William F. Hull
"Bill"

Bill was a complicated, complex person.
What words can describe him?
Peripatetic, Focused, Bright, Sensitive, Emotional, Distinguished…
He was a person who understood the meaning and value of standards,
He was a person who understood quality in ideas, works of art and people….
He was a person of real presence,
And it was the presence of that "presence"
That now intensifies the presence of his absence.

One cannot think of Bill without thinking about people.
He loved people.
Yet, he was an intensely shy and inherently introverted person.
He was conditioned by early years growing up in a remote small town in Eastern Washington state,
Where his love of ideas, of decorative products and fashionable clothing discovered in his father's store,
Were at odds with the out of doors gun toting sports loving interests of the region.
A young man interested in the world of aesthetic concerns didn't quite fit in….
He was a pilgrim on his own path.
He knew what it felt like to be different.
And when his path took him deeply into the world of aesthetic concerns,
And he found a career there, he knew other young people were coming from the
Intellectual psychological aesthetic place he had known.

He loved people.
He became a mentor to many throughout his career.
Here in Syracuse, on the New York State Council for the Arts, The Kentucky Arts Council and at Penn State.
Shy, introverted, he loved people…he loved mentoring others….
You wouldn't think it, but Bill was a tough, severe task master.
He loved standards. He loved quality.
He was rigorous in his devotion to standards and quality
And as a mentor he insisted on it from those in his charge…
But gently, graciously and thoughtfully so…
He wasn't given to correcting people…
Seeing something that bothered him, he would ask a question…the right question of the person in need of clarity.
Bill always knew the right question to ask at the right moment to really help someone understand, to question themselves.
Sometimes he would teach, mentor by making a statement about himself that was really all about you.
He knew how to reach people directly, profoundly and always with a kind spirit directed towards their growth.
He was a great mentor.
He loved people.

Among the people he loved most were artists.
How many artists did he help by arranging shows of their work?
By arranging acquisitions of their work by museums and public collections?
By arranging publications of their work?
By being their constant advocate?
Bill was a consummate professional
With a very human and humane touch.
In a challenging and violent world Bill was a person who embraced peace.
He found peace and promoted peace through art.
In art he found an expressive channel for people's greatest love and achievement,
Core elements of peace.
And now,
We pray that he himself is at peace.

We cannot speak of Bill without speaking of food.
Bill's "aspic" would jiggle with pride on any table…Julia Child would have been in awe of Bill's "aspics"!
He could pop it out of a mold and plate it to perfection.
And Bill's pies…his berry and fruit pies…
If Pillsbury had known Bill's pies there would have been no Betty Crocker….
It would have been "Chef Bill."

For a foodie like Bill
You can imagine what he would have thought about MacDonald's….
I can claim the distinction, if it is a distinction, of introducing him to MacDonald's.
We were on a road trip in North Carolina…back country of North Carolina…and we had been unable to find a restaurant for lunch.
I spotted a MacDonald's, and while I knew it was risky, I ventured the suggestion that we stop there.
Once we had our orders and were seated, Bill looked down rather skeptically at the paper and cardboard ensconced "food."
To my everlasting surprise, he then produced from his blazer pocket a knife and fork, with which he proceeded to eat his hamburger.
I glanced left and right and saw the wonderment, that I shared, on the faces of virtually everyone in the place…all of whom were focused on Bill…
There we are, two guys in suits, in the midst of deepest North Carolina and Bill eating his Big Mac with knife and fork….
I suspect it was Bill's first, and last experience with MacDonald's!
Bill also had a sense of humor about such things…
He knew how the game was played…
Later in the week, we were on the coast of North Carolina and Bill found a proper restaurant.
When the waiter approached Bill said to me…"let me order for us tonight…!"
Shortly, I was presented with a large plate of ice topped out with oysters.
Now for a Minnesota farm country boy a plate of something resembling the deep socketed watery eyes of old men,
Imbedded in ice…
Well, I guess I enjoyed those oysters about as much as Bill enjoyed that Big Mac….

When Bill was founding director of what is now the Palmer Museum of Art at Penn State,
I was a graduate student who he took on as a graduate assistant at the museum…not for my brain, as he told me, but for the fact that I looked strong enough to move heavy works of art.
Well, as we got to know each other, we ended up travelling on museum business a great deal…
Trips to NY, Washington, DC, New England, the Carolina's, Kentucky, Indiana, Missouri, Nebraska, Minnesota and later to Denmark, Sweden, and elsewhere.
I remember one trip driving across New York State with a truck load of paintings from museums and stopping at a remote gas station: two guys in suits, a plain unmarked van.
The station attendant came out, pumped gas…the whole time chewing on his toothpick and eyeing us suspiciously…finally he says "antique dealers…you have a truck full of valuable antiques here!"
Bill and I were both taken aback…surprised…and initially denied that we were antiques dealers…"well he says, dressed like that you aren't truck drivers."
Bill and I spent the rest of the day looking in the rear view mirror thinking the gas station attendant might have some nefarious friends tracking us down….
I remember another trip to Nebraska. I brought along a tape of Carl Orff's Carmina Burana. Bill was driving when it started to play. Soon he reached over and turned up the volume a little…as he did so he pressed on the gas a little more,
Then he reached over again and turned up the volume a little more and again his foot went down on the gas a little firmer. This was repeated again and the volume was so loud I could hardly think, and Bill was going faster than ever…
It seemed like our truck full of art was literally bouncing down the interstate…
It wasn't such a good idea to have Bill driving with Carmina Burana filling the cab of the truck….
Then another time walking near the White House on our way to the Renwick Gallery in Washington. Suddenly, a voice, a familiar voice actually, is heard shouting "Bill! Bill!" There, across the street walking with an entourage and secret service was
Nelson Rockefeller, Vice President of the United States. He had appointed Bill years before to the New York State Council for the Arts and they had worked on many cultural and art projects together. So there is the Vice President hailing Bill to come on over.
There was a brief, very cordial conversation and I am thinking "this is cool…this is pretty darn cool…Bill is a really cool guy!"

