Worthington West-Franklin High School

Tributes

William Renwick

Bill and I spent our formative years in Yellow Dog, along with a lot of other great guys-Bill Bono, John Kohler, Alan Snyder, Dick Bofinger and many more. I will always consider it to be special to have considered him as my friend.

I left the Worthington area shortly after the 7^th grade and was only able to see Bill one more time prior to his passing. This is my loss. I certainly wish now that I would have made more of as effort to see him more often, even living so far away.

The universe lost a really nice guy. My heart goes out to his family and friends and strangely I will miss him

Dick Beers/November 12, 2009

William “Quanny” Renwick

Class of 1958

Unfortunately, I cannot claim to have been a friend of Bill Renwick or even say I have any personal memories of him from my days at Worthington High School, but I truly was an admirer of him. I was in eighth grade when he graduated in 1958, but I have some distant memories of having heard that he had been working out with weights with some other fellows from Buffalo Valley. You see, it was in the summer of 1958 that my friend Paul Poloskey and I discovered my brother Walter’s barbell set in my basement. At that time, anyone who “worked out” would get my attention.

But that was the last of my memories of Bill until many years later when I crossed paths with his son Jeff. A few fellows and I who had remained interested in weight training set up a gym in a small building on Race Street. The building later became known as “The Shack.” Jeff joined our group and I am sure I asked him about his father and whether he still had any interest in lifting, but still I had never had any personal interaction with Bill. Bill would later join our group of lifters, but it was after I had moved to Butler and did not frequent the building often to workout, so other than knowing he was working out again we still had not had a face to face meeting in the arena we both enjoyed, the world of weights.

There were over the years some occasional brief meetings and I would inquire as to whether he was still lifting. For whatever reason, Bill Renwick had become a larger than life person to me, maybe even some type of hero. Although there was only a five-year difference in our ages, it felt like I was meeting someone who was from a different place in time. I can still remember meeting him at a small restaurant in East Brady a few years ago. Susan, my wife, and I drove up to East Brady to eat at a restaurant just off the bridge known for its fish dinners and sandwiches. Bill, Carolyn and another couple came in the restaurant and Bill and I exchanged hellos. That is all there was to it, but that brief interaction remains etched in my mind.

No, there are no ball games, hunting trips or any other activity that I can tell you Bill and I enjoyed together, only some brief meetings over the 50 years since he graduated from Worthington. The news about his health challenges were made known to me at the monthly breakfast the class of 1959 has the last Thursday at King’s restaurant. The news was shocking, not Bill “Quanny” Renwick, it couldn’t be true, but sadly was. He was at that time in the Butler Hospital, so it was convenient for me to stop and see him. There he was, an “iron man,” a term used to describe men who worked out with weights, looking quite weak and vulnerable. I stayed for a short time, but made an attempt to tell Carolyn and him how much his life made such an impression on me without ever having any meaningful conversation with him.

My wife often asks me about my attachment to Worthington and the days spent at Worthington High School. Bill “Quanny” Renwick is one of the many reasons. I could go on with many stories about the people who impacted me from those school days, but for now Bill is at the top of the list. Whether it was merely passing his home on Cherry Street or hearing someone refer to “Quanny,” a name I never felt I had a right to call him, since I was only an admirer not a close friend, something would wake up in me.

Maybe it was the strange nickname “Quanny,” but when I was in his presence for brief moments or heard his name I always felt this man was something special, which the love expressed to his family during his final days assured me that William “Quanny” Renwick was indeed a special person, who came from a little area known as Worthington.

Bob Adams/October 31, 2009

A Tribute to

Shirley Mae Claypoole Solada

June 25, 1946 - April 5, 2009

Shirley lived in the heart of life every day with intensity, in everything she did, everywhere she went, with everyone lucky enough to know her leading some to call her a force of humanity.

Perhaps that’s why she loved life so much. It expressed her own sense of oneness with the world, her zest for and curiosity about life, her belief in the constant need for compassion and enlightenment in our dealings with each other. It was that zest that made all of us leave our encounters with Shirley with more energy than we brought.

