It has been said there are two kinds
of people in this world. The first walks into a room and says, “Here I
am.” The second walks in and instead says, “There you are.”
Without a doubt, my friend Jerry Williams, who passed away unexpectedly last Monday at the age of 68, was a “there you are” kind of person.
He was as warm, caring and conversational as he was smart, hard-working and resourceful. He loved his hometown of Lebanon, loved serving its people, and as a result made somewhere close to 200,000 best friends along the way, give or take a few.
His legacy was evident at last night’s visitation, when people were lined out the door of Oswald Hoskins Funeral Home for more than three hours. It was also apparent this morning at a beautiful service that had every seat filled.
Zach Burns, who is married to Jerry’s daughter, Jenny, delivered a moving eulogy. “I was so incredibly lucky to be his son-in-law,” he said. “He was loved by all. He had more friends than you could count.”
Jerry was preceded in death by his parents, his late wife, Sue (nee: Terry) Williams in 1995 and brother in law, David Blanton.
Jerry is survived by his wife, Karin (nee: Fueston) Williams of Lebanon, two daughters, Jennifer (Zach) Burns of Lebanon and Kristi (Wes) Thompson of Hurricane, WV, step daughter, Stephanie (Phil) Penrod of Miamisburg, step son, David Sanker of Washington, DC, sister, Betty Blanton of Lebanon, seven grandchildren, Jack, Lillie, Evie, Luke, Kora, Jovie and Lucas and many nieces, nephews, friends and extended family members.
“He loved people, and he loved to tell jokes,” Zach continued. “You’d see him at parties and you’d watch him go from group to group, often telling each one of them the same joke.” And Jerry loved to tell stories. “Hey, hey, I gotta’ tell you this,” Jerry would often say. “And what followed was a story,” Zach added, “and a long one.”
Jerry was a handyman. “He knew a little bit about everything, and made sure you knew it,” Zach joked. Jerry was also competitive. “Even with the grandkids; he showed them no mercy,” he added.
But more than anything, Jerry loved his family and friends. “He held no grudges. He did not judge,” Zach said. “There was no such thing as ‘extended family’ with him. Instead, everyone was just ‘family.’”
…
I MET JERRY TWO YEARS ago when he became a bailiff for Judge Tim Oliver in the Warren County Domestic Relations Court, where I was a magistrate at the time. We talked briefly between cases and went to lunch with Judge Oliver, but we didn’t really work together until after the Judge retired.
Still, Jerry impressed me right away with his humility. He didn’t act like a man who had spent much of his professional career as a bank president. He didn’t hesitate to take small tasks around the office, or hint that anything was beneath him.
Instead, he was just “Jerry.” I quickly gathered what Zach talked about this morning – Jerry’s signature line was, “Hey, hey, I gotta’ tell you this.”
He has been an enormous help to me since the first of the year, not just because he arranged the cases properly and the kept courtroom to order, but also because he worked well with everyone on staff, always joking with everybody, and encouraged me to be myself and trust my instincts.
God bless the positive people of this world. Jerry was certainly one of them.
Often, at the end of a long day in the courtroom, we would talk…maybe about the case we’d just finished, or maybe about family, things from the past, or how faith played a big part in our lives.
I’d tell him all the time how music speaks to me, about all sorts of things, just when I need to hear it. I’d say it went way beyond mere coincidence, to an degree I am convinced comes from up above. Jerry would get the biggest kicks out of those episodes.
I’ll miss him. Like so many countless others, I will miss his jokes and stories and the ways he provided encouragement. I still can't believe he is gone. Rest in peace, my friend.
…
I BROKE FOR LUNCH about 12:15 last Friday afternoon, and as I was walking out the door, I had to walk past Jerry’s empty desk. It hit hard yet again that he will never sit there.
As soon I got outside, a black truck drove by, which shocked me for a second because Jerry drove a black truck. But it kept going, and Jerry’s parking space was still empty.
I looked up at the sun, and for a second I had a thought. “Are you okay, man? Is there really a life we can look forward to someday?”
I started my car and began to back out. As always, my radio was tuned to station WGRR 103.5, which plays songs from the 70s and 80s. When the music started, I couldn’t help but chuckle.
Tell me this is just a coincidence.
“When I die and they lay me to rest/
I’m gonna’ go to the place that’s the best/
When I lay me down to die/
Going up to the spirit in the sky.
Goin' up to the spirit in the sky/
That's where I'm gonna go when I die/
When I die and they lay me to rest/
Gonna go to the place that's the best.”
Maybe that’s all it was, just a coincidence, but I’ll think otherwise. I pictured Jerry in heaven surrounded by former musical greats, going from one group to the next.
