William Finn

My dear friend and mentor, William Finn, died last month.

Bill made it his mission to help launch “young” writers — a very rare thing. He was a gigantic personality with an even more gigantic heart and talent. The instant I met him, my life became infinitely richer and more interesting.

Bill invited me into his life, and his home. He made introductions. He created opportunities for my work to be heard.

I firmly believe that it’s because Bill thought I was good, that my classmates decided I was good and wanted to write with me.

There were times, especially during the pandemic, when he called me daily, sometimes twice a day, because he was bored. I always picked up the phone — I think that’s why he called me. He’d ask, “What’s new?” I’d wrack my brain to come up with anything to say. What could be new? We’d just spoken. And it was the pandemic.

When I asked him what was new, his answer was always the same: “Whatever.”

In the last couple of years, there have been fewer phone calls, but we still spoke at least once a week, even when neither of us had anything to report. He often called when I was busy, and I generally called him back when I was out walking. Yesterday afternoon I was out walking, and it hit me that I didn’t have to call him back…

Bill and I don’t speak on the phone since he died, but we continue to speak, and he continues to support me, push me and admonish me. He cares. And for that, I am forever grateful.