, his bookstore (Escape While There’s Still Time) was inside the building we now call Fifth Pearl in Eugene, I guess, before it moved to the corner of Fifth and Willamette. I think he pissed me off early on, too, same way he did you. Neo pros.
I learned to like him because you and Kris did, and he was a good friend, though not a close one, later on. I ran into him at the post office off and on. I still remember him demonstrating how to thump cats. “They love it.” And they did seem to love it when he did it. I remember when the Pulphouse Crew was striving for fitness and you guys would run by the river and I’d ride my bike. Can’t remember if Bill was involved in the softball stuff. But he was a great Secret Master of things.
I’ve been working on clearing out my house, and this is a good incentive to get back on that project.
xx
Nina
Nina, that is what Bill was, no doubt. A Secret Master of Things. Great way to describe what he did behind so many scenes. And he was a major fan of your writing. I’d forgot all about him “thumping” cats. They did love it and when he was over here at times he’d do that to one or two of our cats and they would just let him and purr. Very weird.
I’m very late to learning this news. I’m sorry he’s gone, and I won’t forget him. He was a good guy.
Elsa, yes, we still miss him every day.
I never knew Bill, but this wonderful post made me feel close to this irascible, funny, blunt, and wonderful person.
(and it also makes me feel like moving to Eugene… think I’d find a community of like-minded nerds and writers there)
Thank you so much for this, Dean!