WIlliam Chill - writings

I spotted my piano teacher studying the suits on sale through the window of a men’s shop. He himself was dressed in a suit underneath a tan trench coat.  He was smoking.  You could smoke in the malls those days. He would smoke during the piano lessons, too. A suave Italian guy with dark black hair. He smoked with style and grace.  To this day, I still associate the smell of cigarette smoke with the crisp white pages of sheet music.  Christmas music played from the loudspeakers. Shoppers were everywhere. Everyone was happy.  It was back in the days before Christmas lost its little something. When it was still viewed through the eyes of youth.  The water fountains in concourses worked back then, shooting jets of water into the air while spotlights imbued them with a rotating schema of colors.  Sometimes the spraying pattern synched to the rhythm of the music. It was really something.   During the 80’s they took the fountains away, I suppose bec...

  At the Giant Eagle in Boardman, Ohio the day after Christmas. Boxing Day. It’s early morning, about 7am. A woman in her early 60’s is stocking shelves in the dairy section. A man about the same age pushes a cart stacked with empty corrugated boxes slowly down the aisle.  Man: “Morning.” Woman: “Morning.” Man: “How was your Christmas?” Woman: “Good. How was yours?” Man: “Good. Anything come in last night?” Woman: “There’s two pallets in the back. I think they’re overstocks.” Man: “Alight. I’ll take a look.” Woman: “We’ll see how it goes today.” Man: “Yep” Woman: Have a good one.” Man: “You too.” The man continues to push the cart with a slow limp. His right foot kicks out to the side as he takes his careful steps.  Even though the mills closed in 1977, the working life still leaves its mark on people.   I continued to look for what I was there for. A small carton of cream in the grand scheme all of a sudden seemed trivial and meaningless.  An end cap displ...

  Lunch at Heathrow  by William Chill   A five-hour layover in London Heathrow airport, what to do?   I’ve had a hectic week so I didn’t mind, I could actually use the downtime. It was lunchtime so I figured I’d find a nice sit-down restaurant and decompress for a bit.   I needed to get away from people.   I found an Asian noodle joint, a bit exotic, which also meant it was a bit pricey for most people, which meant it probably would not be very crowded. Perfect. I had my curmudgeon on.   The hostess led me inside, the place was somewhat crowded, although still a lot better than the other alternatives. She sat me at a long wooden table across from a balding 50-something year old man. We sat there across from each other, both sensing the awkwardness.   He looked British. And sour. I suspected he did not want to sit across from a stranger anyone more than I did. It looked as if he had already ordered and was waiting for his ...

  Stardust By William Chill   “Yeah, he comes back in town every now and then,” Dom the barber said to the graying fifty-year old man sitting underneath the sheet on the red vinyl barber chair. “I think he has a sister or someone still living in Campbell, or did she move out to Canfield? I don’t know.” “He was somethin’.”   “Yeah, he was. I remember him from the days when we used to lift down at Walsh’s Newport Barbell,” added the man in the chair. “Walsh! What a con artist that fuckin’ guy was. How many people did he stiff by that lifetime membership schtick? Remember that? He collected all those membership fees, folded up, then headed to Florida with all the loot. Or was it Hawaii? I don’t know.” “Damn Irishman. Hey, whatever happened to Frankie?” “Frankie Z?” “Yeah.” “He’s still around. He took over his old man’s real estate business.” “Oh yeah, that’s right. He was a nice guy.” “Yep. Greek.” Whenever Ralph came into Dom’s Barber Shop for a ha...