Bill's Meatfest Memorial 

7/19/2014

Photo by Bob Peters

More photos of Meatfest by Jim:
My plate at the William Peters Memorial Meatfest July 19th, 2014. Koneman's veal brat and Knachwurst with deli mustard, onion, and sauerkraut. Bob's venison steak and venison sausage patty and homemade pickles. Potato salad and sweet red cabbage with apples. Bill's favorite

Blood, brain, liver, and goose sausage. Hunter's snack-pack at the William Peters Memorial Meatfest.

James Alexander Thompson II


I first met William Earl Peters in August of 1980 as a fellow Freshmen at Carmel High School for Boys. We were both enrolled in General Business 5th Period and we were two of four Freshmen in that class full of Sophomores and Juniors. Mrs, Capriatti's class, and the two things Bill would always remember from that year of education were Mrs. Capriati's "jugs". XD. Hard to believe that's nearly 34 years ago. Christ, we're SO damn old and our warranty's were up at 40.

Bill was a South Side boy that was raised by tough working men that grew stuff, fixed stuff, and went off in the woods to kill stuff to eat and hang on the wall. German/Irish with just enough Polish to appreciate a good pierogie, but not know how to spell the fucker, thanks for NOTHING spell check! His family moved out to Lake County sometime in the 70's-80's and worked for the park district. Bill LOVED driving big machines, dump trucks, semis, tractors, 4x4s, and the park district was his own personal Life Scale Tonka sand box. We had that in common as I grew up on 5 acres of land and I coveted all things drivable and loved the maniacal mechanical presence that our FORD tractor had with its hydraulic bucket.

My family ran Spina's, (a grocery/liquor store on Diamond Lake Rd.), and Bill would stop in from time to time to say hello, shoot the shit, and pick up a 12pack and a can of Skoal. My dad an Bill really hit it off as well because they'd grown up in the same kinds of households (my dad's family were bricklayers) and Bill and my dad would always talk shop when it came to electrical, plumbing, HVAC, guns, or engines. Since I was an only child, my friends were like brothers to me. I'll miss my "brother (by another mother)" Bill along with my brothers Dave, The Jims, The Steves, and my brother Ivan. (To quote Ivan: "Naming your child Jim, Steve, Dave, or Bill, is like not bothering to take the time to name them at all!")

To my "brother (by another mother)" Bill, I will honor you in the time honored fat man tradition of a Memorial Meatfest!!!

My family (Mom, Dad, and I) ran Spina's for years and in the early 90's my father's health was failing him. Years of diabetes led to, amputation, surgery, kidney failure and then dialysis. Bill was working HVAC and would come over to help us with the coolers when they were down or help my dad with a repair/upgrade project in the store. He'd do the work and just ask for some groceries as he new we were struggling to keep the business afloat trying to sell the land and retire to Florida. In June of 1994 my father took me out to Koenemann's Sausage in Volo, IL. and we bought all kinds of meat to bring back for a cook out. Bill, Ivan, and I dubbed
it a "Meatfest" and the three of us had a new destination to go to every other week or so.

In July of 1994, Bill needed a place to live and my dad offered him a work for rent deal fixing up an apartment above a garage at my grandparent's property in Towner's Subdivion. The "Fonzie Apartment" (that I'd once moved into in 86') and had cinder block walls that Bill said were, "useless as tits on a bore" when it came to insulating against winter's "nut shattering cold". Unfortunately, my dad died of a massive heart attack right in front of me on the morning of July 10th, 1994. In that instant my whole goddammed world fell into the deepest darkest fucking shitter without a match to light my way out or blow me to hell. In shock, and with all of my dad's problems inherited, I sat there numb. Bill grabbed the meat, the grill, a 12 pack and cooked for the friends that had arrived to lend a helping hand.

One friend asked, "Well Jim, what are you going to do?". I replied, "Well, I
thought I'd take the Ford van, go get the corpse from hospital, drive it home, and have Bill use the Ford Tractor to push it up onto to the wood pile (that things was 20' feet high and the diameter of a house). A Viking Funeral, eh Bill?" Bill replied, "I'll keep the coals going till you get back here with Bruce." That's a true friend that knew my (and especially my father's) sense of humor.

If it wasn't for William Peters, and my other "brothers (by another mothers)", my mother and I would lost everything (else). Bill moved in and helped out at the store after working all day at his full time job. Weekends we'd work with the tractor hauling my dad's collection of rusted relics to the front of the road to sell off. Bill was in the cab of a dump truck (steering) that had been sitting for YEARS while I had to rock it out of a 30 rut in the gravel. With every push of tractor the doors of the cab would fly open and "flap" like wings. You'd think this K6 International was to help itself to fly and be free. Poor fuckin' Bill is in that NASTY ass cab with all kinds of 30 years of shit raining down on him until we finally got the bastard to roll out. THAT'S not just friendship, THAT'S taking a MAJOR HIT for a friend. Bill did that ALL the time for his friends, and THAT'S what you need to know about Bill.

In addition, he was an AWESOME cook! He'd invite Ivan Beller and myself over Sundays for an incredible meal of "meat n' spuds" as he'd call it.

Bill had his favorite movie lines that he'd quote all time: "Well, ya know. 220, 221, whatever it takes." - Mr. Mom.

"Hey, Lard Ass!" (to me), "What do you want, Hard Hat?" (me to Bill) - Cheech & Cheech and Chong's Up In Smoke.

I can STILL vividly hear Bill doing his "Indian accent" in my mind's "ear" when recalling him telling the story of his Uncle Rich at the butt doctor's office. [Story NOT suitable for Facebook]

Bill could fix anything and he was usually "the guy" that the "experts" called in to "unfuck" their major fuck ups. Oh, and that's no exaggeration on his part because I'd seem him do it on SEVERAL occasions on refrigeration equipment that he'd bring "back from the brink" or "back from dead". We'll all shuffle loose this mortal coil one day as our valves are clogged, our frames are worn and bent, and no one makes compatible replacement parts for our models. We're not these stupid machines that drone on forever, that's not why we're here. We're here as men to do a job and if we're lucky we'll enjoy simple things that are seemingly work, toil, and drudgery to others.

Bill took great pleasure in fixing things, making homemade sauerkraut, dusting off his wood duck with Pledge. The men in his life taught him gardening, hunting, mechanics, and he was a tradesman. I miss being able to call him up and say, "How's it hangin' there, Hard Hat?", but in my mind I'll always hear him saying, "What's up Lard Ass?"

Ivan Beller
R.I.P. 
Bill William Peters
June 10, 1966 - July 5, 2014