And so, Shirley would understand that our hearts are breaking, even as we celebrate the wondrous, rich life she lived to its fullest, staying with us as long as she could.

Being at work everyday, making Christmas presents every year, enjoying life with her husband Dan, raising her children, loving her grandchildren and great grandchildren, going to King’s with her friends, growing up on the farm, crocheting and making things to give away she was our Shirley a passionate, brave and joyous spirit with laser-like intelligence and a thousand-watt smile and laugh.

Oh, that smile and the infectious laugh that acted like a GPS. Where ever you were, if you heard that laugh you knew who it was.

Ever democratic, endlessly curious and caring about the people in this world if you were ever out and about with Shirley there was always someone coming up to talk to her or you would hear someone yelling from afar “Hey Shirley” and that thousand-watt smile would appear. She always had the time to share with you.

Everyone who knew Shirley soon discovered that she redefined the word amazing. Most everyone who crossed her path utter the words, the most inspirational and remarkable person I’ve ever met in my life.

All of us that knew Shirley are members of the wonderful Community of Shirley Solada.

It’s an elite membership we cherish, whether we first knew her in elementary school or later in life, some have known her for 62 years and some for only her last days.

Shirley’s wish was to pass the torch of her full-color life to all of us and to encourage us to seek balance in our lives and to be touchstones for each other and for humanity.

As we continue to share joyful, inspiring and funny moments from Shirley’s life, we will be reminded to live our days as she did, creatively, enthusiastically, spontaneously, passionately and never selfish, always caring about and for each other and looking at ourselves and making our lives right.

Going about our daily lives, may we find opportunities, large and small, to carry out her wish. In this way, we can honor her life, as she honored ours by being with us, by teaching us to know the heart of life.

Shirley would not want us to be devastated with her passing. She requested that we live life to the fullest and always remember, as she was while she was on this earth, she will continue to be everyone’s angel no matter who you are.

Nancy Claypoole Prewitt

A Memory of Jack Bower

May 14, 2007

Thank you so much for letting me know. My heart is very sad even though
I have not seen Jack or spoken to him in 47 years. He and I were part
of that little band of innocent 5 and 6-year-olds who walked into Miss
Hogg's first grade class in the old building at WWF school in the fall
of 1948. We were the last first-grade class to do so; the "new" school
was being competed at that time and we moved into it I believe about the
time we returned from Christmas break.
Probably half of that class stayed together for our entire 12 years of
primary and secondary education and graduated on the stage in the gym on a very warm Tuesday night, May 24, 1960. I never saw Jack again, but kept tabs on all my classmates through relatives in the area and knew
that Jack was doing what he always said he would do - raise horses on a
ranch in Montana. I trust his life was full and that those he leaves
behind will find comfort in knowing he is now with God. I'm personally
so grateful that I grew up in Worthington, PA and was privileged to be
shaped by the good people who were a part of my formative years there.
Rest in peace, Jack Bowser, WWFHS Class of '60.

Nancy (Flick) Serene

A Tribute to Daniel Young
Class of 1959

July 16, 2005

Nutsy Lives:

I was saddened to learn from Larry and Al that Dan Young died this week. Although I hadn’t seen him or talked to him in ages, as with many of our childhood friends, the sense of his continued presence in my memory kept his companionship and friendship alive.

Nutsy and I were buddies – buddies in the context of growing up in the fifties. We played ball together, we were in the band together, we hung out together.

Yes, his name was Daniel but we all called him Nutsy. In these days of political correctness, calling someone Nutsy is seen as demeaning and offensive. But he was Nutsy because he was different – a free spirit, a guy who sometimes did unusual things, a clown. We called him Nutsy because the word described our friend and companion; and he wore the nickname proudly.

Growing up, Nutsy was one of those kids that are all gangly with their bones held together loosely with sinew. He seemed to be ‘double jointed’ and could contort himself into positions and shapes that we ‘mere mortals’ could only marvel at. When he walked his limbs seems to flail about with abandon. But he was a good ball player, could run, ride bike and climb trees with the best of us. He simply had his way of getting the job done.

