I lost my long-time friend, Bill Fehr this weekend.
I remember when I first met him in 1998. This bald-headed
former (but always) Marine had his red and yellow Cannondale MTB
upside down next to the fountain in The Square. He was
essentially polishing it with a towel that he was (always) carrying
in his messenger bag. He was the latest FNG to the messenger scene,
and while I couldn't really call myself a "veteran" with my year of
experience, I had seen a few come and go in that time.
Who knew he'd be the only constant in my uptown life for over two
decades.
We definitely had our ups and downs. He was a complicated,
interesting, well read, intelligent, thoughtful, dedicated (I could
keep going, but at some point I gotta move on) man.
There was a time where if I was doing something, he was doing it
with me and vice versa.
He was the first person to take me mountain biking in Wilson
Creek... and also camping... where he would cook his infamous "ham
the size of Liberace's head." I still don't know why he used
that unit of measure.
We pretty much owned happy hour at Dixie's Tavern for a long
time. $1 pints and free wings and jambalaya... the "courier
special." I still have a sizeable scar on my knee from one of
our rides back to his house afterwards.
He and I attending the Fontana Village Icycle a million years
ago.... to end up in the middle of nowhere on the round about way
home, almost running outta gas in his Jeep, finding a small
convenient store with a clerk who looked like Helen Hunt... Bill
dancing in the aisles singing Dragula out loud for some odd reason.
I rode along with him on an insane Midnight Run style drive to
Connecticut to pick up a cradle that his father built. I got
to see his dad answer the door buck naked, eat eggs while smoking,
and somehow we ended up in a strip club in Moosup, CT... which was
just the oddest thing ever.
He made it to both 24 Solo World Championship races I was in to
support me, Idyllwild and Conyers. He got to meet my father in
California... he was fully clothed tho.
I remember when he left the courier life for a few months... and
then there was a hole in Uptown Charlotte... that fortunately he
came back and filled up again. At least while he was "in
between" courier life moments, he was able to hop into my Isuzu
Rodeo for the planned/unplanned trip to Moab the weekend after
9/11. At some point on the trip, he broke off solo to ride to
the La Sal mountains to overnight (before amateur homeless
personning was a thing), ran outta water on the way back, and
returned to us much crisper and lighter than when he left.
My whole family was right outside the door at the hospital when his
daughter was born. I can remember him coming straight out of
the room and hugging me... and crying.
I wish I could hug his big dumb head right now.
I feel awful that in his final months, he had to let go of two dogs
that were the world to him. I'm so happy that he found someone
new to spend his canine time with...
I feel for his sweet wife and his brilliant daughter. I'm
comforted that his parents have both passed away and they don't have
to deal with the loss of a son way too soon... if that's anything, I
guess.
And the thing I can't understand is that although he and I hardly
got to hang out much anymore, he's definitely in that circle of
people who's absence could possibly leave me with this hopeless
sense of "what the fuck am I supposed to do now?"
What I wouldn't give for one more conspiracy theory laden discussion
on the bench, what with that tiny bit of white spittle that would
form on his lower lip any time he got excited about something.
Okay. That's enough. Time to go off and cry and ride my
bike and try to not see his face everywhere I go.
Go hug your family.
Obituary for William "Bill" Fehr
William P. Fehr of Charlotte died unexpectedly on May 9, 2020 at the
age of 50.
Beloved husband of Lissa (Brewer) and devoted father to Karsen. He
was born on May 21, 1969 in the Bronx, NY to the late Jane and
Richard Fehr.
His love for outdoor adventure, biking, and dogs stems from a
childhood filled with exploring the woods and trails surrounding his
hometown of Brooklyn, CT. He is a 1987 graduate of St. Bernard High
School and a US Marine Veteran of Operation Desert Shield. Bill
traveled the world with his camera in pursuit of physical challenges
and to make human connections, but on a daily basis he found his
adventures on the streets of uptown Charlotte where he worked as a
bike messenger since 1998. Bill was a gifted storyteller and had an
innate ability to connect with complete strangers, disarming them
with his warm smile and steady gaze. He was a talented photographer
who made beautiful images by capturing people’s emotion on film.
Bill lived life with passion, gave of himself freely, and thought
deeply. He will be profoundly missed by his family, friends, and his
faithful companions ZooZoo and Gigi.
Bill is also survived by his sister Betsy Hensley of Chelmsford, MA,
Uncle Gerald Fehr of Cranston, RI, and several nieces, nephews and
cousins.
A Memorial Service celebrating his life will be announced at a later
date. In lieu of flowers donations may be made in Bill’s name to The
Humane Society of Charlotte
Arrangements are in the care of Heritage Funeral Home, Weddington
Chapel.
For 15 years, Bill Fehr has earned his living pedaling the streets
of Charlotte, ferrying files from courthouses to law firms, stopping
to dig through records at the Register of Deeds, occasionally
delivering Dean & DeLuca to a client on the 38th floor. At 44,
he’s built more like a biker dude than a cycle dude: veins on his
arms popping out, calves borrowed from a Rodin statue. When he’s
telling stories of his adventures, the words tumble out so fast that
you can almost hear the wind and rain propelling them.
He once saw the broken body of a young woman who leapt to her death
near the old Reid’s uptown. During the Democratic National
Convention last year, he watched an elderly WWII veteran preach from
the fenced-in free-speech zone to an audience of two. A tourist who
was biking from L.A. to D.C. taught Fehr that the Japanese word for
bike translates to “self-pedaling car.”
“I don’t feel trapped in my living,” Fehr says. “I feel creative in
my living.”
