by JonMark Beilue, Amarillo Globe News*

Bill White died Monday. His passing was an undetectable ripple to all but a few.

He died in a city he originally wanted nothing to do with, but came to embrace. He died finally having the hard shell of bitterness, surliness and suspicion lifted. His nearly three years in Amarillo, like his previous 63 years, were difficult, yet he died with peace and contentment.

“He was a completely different man when he left this earth than he was when we met him,” John Davis said.

Bill White was forced to come to Amarillo. As the flood waters from Hurricane Katrina reached near the top of his apartment on Canal Street in New Orleans nearly three years ago, a helicopter pulled him to safety. The next day, he almost wished he was still there.

“He told this to several people, but the Katrina evacuees were put on a plane and they wouldn’t tell you where they were going until they were in the air,” Betty Swann said. “When they said we’re going to Amarillo, Texas, Bill said, ‘Oh, God, anywhere but Amarillo, Texas. That’s the end of the world. My life is ending.’ ”

At the civic center, where White was one of 129 evacuees sent to Amarillo, he was an angry and bitter man.

“He was so gripey,” Swann said. “I asked him if he was OK and did he need anything. He was cussing and chewed me out good, saying that, no, he wasn't OK, that he’d been pulled out of the water, put on a plane to this God-forsaken place, had no clothes, nothing.”

White had diabetes and other physical ailments. He spent as much time in the hospital and rehab clinic as he did at the Meridian apartments or the Canyons Retirement Community. John and Carolyn Davis, part of a hospital visitation team from Trinity Fellowship, were some of the first to visit White.

“He was a very hard man,” John said. “He was bitter, bitter at the world. When we first met him, we told him we’d love to pray with him and get acquainted. He said, ‘Do your thing, but don’t push me.’ In other words, don’t mess with me.”

White’s past was somewhat a mystery, but he apparently had plenty of world experiences, most of them unsavory. He’d been in the U.S. Navy, had lived in Denver at one time, and was into antiques. He spent the last 13 years in New Orleans. He had no family, and only a couple of friends who were really just acquaintances.

“For the first time in his adult life, he found people who cared for him, and that was quite a change,” Trinity Fellowship associate pastor John Love said.

People like volunteers Hope Reames, Mila Gibson and Swann, who all worship at Trinity. People like Gail Spillman, Janet Luman, Love and others. Through random acts of kindness, by providing a listening ear, bit by bit, they chipped away at his hard exterior and softened a cynical heart.

Incredibly, Swann and Gibson, natives of Sweetwater, discovered White also was from Sweetwater, near Abilene. They were in high school in the early 1960s at the same time.

That became a bond. Over the months, the Davises, whom he initially dismissed, became a welcoming refuge. He eventually became a Christian.

White’s life did not get any easier, but his outlook did. He lost what little he had in a fire at the Meridian a little more than a year ago.

Diabetes was taking its toll. Not long ago, he had surgery to amputate portions of both legs. Just prior to surgery, Swann and Gibson held White’s hand, and Gibson’s operatic voice sang, “There is a balm in Gilead.”

“It was the most powerful thing I’ve ever heard,” Love said.

“I told Bill that people here really care about you, and he said, ‘I know, it’s been amazing. I’ve never experienced anything like it in my life,’ ” Swann said. “I said, ‘Bill, have you ever been loved before?’ And he said, ‘No.’ ”

Before he died, White told Swann, despite it all, the happiest time of his life were the few years he’d been in Amarillo.

In appreciation, White told Swann that after he died, she could have some money he had stored in a strongbox at Stout Safe Storage.

On Thursday, Swann counted the money – $1,250 – that she plans to turn into a scholarship named for White in New Orleans.

On Thursday afternoon, there will be a memorial service for Bill White, 66, in the sanctuary of Trinity Fellowship. In a sanctuary that seats 1,600, there will be maybe 20 there to honor a life.

A ripple, perhaps, but not to the handful who knew him – and changed him.

*This story appeared in the Amarillo Globe News on August 15, 2008. For more stories go to  www.amarillo.com.