In seventh grade, Billy worked at a pool hall/bowling alley to help his mother pay the rent. He set up bowling pins for four cents a game. When his shift ended, Billy walked home, getting to bed at two o’clock in the morning. One day, when Billy fell asleep in class, Sister Bertha nudged him awake.
She said, “Are you still working in that pool room?”
Bleary-eyed, Billy looked up at his teacher and said, “Yes, Sister.”
Sister Bertha nodded and said, “All right. Go back to sleep.”5
In search of cheaper rent, the family moved again, this time to a small home on Cleveland’s west side. One day, while walking home from school, Billy came upon a stray dog without a collar. He praised the dog. He patted the dog. He gave her candies from his pocket. All the way home he said, “C’mon, girl. C’mon.” When he found his mother in the kitchen, Billy told her “a little white lie.” He said, “Mom, look at this dog. She followed me all the way home. I couldn’t get rid of her. I think she needs me. Can we keep her?”6 Billy promised to look after the dog, and his mom finally gave in to all of his pleas.
Billy named the dog Queenie. Soon she surprised them by giving birth to a litter of six puppies. Billy gave all the puppies away. About two months later, tragedy struck. A few blocks away from their house, Queenie was hit by a car and died. Billy’s best friend tried to cheer him up by giving back one of her puppies, a little male named Pal.
During spring, summer, and fall, Billy and Pal spent their days hiking through the woods and tramping through the marshes filled with frogs and water birds. Billy taught the dog to sit, stay, speak, and fetch. Then he taught Pal more difficult tricks. On command, Pal would leap six feet in the air and swipe the hat off Billy’s head. When they crossed a busy intersection, Billy signaled for Pal to jump into his arms. The two were inseparable. When winter rolled around, they went sledding with the boys in the neighborhood. Pal not only rode down the hill on his own sled, he also pulled the sleds back up the hill with four or five ropes held in his mouth.
Billy majored in horticulture and photography at West Technical High School in Cleveland, Ohio.
Photo by Nancy Roe Pimm
Every day at 3:30, Pal patiently sat out front of Billy’s school, waiting to share the one-mile walk home. One day, when the school bell rang, Pal wasn’t there. Billy informed everyone in the neighborhood about the dog’s mysterious disappearance. He also went to the Animal Protective League and asked for their help. For months, he thought he would find his dog, but he never saw his trusted friend again. Bill remembers, “I was so heartsick that I vowed never to be that close to anyone again—animal or human.”7 At the age of sixteen, Billy’s heart had been broken—not by a girl, but by a dog.
That fall, Billy enrolled in West Technical High School. They offered machine shop, aviation engine repair, electrical shop, photography, and much more. Because of his love for everything outdoors, Billy enrolled in horticulture. He needed more credits, so he added a course in photography.
By the time he turned seventeen, the family had moved ten times because of financial difficulties. Billy still struggled in the classroom, but he loved sports, especially football. He worked hard every season and finally made varsity in his senior year. The coach said, “If everyone worked as hard as Wynne, we’d have a heck of a team.”8 While training for his final season, Billy suffered a career-ending injury: torn ligaments in his right knee. With his poor grades always an issue, he overheard his family saying once again, “I wonder what’s to become of Billy?”9
DID YOU KNOW?
Bill Wynne was inducted into West Technical High School’s Hall of Fame on September 22, 2006. West Tech was the largest high school in Ohio with over five thousand students enrolled in 1939. With such a large student body, they had six football teams—three junior varsity and three varsity teams. The school closed its doors in 1995.
3
LOVE STRUCK
The secret to a good life is turning all of your disadvantages into advantages.
—Bill Wynne1
THE WYNNE FAMILY moved to Joan Avenue in the spring of 1940. At this point, eighteen-year-old Billy went by the name of Bill. Bill became close friends with a neighbor boy named Bob Howard. Bob considered himself to be popular with the girls. One day, he convinced Bill to prank the cute girls in the neighborhood by calling them on the phone, pretending to be someone else. He dared Bill to call a particular girl named Margie, since she was the type to hang up. Bob called Margie “the girl who had never been kissed.” Bill accepted the challenge and dialed Margie’s number. For one month, Bill called Margie daily, but he never revealed his identity. They had long conversations, some lasting over an hour.
At the end of each call, Bill asked permission to call again. Every day, Margie answered coyly, “If you want.”2
Bill wanted to tell Margie that he was “the mystery caller,” but every time he walked to the other end of Joan Avenue, to talk face to face, Margie ran into her house. One day, Bill told Margie’s sister, Helen, that he had been trying to meet her sister for over a month, but every time Margie saw him coming, she went inside and wouldn’t answer the door. Helen devised a plan.
While living in this house on Joan Avenue, Bill met the love of his life. His family lived here before, during, and after World War II.
Photo by Nancy Roe Pimm
She said, “Margie is so shy. I know she likes you. Next time you come down the street, I’ll latch the screen door and lock her out. This way you can finally talk in person and tell her you are her ‘mystery caller.’”3
The scheme came off without a hitch. According to plan, Bill walked down the avenue. When Margie saw him coming, she raced for the house. She pulled and pulled on the screen door handle, only to realize that she was locked out. Bill vaulted over the porch railing, and Margie turned around. When they finally came face to face, the two busted into laughter. After some small talk, Bill asked Margie on a date.
Margie models for Bill as he practiced photography in 1941.
Photo by William A. Wynne
The following day, Bill borrowed a friend’s bicycle, along with fifty cents. Bill and Margie rode bikes and rented a rowboat. On their way home, they stopped for a couple of Cokes, which cost ten cents apiece.
That night, Bob Howard asked Bill about his first date with Margie. Bill took a nickel out of his pocket and said, “She’s not after my money!”4
For their second date, Margie suggested the nearby roller rink. Bill pawned a broken pocket watch to afford the price of admission. When they arrived at the rink, Margie laced up her shoe skates, while Bill clamped on his old metal skates. Margie rolled onto the wooden floor, ready to circle waltz, a couple’s dance on skates, but Bill seemed to have two left feet and could only skate in a straight line. Margie admitted on a later date that Bill’s inability to dance on skates was almost a deal-breaker. She considered not going with him on a third date. But when Bill showed up with a jar for butterfly hunting, she had a change of heart. Bill had an amazing butterfly collection, and Margie loved the challenge of hunting the winged insects. After a successful hunt, Bill and Margie took a bike ride and stopped for malted shakes on the way home.
Bill and his