“Hey, hey. Watch this.”
Without a doubt, my friend Jerry Williams, who passed away unexpectedly last Monday at the age of 68, was a “there you are” kind of person.
He was as warm, caring and conversational as he was smart, hard-working and resourceful. He loved his hometown of Lebanon, loved serving its people, and as a result made somewhere close to 200,000 best friends along the way, give or take a few.
His legacy was evident at last night’s visitation, when people were lined out the door of Oswald Hoskins Funeral Home for more than three hours. It was also apparent this morning at a beautiful service that had every seat filled.
Zach Burns, who is married to Jerry’s daughter, Jenny, delivered a moving eulogy. “I was so incredibly lucky to be his son-in-law,” he said. “He was loved by all. He had more friends than you could count.”
Jerry was preceded in death by his parents, his late wife, Sue (nee: Terry) Williams in 1995 and brother in law, David Blanton.
Jerry is survived by his wife, Karin (nee: Fueston) Williams of Lebanon, two daughters, Jennifer (Zach) Burns of Lebanon and Kristi (Wes) Thompson of Hurricane, WV, step daughter, Stephanie (Phil) Penrod of Miamisburg, step son, David Sanker of Washington, DC, sister, Betty Blanton of Lebanon, seven grandchildren, Jack, Lillie, Evie, Luke, Kora, Jovie and Lucas and many nieces, nephews, friends and extended family members.
“He loved people, and he loved to tell jokes,” Zach continued. “You’d see him at parties and you’d watch him go from group to group, often telling each one of them the same joke.” And Jerry loved to tell stories. “Hey, hey, I gotta’ tell you this,” Jerry would often say. “And what followed was a story,” Zach added, “and a long one.”
Jerry was a handyman. “He knew a little bit about everything, and made sure you knew it,” Zach joked. Jerry was also competitive. “Even with the grandkids; he showed them no mercy,” he added.
But more than anything, Jerry loved his family and friends. “He held no grudges. He did not judge,” Zach said. “There was no such thing as ‘extended family’ with him. Instead, everyone was just ‘family.’”
…
I MET JERRY TWO YEARS ago when he became a bailiff for Judge Tim Oliver in the Warren County Domestic Relations Court, where I was a magistrate at the time. We talked briefly between cases and went to lunch with Judge Oliver, but we didn’t really work together until after the Judge retired.
Still, Jerry impressed me right away with his humility. He didn’t act like a man who had spent much of his professional career as a bank president. He didn’t hesitate to take small tasks around the office, or hint that anything was beneath him.
Instead, he was just “Jerry.” I quickly gathered what Zach talked about this morning – Jerry’s signature line was, “Hey, hey, I gotta’ tell you this.”
He has been an enormous help to me since the first of the year, not just because he arranged the cases properly and the kept courtroom to order, but also because he worked well with everyone on staff, always joking with everybody, and encouraged me to be myself and trust my instincts.
God bless the positive people of this world. Jerry was certainly one of them.
Often, at the end of a long day in the courtroom, we would talk…maybe about the case we’d just finished, or maybe about family, things from the past, or how faith played a big part in our lives.
I’d tell him all the time how music speaks to me, about all sorts of things, just when I need to hear it. I’d say it went way beyond mere coincidence, to an degree I am convinced comes from up above. Jerry would get the biggest kicks out of those episodes.
I’ll miss him. Like so many countless others, I will miss his jokes and stories and the ways he provided encouragement. I still can't believe he is gone. Rest in peace, my friend.
…
I BROKE FOR LUNCH about 12:15 last Friday afternoon, and as I was walking out the door, I had to walk past Jerry’s empty desk. It hit hard yet again that he will never sit there.
As soon I got outside, a black truck drove by, which shocked me for a second because Jerry drove a black truck. But it kept going, and Jerry’s parking space was still empty.
I looked up at the sun, and for a second I had a thought. “Are you okay, man? Is there really a life we can look forward to someday?”
I started my car and began to back out. As always, my radio was tuned to station WGRR 103.5, which plays songs from the 70s and 80s. When the music started, I couldn’t help but chuckle.
Tell me this is just a coincidence.
“When I die and they lay me to rest/
I’m gonna’ go to the place that’s the best/
When I lay me down to die/
Going up to the spirit in the sky.
Goin' up to the spirit in the sky/
That's where I'm gonna go when I die/
When I die and they lay me to rest/
Gonna go to the place that's the best.”
Maybe that’s all it was, just a coincidence, but I’ll think otherwise. I pictured Jerry in heaven surrounded by former musical greats, going from one group to the next.
“Hey, hey. Watch this.”