As buddies we often hung out at each other’s home – sometimes just the two of us but often with other buddies. I remember when several of us decided to build a cabin in the wilderness that was Nutsy’s back yard. We had been talking about building a tree house, kind of like the Swiss family Robinson, but finally succumbed to our limitations and began building on the ground in the unmowed field area of his parents property. We gathered up a bunch of scrap lumber, scrounged up our dad’s tools, and set about building what turned out to be simply a lean-to in which you could pretend you were ‘roughing it’. Flush with success, we decided to sleep overnight in our rustic retreat. Sometime after dark, we heard a thumping sound that shook the walls. Needless to say, we were scared (at least I admit I was – now!) but bravely grabbed our flashlights and peered into the darkness. There we saw, of all things, my mom and dad standing in the field grinning at us. When I complained, Dad said that we were making so much noise we were a public nuisance. He claimed he could hear us at the store nearly a quarter mile away. And what were we doing to create this nuisance. Would you believe we were singing? Yes, of all things that we might have been doing in our rustic retreat, we were actually singing stirring songs like ‘The Marine Corps Anthem’ and ‘Anchors Away’.

Like a lot of my friends, Nutsy and I played pool at Steffeys Barber Shop. Nutsy wasn’t the greatest pool player but, like everything else he did, he did it with intensity and in his own style. John Steffey had organized an eight ball tournament and we drew lots to see who would be our first opponent. My first match was to be against Nutsy. Even though he was my buddy, I have to admit that I was pleased that he would be my first opponent – because I was sure that I would win and then go on to become the 8-ball champ of Worthington . Nutsy won the coin toss and chose to shoot first. He folded his fist around the tip end of the tapered shaft of the pool cue and proceeded to prepare to ‘break’. Yes, you’re right. His form was unorthodox. It almost seemed comical to see him sliding the cue back and forth between the pointer and middle finger of his left fist. With a surprising intensity, he struck the cue to ‘break’. The cue ball bounce off the one ball, went around two corner cushions and rebounded into the rack striking the eight ball in such a way that it went straight into the side pocket for an instant win. Nutsy threw the cue on the table, yelled a mighty war whoop and ran out of the building laughing. I stood there in disbelief realizing that I had lost without ever having a chance to play. But we were still buddies.

On another occasion after playing pool at Steffeys, I was walking up Main Street past Paul Reed’s house with Nutsy and a couple other friends. We were just talking and horsing around. Suddenly Nutsy and I were into it! Words were exchanged. Pushes were traded and the battle was on. Although I was bigger than Nutsy, I was faced with a formidable opponent. He was bent forward at the waist looking at the sidewalk and his arms were windmilling rapidly whacking me on the arms, the shoulders, the head. It was like being in a whirlwind and I admit I was totally befuddled. Cooler heads intervened. The battle was over as quickly as it had begun. And we were still buddies.

Three weeks ago we had our all class reunion at Worthington and I had a marvelous time talking with friends, some of whom I had not seen for over forty years. But Nutsy wasn’t there. I talked briefly with a couple of people about Nutsy and resolved to follow up and see him again. Someone said that they thought Nutsy was in the hospital so I decided to wait until he got home and then I would follow up.

We all have many, many acquaintances but fewer good friends. And the friends we have in whom we can confide our hopes and dreams as well as our fears and worries are even fewer. Most of those confiding friends are from childhood or college. Having such a confidant in adult life seems rare. I am fortunate to have such a friend that I met through my business activities. Ed, like Nutsy and a few others, is a person that I can talk to about life and family. We often talk about trying to make sense from this crazy world we work and live in. He told me that he categorizes his sins or failings in two ways. One ype of failing occurs when you try to do something (hopefully the right thing) and fail. The other type of failing occurs when you fail to even try to do something you believe is right and good. He believes the second is more hurtful. If you try and fail, you usually have the satisfaction’ of trying and usually can seek forgiveness from whomever you failed. But when you fail to try, you find yourself in a situation that you often are prevented from trying to rectify. My not seeking to talk to Nutsy is one of these.

Yes, Daniel Young died on July 13. But Nutsy lives on in my heart and memories. Take care of yourselves and don't miss a chance to talk to someone who is special to you.

