William (Bill) Drury

Tim, it’s good to hear from/about you. I hope to hear from you.

Happy Birthday… You are the only male in our class that I was sure that would make such a auspice number. I’ve always admire your clean living. Happy Birthday once again, Bill

Happy Birthday Drew. Have a big time on your day…Bill Drury

Posted on: Mar 19, 2021 at 7:41 PM

How is it that after all these years you are still older than me? Happy Birthday, Larry

Posted on: Dec 21, 2016 at 3:23 PM

Happy Christmas...may you and your family have a wonderful Holiday...looking at your Senior picture makes me think of how young we all were and how beautiful you still are...WD

Posted on: Apr 28, 2016 at 4:33 AM

Posted on: Dec 27, 2015 at 1:15 PM

In the sixth grade, I asked Brenda Ninno to go to the movies. Most of the Seabreeze Elementary's sixth grade would be at the Beaches Theatre on Saturday afternoon. The movie didn't matter. This date was public affirmation of what Brenda and the other sixth grade girls, as girls of this age are want to do, had previously decided; Brenda and I were going together. I cleared it with Jo. She agreed to drive and to pick up. After all, I was the man.

Jo waited in the car while I walked with a stomach full of butterflies to Brenda's front door. When it opened, the prettiest girl ever stood before me...wearing a bright blue skirt and a soft white blouse, her brown eyes sparkled beneath the medium blonde bangs of the page boy hair cut that framed her face. This girl was different from the girl that I talked to in school. My mouth went dry. Brenda, standing in a pool of heaven sent light, was all that I saw.

Without saying a word, she critically eyeballed me...creased navy blue slacks, button down the front cranberry short sleeve shirt and exactingly coiffed hair, no more than a quarter of an inch long except the butch wax coated bangs stood at attention like soldiers; the reflected sunlight gleamed straight into the eye of God. She smiled. I pleased her.

Her parents stood behind her. Her mother's right hand was on Brenda's shoulder. She wore a light flower patterned dress, her hair pulled back in a bow a la Donna Reed, smiled graciously between meticulously painted lips as she said, "Hello, Billy." Her father, a tall thin man whose enormous head was covered in well-oiled neatly combed hair the same color as Brenda's, did not smile. I again received a complete eyeballing. More critical of the young man that would be taking his daughter into a dark movie theater, it took another moment for him to remembered to smile and extend his hand. I stared at it for a moment. It was nice hand, big, clean, unscarred as are the hands of men who work in offices. Baffled as to why he was putting it out to me. Hearing something about what a pleasure it was to meet me, I was reminded to shake his hand. I never make eye contact with either parent.

Brenda, sensed my awkwardness, grabbed my hand, turned me around,tucked her hand under my elbow and marched me to the car. I blushed with embarrassment when they laughed after I said to Brenda, "Well, that wasn't so bad."

From the car, Jo traded pleasantries with Mr. and Mrs. Ninno, who stood holding hands on their stoop porch as I opened the back door of our station wagon, waited for Brenda to get in and shut the door. Then, I walked around to the other side of the car and got into the front seat. When I turned around to Brenda and saw the anguish on her face, I knew I was sitting in the wrong seat.