Home	Photo Gallery	Heraldry	Newsletters
Stephens History	World Trade Center	Hide History	Joke of the month
Bill Stephens	Soccer	Published	Thought of the Month
Brent Stephens	Links	Effective Management Training	Book

I will start with a wonderful tribute from his (English style) lawn bowls club – this is a game where a white ball (the jack) is thrown about 70-120 feet on a smooth grass "green" and the players than have turns throwing their "woods" (balls a bit bigger than a hand with a weight on one side to allow them to curve when thrown) to see who can land the closest.

Published in Port Alfred, South Africa " Talk of the Town" 23rd December 2000. Volume 5 Issue 14

“Although we had been expecting it for a few days it still came as a shock when we heard that Bill Stephens had passed away. Bill and Pam came to Kowie a number of years ago and immediately recognized the fact that you can only get maximum enjoyment out of your sport and recreation if you are willing to put something back into it. They did just that and the Club soon realized that they had two valuable people in the Stephens – Pam helping with the catering and Bill with the machinery. As time went on they became more proficient in the game and were useful competitors in the middle section of the Club. Bill's honesty and integrity and his obvious enjoyment of the game soon identified him as a possible candidate for a position in the administration of the Club. It came as no surprise when he was elected to the men's committee and eventually as captain of the men's section. Bill's infectious laugh and constant smile contributed to the enjoyment of the game for all of us and there was never a dull moment when Bill was on the green. He had a rare ability to recognize the needs and aspirations of the few top players without neglecting the ordinary bowlers who made up the bulk of the Club. Unfortunately, Bill's term as captain was cut short by his illness. However, in the time that he had been there, he had distinguished himself not only as captain of the men's section, but as a member of the central executive where his balanced views often helped to smooth over tricky situations. Kowie has lost a valuable member and potential leader but we are also mindful of the greater loss to Pam, Linda, Brent and their families…”

We put a bit of his background in the funeral brochure: William Kent Stephens (Bill to all who knew him) was born in East London on November 27, 1932. His 5 older sisters doted on him as he grew up to carry the William Kent family name onwards. As a young boy he was entranced by the steam trains and after leaving school joined the railways and worked on the steam locomotives in East London. This choice was sadly to ultimately result in his untimely death on December 15, 2000 from mesothelioma, a cancer caused from asbestos exposure, as his work involved insulating the steam boilers with asbestos. He is survived by his wife of 45 years Pam whom he met in 1949 and married in 1955 (the girl across the road with 3 brothers who ate all the chocolates when he courted her at the movies), his daughter Linda, her husband Nic, grandson Paul, grandaughter Vicky, son Brent and his wife Dee, grandsons William and Jason, and youngest sister Winnie and husband Ottie. Preceding him in death were his 4 older sisters, and our dogs Poppet, Monty and Bonnie.

Upon his retirement they moved to Grahamstown for a short while as a prelude to moving to Port Alfred, which is where they have lived for the last 10 years. This is where he was happiest, fishing, playing tennis, involved with the church men's group and more recently following Pam into the bowls arena. He followed his father's lead, who was a councilman in his day and was always active in the community in various leadership positions, and also known as the local “fixit” man when mechanical repairs were called for. He was never afraid of hard work and his many talents in this regard will be sorely missed. His grandchildren loved his playfulness, and all hold fond memories of the attention that he paid to them.

His last year was a very difficult one, as he was diagnosed with the disease that he had long suspected was coming, having seen his work friends from earlier years fall by the way, one by one. He fought it with all that he had, only accepting the finality of it 9 days before he passed on. He retained his sense of humour throughout, making it easier for his family, Pam and Linda having nursed him at home right until the end, and Brent being able to take time from his family in Texas to spend February and November with him. Keeping him at home would not have been feasible without the close support of the Port Alfred hospice and nursing fraternity to whom the family are deeply indebted. Especially Helen Landsdell and Dot Parsons, to name a few, who went that extra mile.

He will always be remembered for his love for his family, his friends, his tennis, bowls the sea and for his wonderful sense of humour, he was always teasing and playful and he enjoyed playing practical jokes. In fact, the outpouring of support from the community showed just how highly he was thought of and as some put it “he reaped where he had sown hours and hours of community time and effort.” All in all, he was a good man taken too soon, sorely missed by all, gone to be with his Lord whom he had served faithfully all his years “ welcome home, good and faithful servant!”