Dick Henry (’59)

	Worthington-West Franklin High School Worthington, PA 1933 - 1984
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	Tributes William Renwick Bill and I spent our formative years in Yellow Dog, along with a lot of other great guys-Bill Bono, John Kohler, Alan Snyder, Dick Bofinger and many more. I will always consider it to be special to have considered him as my friend. I left the Worthington area shortly after the 7^th grade and was only able to see Bill one more time prior to his passing. This is my loss. I certainly wish now that I would have made more of as effort to see him more often, even living so far away. The universe lost a really nice guy. My heart goes out to his family and friends and strangely I will miss him Dick Beers/November 12, 2009 William “Quanny” Renwick Class of 1958 Unfortunately, I cannot claim to have been a friend of Bill Renwick or even say I have any personal memories of him from my days at Worthington High School, but I truly was an admirer of him. I was in eighth grade when he graduated in 1958, but I have some distant memories of having heard that he had been working out with weights with some other fellows from Buffalo Valley. You see, it was in the summer of 1958 that my friend Paul Poloskey and I discovered my brother Walter’s barbell set in my basement. At that time, anyone who “worked out” would get my attention. But that was the last of my memories of Bill until many years later when I crossed paths with his son Jeff. A few fellows and I who had remained interested in weight training set up a gym in a small building on Race Street. The building later became known as “The Shack.” Jeff joined our group and I am sure I asked him about his father and whether he still had any interest in lifting, but still I had never had any personal interaction with Bill. Bill would later join our group of lifters, but it was after I had moved to Butler and did not frequent the building often to workout, so other than knowing he was working out again we still had not had a face to face meeting in the arena we both enjoyed, the world of weights. There were over the years some occasional brief meetings and I would inquire as to whether he was still lifting. For whatever reason, Bill Renwick had become a larger than life person to me, maybe even some type of hero. Although there was only a five-year difference in our ages, it felt like I was meeting someone who was from a different place in time. I can still remember meeting him at a small restaurant in East Brady a few years ago. Susan, my wife, and I drove up to East Brady to eat at a restaurant just off the bridge known for its fish dinners and sandwiches. Bill, Carolyn and another couple came in the restaurant and Bill and I exchanged hellos. That is all there was to it, but that brief interaction remains etched in my mind. No, there are no ball games, hunting trips or any other activity that I can tell you Bill and I enjoyed together, only some brief meetings over the 50 years since he graduated from Worthington. The news about his health challenges were made known to me at the monthly breakfast the class of 1959 has the last Thursday at King’s restaurant. The news was shocking, not Bill “Quanny” Renwick, it couldn’t be true, but sadly was. He was at that time in the Butler Hospital, so it was convenient for me to stop and see him. There he was, an “iron man,” a term used to describe men who worked out with weights, looking quite weak and vulnerable. I stayed for a short time, but made an attempt to tell Carolyn and him how much his life made such an impression on me without ever having any meaningful conversation with him. My wife often asks me about my attachment to Worthington and the days spent at Worthington High School. Bill “Quanny” Renwick is one of the many reasons. I could go on with many stories about the people who impacted me from those school days, but for now Bill is at the top of the list. Whether it was merely passing his home on Cherry Street or hearing someone refer to “Quanny,” a name I never felt I had a right to call him, since I was only an admirer not a close friend, something would wake up in me. Maybe it was the strange nickname “Quanny,” but when I was in his presence for brief moments or heard his name I always felt this man was something special, which the love expressed to his family during his final days assured me that William “Quanny” Renwick was indeed a special person, who came from a little area known as Worthington. Bob Adams/October 31, 2009 A Tribute to Shirley Mae Claypoole Solada June 25, 1946 - April 5, 2009 Shirley lived in the heart of life every day with intensity, in everything she did, everywhere she went, with everyone lucky enough to know her leading some to call her a force of humanity. Perhaps that’s why she loved life so much. It expressed her own sense of oneness with the world, her zest for and curiosity about life, her belief in the constant need for compassion and enlightenment in our dealings with each other. It