(A tribute to Bill Thorne, The Tomato Man)
by Jean Steel Venrick

He was a soft-spoken, gentle man, tall and thin with no outstanding features. I met him only once, Bill had talked with him and Gertrude, his lady friend, numerous times at McDonald’s. He was getting up in years but still had enough drive, even though suffering with arthritis, to be able to start, plant and nurture 180 tomato plants this season. Bill had been following this schedule for years and all his neighbors and friends relished his tomato crop.

He lovingly cared for those plants each season until he had huge tomatoes, some two and three pounds! He was so proud of his crop. We visited him and Gertrude, who lived nearby, this summer when he showed us his plantings, all different kinds he knew by name (some actual names and some he named after some characteristic details). Some he paid dearly for from a catalog while others he carefully saved seed to start more plants.

He helped Gertrude Hayes, his friend, prepare the soil, plant and nurture her row of tomatoes, but he would never pick hers. He was quick to say, "we don’t live together, we’re just friends". They lived within walking distance of each other’s house on Hopewell Church Road, south of Hamburg Road—a familiar territory to me because my childhood home was just a few miles away.

Together they gave us big boxes of those delicious tomatoes three or four times this summer, starting August 8th when we first visited them. The last box, we thought, arrived as a surprise because a cold spell killed the growing season for tomatoes. Later, Bill and Gertrude brought another surprise box of green tomatoes around the first of October. He taught us to enjoy fried green tomatoes. I learned to cook them, even preparing them for us and our kids Labor Day, September 4th—all ten of us—when we were at our country place near Somerset, Ohio.

From the box of green ones we did not have fried green tomatoes—instead we ate them as they ripened. When they started getting red all at once I took most of them and made chili sauce, a total of ten pints. I still have some left that we will savor as something special served at our dinner table. Bill Thorne’s tomatoes outlived him. The news of Bill’s death came during a casual Sunday morning chat at church with Gertrude’s son when he asked if my husband had heard Bill Thorne died. He had died two weeks ago. Not taking the daily paper regularly, we did not know this so consequently we didn’t get to the funeral.

The interesting story about this "Tomato Man", Bill Thorne, is that Bill and Gertrude did not sell their tomatoes but gave them away, getting much pleasure from giving. When my husband spoke by phone with Gertrude, she said Bill had requested in lieu of flowers at his funeral, people could bring canned goods to be given away to the needy. She said a room set aside at the funeral home showed that his request was taken to heart by his friends who had brought many canned goods. Even in death he was still giving. Apparently Bill had viewed death was near when he made such a providential request about canned goods instead of flowers.

We will never eat tomatoes, especially fried green ones unless we think of Bill Thorne. It was simply a summer friendship which meant a lot to my husband and me.

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Post notes: Gertrude, when not getting a response to her phone calls to Bill Thorne, went to check on him and found him lying on the floor, still in his pajamas. His departure was evidently quick. Gertrude would prepare breakfast for Bill sometimes, other times they would drive to Lancaster for breakfast at McDonald’s, something Gertrude says she will not be doing soon again. Just too many memories. Bill had taken her to Niagara Falls for a few days this summer. Also they took a trip to Lake Erie. The day before he died they had taken a day’s drive to New Straitsville and West Virginia. They enjoyed each other’s company.

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Jean Steel Venrick is the wife of Bill Venrick, The Wordwright
Jean originally wrote this story Oct 29, 2000