My Friend Skip Hatfield

 

Mount Washington was, and still in many ways is, a small town in Kentucky.  William Henry Hatfield was born there 81 years ago, raised there, and lived out most of his adult life there until last Friday, when he died.  Now his earthly remains will be interred there on Monday, May 3, 2021.

He was known to the world as Skip because when his grandfather first laid eyes on him, shortly after his birth, he said, "There's my little Skipper!"  Ever after that was his name and only a few family members called him Henry, his grandfather's name.

Skip was a good human being.  He was pleasant, kind, trusting to a fault, and had extremely good eye-hand coordination, which allowed him to be good at almost any sport he tried.  He excelled in woodworking and construction; well, at most everything he did.  He was "a natural."

I knew Skip for more than 25 years, socially through the association that our wives had with Epsilon Sigma Alpha sorority.  They came over for parties often and Skip ruled the pool table.  He could play better than any of the rest of us.  Aside from the socials, we didn't see much of each other.

I have no business writing about him, other than I knew him and liked him.