was that zest that made all of us leave our encounters with Shirley with more energy than we brought. And so, Shirley would understand that our hearts are breaking, even as we celebrate the wondrous, rich life she lived to its fullest, staying with us as long as she could. Being at work everyday, making Christmas presents every year, enjoying life with her husband Dan, raising her children, loving her grandchildren and great grandchildren, going to King’s with her friends, growing up on the farm, crocheting and making things to give away she was our Shirley a passionate, brave and joyous spirit with laser-like intelligence and a thousand-watt smile and laugh. Oh, that smile and the infectious laugh that acted like a GPS. Where ever you were, if you heard that laugh you knew who it was. Ever democratic, endlessly curious and caring about the people in this world if you were ever out and about with Shirley there was always someone coming up to talk to her or you would hear someone yelling from afar “Hey Shirley” and that thousand-watt smile would appear. She always had the time to share with you. Everyone who knew Shirley soon discovered that she redefined the word amazing. Most everyone who crossed her path utter the words, the most inspirational and remarkable person I’ve ever met in my life. All of us that knew Shirley are members of the wonderful Community of Shirley Solada. It’s an elite membership we cherish, whether we first knew her in elementary school or later in life, some have known her for 62 years and some for only her last days. Shirley’s wish was to pass the torch of her full-color life to all of us and to encourage us to seek balance in our lives and to be touchstones for each other and for humanity. As we continue to share joyful, inspiring and funny moments from Shirley’s life, we will be reminded to live our days as she did, creatively, enthusiastically, spontaneously, passionately and never selfish, always caring about and for each other and looking at ourselves and making our lives right. Going about our daily lives, may we find opportunities, large and small, to carry out her wish. In this way, we can honor her life, as she honored ours by being with us, by teaching us to know the heart of life. Shirley would not want us to be devastated with her passing. She requested that we live life to the fullest and always remember, as she was while she was on this earth, she will continue to be everyone’s angel no matter who you are. Nancy Claypoole Prewitt A Memory of Jack Bower May 14, 2007 Thank you so much for letting me know. My heart is very sad even though I have not seen Jack or spoken to him in 47 years. He and I were part of that little band of innocent 5 and 6-year-olds who walked into Miss Hogg's first grade class in the old building at WWF school in the fall of 1948. We were the last first-grade class to do so; the "new" school was being competed at that time and we moved into it I believe about the time we returned from Christmas break. Probably half of that class stayed together for our entire 12 years of primary and secondary education and graduated on the stage in the gym on a very warm Tuesday night, May 24, 1960. I never saw Jack again, but kept tabs on all my classmates through relatives in the area and knew that Jack was doing what he always said he would do - raise horses on a ranch in Montana. I trust his life was full and that those he leaves behind will find comfort in knowing he is now with God. I'm personally so grateful that I grew up in Worthington, PA and was privileged to be shaped by the good people who were a part of my formative years there. Rest in peace, Jack Bowser, WWFHS Class of '60. Nancy (Flick) Serene A Tribute to Daniel Young Class of 1959 July 16, 2005 Nutsy Lives: I was saddened to learn from Larry and Al that Dan Young died this week. Although I hadn’t seen him or talked to him in ages, as with many of our childhood friends, the sense of his continued presence in my memory kept his companionship and friendship alive. Nutsy and I were buddies – buddies in the context of growing up in the fifties. We played ball together, we were in the band together, we hung out together. Yes, his name was Daniel but we all called him Nutsy. In these days of political correctness, calling someone Nutsy is seen as demeaning and offensive. But he was Nutsy because he was different – a free spirit, a guy who sometimes did unusual things, a clown. We called him Nutsy because the word described our friend and companion; and he wore the nickname proudly. Growing up, Nutsy was one of those kids that are all gangly with their bones held together loosely with sinew. He seemed to be ‘double jointed’ and could contort himself into positions and shapes that we ‘mere mortals’ could only marvel at. When he walked his limbs seems to flail about with abandon. But he was a good ball player, could run, ride bike and climb trees with the best of us. He simply had his way of getting the job done. As buddies we often hung out at each other’s home – sometimes just the two of us but often with other buddies. I remember when several of us decided to build a cabin in the wilderness that was Nutsy’s back yard. We had been talking about building a tree house, kind of like the Swiss family Robinson, but finally succumbed to our limitations and began building on the ground in the unmowed field area of his parents property. We gathered up a bunch of scrap lumber, scrounged up our dad’s tools, and set about building what turned out to be simply a lean-to in which you could pretend you were ‘roughing it’. Flush with success, we decided to sleep overnight in our rustic retreat. Sometime after dark, we heard a thumping sound that shook the walls. Needless to say, we were scared (at least I admit I was – now!) but bravely grabbed our flashlights and peered into the darkness. There we saw, of all things, my mom and dad standing in the field grinning at us. When I complained, Dad said that we were making so much noise we were a public nuisance. He claimed he could hear us at the store nearly a quarter mile away. And what were we doing to create this nuisance. Would you believe we were singing? Yes, of all things that we might have been doing in our rustic retreat, we were actually singing stirring songs like ‘The Marine Corps Anthem’ and ‘Anchors Away’. Like a lot of my friends, Nutsy and I played pool at Steffeys Barber Shop. Nutsy wasn’t the greatest pool player but, like everything else he did, he did it with intensity and in his own style. John Steffey had organized an eight ball tournament and we drew lots to see who would be our first opponent. My first match was to be against Nutsy. Even though he was my buddy, I have to admit that I was pleased that he would be my first opponent – because I was sure that I would win and then go on to become the 8-ball champ of Worthington . Nutsy won the coin toss and chose to shoot first. He folded his fist around the tip end of the tapered shaft of the pool cue and proceeded to prepare to ‘break’. Yes, you’re right. His form was unorthodox. It almost seemed comical to see him sliding the cue back and forth between the pointer and middle finger of his left fist. With a surprising intensity, he struck the cue to ‘break’. The cue ball bounce off the one ball, went around two corner cushions and rebounded into the rack striking the eight ball in such a way that it went straight into the side pocket for an instant win. Nutsy threw the cue on the table, yelled a mighty war whoop and ran out of the building laughing. I stood there in disbelief realizing that I had lost without ever having a chance to play. But we were still buddies. On another occasion after playing pool at Steffeys, I was walking up Main Street past Paul Reed’s house with Nutsy and a couple other friends. We were just talking and horsing around. Suddenly Nutsy and I were into it! Words were exchanged. Pushes were traded and the battle was on. Although I was bigger than Nutsy, I was faced with a formidable opponent. He was bent forward at the waist looking at the sidewalk and his arms were windmilling rapidly whacking me on the arms, the shoulders, the head. It was like being in a whirlwind and I admit I was totally befuddled. Cooler heads intervened. The battle was over as quickly as it had begun. And we were still buddies. Three weeks ago we had our all class reunion at Worthington and I had a marvelous time talking with friends, some of whom I had not seen for over forty years. But Nutsy wasn’t there. I talked briefly with a couple of people about Nutsy and resolved to follow up and see him again. Someone said that they thought Nutsy was in the hospital so I decided to wait until he got home and then I would follow up. We all have many, many acquaintances but fewer good friends. And the friends we have in whom we can confide our hopes and dreams as well as our fears and worries are even fewer. Most of those confiding friends are from childhood or college. Having such a confidant in adult life seems rare. I am fortunate to have such a friend that I met through my business activities. Ed, like Nutsy and a few others, is a person that I can talk to about life and family. We often talk about trying to make sense from this crazy world we work and live in. He told me that he categorizes his sins or failings in two ways. One ype of failing occurs when you try to do something (hopefully the right thing) and fail. The other type of failing occurs when you fail to even try to do something you believe is right and good. He believes the second is more hurtful. If you try and fail, you usually have the satisfaction’ of trying and usually can seek forgiveness from whomever you failed. But when you fail to try, you find yourself in a situation that you often are prevented from trying to rectify. My not seeking to talk to Nutsy is one of these. Yes, Daniel Young died on July 13. But Nutsy lives on in my heart and memories. Take care of yourselves and don't miss a chance to talk to someone who is special to you. Dick Henry (’59)