At the funeral Vicky played her flute – which granddad loved, and read a poem she wrote upon hearing the news:

EYE OF THE MORNING

we sat in silence.
his breathe unknown, unfelt, undone
and they watched.
the angels out of time sat and listened
and we knew that life's forfeit was to begin
unarmed, unharmed into this world or another
forever lost in our own unconscious thought
and they wept.
for we are all the same
the same birth, the same blood and soils,
magnified to include the energy's greatest possessions:
faith
compassion
love
hope.
with the setting of one sun
they rise triumphantly to empower us all with the breath
of another one's mourning.

young horses we are born
free to roam and to harness all light
yet we would not be harnessed.
nations are built and die by entrapment.
there should be no pain
yet pain's endevour is to remind us of mortality,
morality
and our will to accomplish what we did not set out to do.
with this we become lost
and our hurt's confusion is endless.

this energy has too long been suppressed
and all that is left is to let go.
but be not defeated by this swift going,
All's anger is left to wolves
All's purity, passes on to greet our sunship's anchored past.
we run, we dance
like there was no more left to hide from fear.
she dissipates
and we're Alive

--Vicky Heideman age 16 12/15/00

I then gave a brief tribute: We have a choice, we can mourn our loss, or celebrate the 68 years that he was with us. I have chosen to celebrate the 68 years.

When I did my masters degree, I studied Kubler-Ross and she interviewed a couple of hundred people who had been clinically dead and then come back to life. There was a common theme in all their stories: They journeyed through a tunnel toward a bright light or over a mountain pass and were met “at the other side” by someone meaningful in their life – mother, father, mentor and then taken somewhere to account for their life, and then on to live on in peace. For dad, therefore, the suffering is over, it is those left behind who have to deal with the pain.

When they brought out “Big Mouth Billy Bass” I am not sure if they had dad in mind as it seems so like him, but I hear that it is that popular that even the Queen has one in her Trophy room! I got dad his a few months ago, he probably had one of the first in South Africa, although I know you can now buy them. He loved to tease his friends with it and play it when he was down, so I am going to play a tune right now “Take me down to the river…” although we won't be taking dad down to the river!

On the plane over I put together an acronym of what dad meant to us and to his grandchildren and came up with the following:

Fishing – dad loved the sea, and when transferred to Pretoria for a brief period, he soon exchanged with a friend in East London and came back.

Able – I think of him as someone who could do anything

Tennis – many of his younger years were spent playing tennis at the Kingsway Tennis Club

Helper – dad was always will to help

Energetic – dad always had the energy to do what needed to be done

Role Model – his family and grandchildren were able to learn from him

Grand – he was grand!

Ready – he was always ready to do something

Amusing – his sense of humour will live on!

Naughty – he was always up to some prank or other

Doting – he loved his children and grandchildren

Adorable – a very popular grandad

Dependable – he was always there for his family

I have a few stories that I remember him by: I was called by Chris Harrison yesterday who reminded me of dad driving down Oxford Street in east London and a newspaper article had just announced that Mohammed Ali was going to be fighting Joe Frazier – the winner to get $3 million, the loser to get $1 million. Dad decided that he would fight for the $1 million to LOSE! His imagination then got carried away as he pictured how the fight would go and tried to tell us in-between his laughter at his own imagination. The gist of it is that he was going to put weights in his gloves, run round and round the ring and tire Ali out, and then his arms would get longer with the weights so he could hold him at arms length without getting hit and finally, hit Ali with the weights and so won the $3 million! Many of us will remember dad laughing like this – more at himself than the story!

The other story I remember was at our house in Pretoria when dad and Barry were playing around the pool, chasing each other and throwing each other in. Dad got a bucket of water and chased Barry, who went and stood in front of Phyllis, a stately aunt. No-one thought dad would throw, but he did – Barry ducked and Phyllis got it all – and over her new permed hairdo.

The last story is when we were living in Burnett road, dad was busy putting the fishing rod racks on the car and I jammed his finger in the door. I could see that the pain was enormous, but also that 1) he was not going to take it out on me, he knew it was an accident 2) he was determined not to swear in front of me – so he hopped around and did everything but vent his anger and pain. That is how I remember him – setting a high standard and keeping to it.

In closing, when I read 1 Corinthians 13 on love, I see dad reflected in the verses:

1 Cor 13

4. Love is patient, love is kind,

Love is not jealous, or conceited, or proud;

5. Love is not ill mannered or selfish, or irritable,

Love does not keep a record of wrongs,

6. Love is not happy with lies but is happy with the truth.

Love never gives up: its faith, hope and patience never fail.

Now there are different versions of the Bible – the Kenneth Copeland version, the Trinity Broadcasting Network version, but in the Bill Stephens version, there is an extra verse: 7a: Love has a sense of humour.

I can just picture dad – never one to hold back his opinion - seated up at the right hand of the Father, arguing that his verse should be officially included!

Here is a picture of the pall bearers, and the family watching the casket being driven away - a scene we will never forget.

The world lost a good man!