You probably don’t know Glenn Dill. That is unfortunate for you because you haven’t a chance to make his acquaintance any more. Some would say he has met his maker. Others will say he’s reunited with the love of his life, wife Dorothy.
I’ll say it this way: glenn Dill died September 19, 2003, at the age of 84.
Those are the cold, hard facts of his death as a reporter would write in the lead for his obituary. You won’t find much more in the obituaries that ran in area papers this past weekend. A quick count on the obit pegged it at less than 90 words. Less than half of those were about Glenn — the rest about the funeral home and arrangements.
How utterly unfortunate that someone’s life, as in Glenn’s case 84 years worth, ends in less than 100 words printed on 30-pound newsprint. There was so much, much more to Glenn.
Glenn was a big man. Tall and strong looking even when I first met him almost 19 years ago when he was 65. He and Dorothy lived in a nice arts-and-crafts style home on M-24 in Oxford Village. (I believe the current owners have painted it — gulp — purple.)
I got to know Glenn because after retiring from Generous Motors Corporation, he started attending Oxford Village Council meetings. And, at every meeting he’d ask questions, jot notes and ask more questions.
If you didn’t know Glenn, you wouldn’t know how deep he was. If you saw him, you might just call him a big, lovable lug with big, thick Coke-bottle bottom glasses and an ill-fitting, old cardigan sweater. He looked simple. But that was just on the outside. One of Glenn’s favorite lines described himself.
‘Mrs. Dill’s boy don’t see so good, hear so good, or have an education — but he don’t let nothing pass him by either.?
I don’t know how many times I heard Glenn say that, either at meetings or when he came in to our office to visit (with newspapers from here and there and an occasional gooseberry pie that Dorothy had baked). For a big guy he had a warm, soft voice. (and once it got going, it was hard to keep him quiet — he had more stories than I, or anybody else cared to hear. Being polite, however, we always heard him out.)
Recollecting back, maybe he was simple, but if so then in a good way. To Glenn things just needed to be done in a proper, honest manner — elementary, simple. When he wanted to get a point across, he’d spin a yarn.
‘There was this sewer man in Pontiac. He was a Swede and he knew his sewers. He was just a little old man — didn’t say much. But, he always attended the city council meetings. One meeting they were reading off the bills and a councilman says, ?$4 a foot for the sewer.? And this little man jumps up and says, ‘No. It’s only $2.?
‘You see, they didn’t expect this little old man to know anything. They thought they could get away with it.? And, that’s why Glenn went to meetings — to make sure no shenanigans were perpetrated on village taxpayers.
Still, more than being an honest guy keeping track of local government, he was a husband, father and grandfather. And, before there was such a thing as the North Oakland Transport Authority, he was hauling senior citizens all across the state. His passengers always traveled in style, too. Each year he had a shiny new Chevy Suburban to drive.
Heck, there’s more I could say about Glenn than the few words I’ve written to publish on cheap 30-pound newsprint. Suffice to say, Glenn was a gentle giant. He had a good heart and a simplicity to him that was both refreshing and intriguing.
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