But for everything that Bill accomplished, for everything that he did, for every affirmative presence he had in the lives of others,
Nothing was more central to his being, to who he was…than his family.
I got to know Bill when he and Carolyn had recently moved from Kentucky to Penn State and from the very beginning I was aware of his concern that Margot had stayed behind in Kentucky to finish high school.
He fretted so. Margot, you were constantly on his mind, then…and frankly…always. Through all the years whenever Bill and I spoke or spent time together, Margot was always close at hand in his thinking. And when Tavery arrived…well, we all thought and
Knew that for Bill is was the greatest thing that could have happened. Such happiness, such bliss at this new life in the family.
The intensity of his love for Margot and Tavery reflected also the love he had for Freddie, the son that he and Carolyn, the brother that Margot lost in 1963.
As it turned out Freddie and I were born in the same year…just months apart. For Bill and for me it was a blessing and a curse. Bill's great affection for me was in part a longing for the son he had lost and
I received and returned his affection knowing I could not fill that sad absence of Freddie. One night, on one of our many trips together, we were having dinner and Bill was unusually quiet.
Finally he looked at me and I could see such sadness in his eyes…he said "I am so grateful you were with me today…this is Freddie's birthday." Another time and place…the same scene and he said
"This is such a hard day for me, I am glad you are here because this is the anniversary of Freddie's death."
This was an important part of our relationship that we both wished were unnecessary…we both in some measure…he of course much more than me…suffered from and found refuge and strength in. It drew us closer
and we both worked on managing it in affirmative directions…but it was difficult for both of us.
And there was Carolyn.
I did not see as much of Carolyn as I did of Bill…but I felt her warmth and caring when in her presence.
Since Bill died I have struggled with whether or not to tell the following story, and only now, as I talk about it, have I decided to share it.
It is true.
It defies belief.
But it is true…and it measures in some way how we all felt about each other.
Bill and Carolyn had driven me into NYC one day as I was on my way to London for a two week trip.
After a week in London, I was awakened in my hotel room at 2 in the morning in the most frightful way…
I shudder to tell this story…
I was asleep and felt someone pushing on my back, pushing hard and relentlessly to awaken me. It was frightening…I was scared…very scared.
I felt someone in the room, I saw a shadow move in the darkness and I turned on the bedside lamp expecting to come face to face with I didn't know who….
No one there. I jumped up, turned on all the lights, checked the bathroom, the closets…no one there.
It was so real, so palpable…someone had been there and forced me awake.
I sat on the bed and only one thought was in my mind…"I must get home…I must get to State College."
I am wide awake, rational…dealing with this strange experience.
I packed my bags, checked out of the hotel…made my way to Heathrow…still shaken from the experience. I feel I am crazy.
I find a flight back to New York. There I get a bus to State College…I arrive in the middle of the night, get home and fitfully, exhausted I go to bed.
A few hours later, mid-morning, William Davis, assistant director of the art museum, comes to our house…he is shocked to see me, but relieved.
He tells me that earlier that morning, just a few hours ago, Carolyn had passed away.
I had my answer. I knew why I was in State College. I knew who had summoned me.
Davis and I went over to the Hull's. Bill came down from upstairs and saw me in the living room…quizzically he fixed his vision on me…I knew he was wondering how I was there.
But his emotional turmoil and grief led him back to his room.
Months later Bill asked me how I came to be in his living room that morning, since just a week earlier he and Carolyn had seen me off to London. I told him this story.
He believed me…he nodded knowingly and said he understood. We never spoke of it again.

Later, years later, I visited Bill at Selkirk. This place possessed Bill, and I think, generations of his and Carolyn's family.
I felt their presence and presences…
I wrote Bill about it later…something I called "The Nimbus of Selkirk" which I mention here that Margot and Tavery will know what it is about.

Bill was a man of many and astonishingly significant achievements.
I think his greatest achievement was how he invested his presence in the hearts and minds of his family and friends,
Of those who were fortunate enough to have their paths cross his.

I embrace his life and memory,
I embrace the moments on life's path we shared,
I embrace the unending presence of his life in my own
With gratitude and gladness.