Every small town has at least one, sometimes two or three town drunks. Your Town had just one---“Willie Boy” Rigby.
“Willie Boy” was hardly your stereotypical town drunk. He never begged; never got belligerent; never passed out in public and only frequented one of Your Town’s three bars.
What then qualified “Willie Boy” as the town drunk?
His journey toward that dubious title started when William Rigby, wife Susan and 19 year old son Carl moved from Cleveland, Ohio to Your Town in 1968.
William was a prominent and very successful investment broker in Cleveland and brought his considerable fortune to Your Town because Susan wanted to be near her father and ailing mother.
Within a year the wheels started to come off William’s life: His mother-in-law dies; Susan rekindles a relationship with her high school sweetheart; and Carl is drafted into the Army.
The next year was even worse. Susan divorced him and Carl was killed in the Tet Offensive in Viet Nam.
William became very depressed and took early retirement. He sold their big, new home on the east side of Your Town and moved into an apartment downtown. His drinking migrated from the weekends, to three times a week, to every day in just a matter of a few weeks.
He was often seen standing with arms folded and head bowed at Carl’s grave. His clothes soon smelled like he washed them in liquor and he always looked like he needed about seven shaves.
The moniker of “Willie Boy” stuck after some mean-spirited teenage boys saw him walking to the cemetery and yelled from a car, “Hey, Willie you goin’ to see your dead boy?” In an instant “Willie Boy” was born and soon the entire town called him by that name. He hated it but was powerless to change it.
Years passed and “Willie Boy” continued to drink heavily and make his daily journey to the cemetery.
One rainy morning he was struck by a hit-and-run driver. He lived for two days in ICU and was only able to utter a few intelligible words. He asked that his journal be brought to his bedside.
A policeman and a hospital social worker went to his apartment to retrieve his large, dog-eared, and smelly journal. He died clutching the journal.
At his graveside service the Captain of the Your Town Salvation Army read his obituary and some Bible verses and spoke of his search for peace. The Captain then opened the journal and shocked the small crowd when he read a statement that appeared at the top of each page: “Dear God, please send someone to help me today.”
On the inside of the back cover was penned something of a Will. “Whatever is left, divide equally among the five churches in town. Maybe they will try and help people like me. I miss Carl so much. I am very sad and so lonely---William Rigby.”
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