R.I.P., Brother Keith

Ah dear Bill Keith, I just learned of your passing moments ago.  You, such a key figure in my young life.  It's hard to compose words.  They will echo what the many who had the honor of being in your choirs at First Baptist Church of West Palm Beach, Florida in the 1970s and beyond would say.  A gracious, genuine, godly man.  A Christian who walked the walk and never belied a spirit of humility.  He was unique among the many outspoken church leaders of my youth.  His witness impressed many who were alienated by the typical evangelical.

More memories than I can possibly recount.  I first met him around the age of eight, when he and his wife Anna came to our church, taking over the music ministry after the departure of O.D. Hall, who had begun a years long tradition: The Singing Christmas Tree.  Bill continued it into the early 21st century.  I participated during my high school and post college years, until 1994.  I've written about it here before.  Many recollections of Saturday rehearsals in September, and late night rehearsals leading up to opening night.  Bill was a supreme (and supremely patient) conductor. 

Later, I was encouraged to try out for a quartet he directed.  I never considered myself a great singer, but Mr. Keith recruited me for the bass part.  It was a new and very rewarding experience.  We were driven fairly hard, but never made to feel inadequate.  Always a spirit of fellowship.  I recall singing "There is a Savior" one Sunday night at the long gone Chapel by the Lake, now the site of a monstrous condominium. 

Backing up, Anna taught us bratty "Young Musicians" during my childhood.  Both of the Keiths were role models to me, and also my future wife, who is eight years younger than me.  I learned to read music in part because of them.   When I was ten, I sang a solo ("I Am Adopted") in their production of Down by the Creek Bank.  Feels like yesterday. 

I also fondly remember hearing Bill's deep basso on my answering machine when I drifted away from the choir at various times, asking me to come back and join the bass/baritone section.  Clear in my head as one of those handbells at Christmastime.  

More recently, we would see Bill and his wife out at local restaurants.  He seemed to be getting deeper into a fog.  Just smiling all the time.  Hard to watch.  He was lucid enough to come play guitar for my step father-in-law in his final days at his home before he succumbed to pancreatic cancer in 2015.  I can just see that, as good a picture I can paint for those who did not know him.

R.I.P. good and faithful servant.