In Memory
“Do you really believe that?? Come on now!!”
Thus would Bill Reopell begin another bull session,
Stearns 4, freshman year. His inflection and tone
denoted a clear degree of skepticism, no matter the
subject. But, always a participant, always questioning,
always philosophical, cheerful, and full of enthusiasm,
punctuated with a self-satisfying laugh.
Bill, who had been suffering from heart disease for
several years, died suddenly on August 10, 2003, of an
apparent heart attack while at a restaurant in
Swanzey, NH.
Bill was born on May 6, 1936, in Williamstown, MA, to
Lawrence and Carrie (Dorvillier) Reopell. Having lived
in Williamstown, and especially having worked at that
town’s House of Walsh store, Bill came to Amherst
savvier than most about the ways of college men.
Chuck Smith recalls he was a good and understanding
friend to many of us on the fourth floor of Stearns,
helping us adjust to college life. Freshman year
roommate and later fraternity brother at Chi Psi, Mike
Bliss, recalls, “Bill was bright, with a gift of writing
well and easily. He did much better than I did with
English 1-2 without trying hard. He was very quick
with the repartee and remembered jokes well.” We
remember him fondly not only from Stearns but also
as sophomore neighbors in South.
His happy-go-lucky demeanor and keen mind
extending to his studies was again demonstrated when
he took Prof. Kennedy’s senior philosophy course (not
known as a “gut” course), never attended classes or
read a book assignment, took the final exam and
walked away with a straight “A.” Bill majored in French
and worked part time at the Jeffery Amherst
bookstore.
After graduation and a quick stint in the national guard
with Dick Norcott, Bill worked in Pleasantville, NY, for
the Readers Digest and then for the San Juan Star in
Puerto Rico and finally for what was formerly known
as Jersey City State College, where he was head of the
Office of Public Affairs. In his retirement years, Bill
was active in running a lecture series for that
institution, bringing in speakers from all over the
country. After retirement, Bill and his wife of thirty-
three years, Ola, moved to Royalston, MA, an area
where they had previously spent summer vacations.
I (Bisch) talked with Bill in the spring of 2001, when he
was living in Royalston. Bill was vibrant, feisty, and
clearly enjoying life. Lovers of culture, Bill and Ola
frequented New York for the opera and Boston for the
museums and the BSO, as well as Paris to further his
Francophile interests. Bill had become active in town
politics. He had a direct and forthright style and
seemed to enjoy the combativeness of politics. He told
me, “I am having a ball pricking the balloons of these
self-satisfied yuppies who drive around in their
$55,000 Land Rovers.”
During this same time, I (Jim) met with Bill on several
occasions at the home of a mutual friend and fellow
resident of Royalston. Bill had just been elected to the
board of selectmen and had become deeply involved in
the restoration of a controversial structure in the
historic district surrounding the town commons. In the
midst of this controversy he assumed the position of
head selectman (a group of three), with the two other
selectmen split, requiring that he cast the deciding
vote. The town itself was split down the middle—old
timers on one side and “newbies” on the other—and
Bill on the fence. Throughout the controversy, he
brought the same intensity, questioning, humor, and
skepticism and “Reopell-chuckle” to the debate,
tempered by fifty intervening years of perception,
understanding, and experience. It was during the
course of these town meetings (October of 2001) and
my concurrent conversations with him, that his wife,
Ola, passed away, with an emotional impact that was
immediately apparent. The spark was gone, the
cheerfulness more distant and ambivalent. He quickly
tired of the political challenge and resigned his position
as a selectman. He also withdrew from much social
contact, his devotion to his wife, of which he had
frequently spoken, and the impact of her death, clearly
evident.
Bill and Ola never had children. A brother, Nelson, and
two sisters, Barbara Martin and Larrie Ann Noyes, and
several nieces and nephews survive him. Dick Norcott
and I (Bisch) attended a graveside service in
Williamstown on October 11, 2003, followed by a
reception at the Williams College Faculty House, and
extended the Class’s condolences to the members of
his family.
—James M. Karet ’58