7/3/1944 – 6/20/2020
William Nigel Unger, Jr. As if local tavern owners and bartenders hadn’t suffered enough grief in 2020, we lost a good one on June 20th. He was preceded in death by his parents, Billie Ott-Unger and William Unger, Sr., and his sister, Pat. Bill is survived by a sister, Becky, and brother, Bobby. I knew him as Uncle Bill.
Half of LaPorte County must’ve shared a conversation or a roll of the dice with him on a bar top at one point or another and the other half truly missed out. I often encountered someone who learned that Bill and I were related, and they always wanted to tell me just what they thought of him. And they always used the same words: “He’s a great guy.” Yes, he is, I said.
Bill was a good-looking guy, who grew on Park Street in a 2 bedroom home with his parents and 3 younger siblings. He was the epitome of a big brother—guardian of his brothers and sisters. One afternoon, Kurt Ladewski followed Bill home from school. The family gained a new kid and the pair became lifelong friends. After graduating high school, the two boys worked in a casket factory. It took two weeks before Kurt said, “I’ve had enough of this, I’m joining the Marines.” “Me too,” Bill replied, and off they went. Basic training and then onto Vietnam. All the time, Bill carried a worn photo of his brother and sisters, mom and dad, in his pocket.
Everyone who met Bill knew he was a Marine. His VFW jacket patch and Marine Corps hat were his trademark look.
Bill had all of the letters he sent home while in the service in a shoebox and he let me read them. One night, I called him, I’m reading your letters and I have a question. What’s that, he said? What did a MP do to make you punch him in the face? I asked. “Which one,” Bill replied, “The one in Okinawa, or the one in Saigon?” It happened more than once? “Yeah, I was known to do that sort of thing once upon a time,” then he laughed that Bill Unger snicker.
His rabble-rousing days faded, but he remained forever a kid at heart. As his nieces and nephews grew up, Uncle Bill always had cool toys—a pachinko machine to tinker with, the first VCR we’d ever seen. He collected popular kids toys, miniature battery operated 4x
4 trucks, and let us play with them in grass, gravel, and sand. He built his own zip line in his yard to play with. During winter, Uncle Bill bundled in his navy blue jacket with VFW breast patch and made the first passes down the snowy hill with a saucer sled, carving a smooth path for us kids to speed down.
His nieces and nephews teased him and he would show us his giant fist and ask, “You want a knuckle sandwich?” and we’d giggle and climb up his arm. Until the day he died, he had fireworks at the ready and lit them off for friends and strangers. He’d throw a brick of firecrackers out the car window to say, “Adios!” and snicker as he drove away. Late in life, he took up motorcycling again and it became his favorite hobby, tooling around the countryside on two wheels, smiling in the breeze.
Bill never waxed poetic or pained himself with sentimentality, yet inside him beat an enormous heart. He liked being around kids, but he’d never let you know it. Privately, he worried about other peoples’ struggles. If you ran out of money and the party ran out of booze, he opened his wallet and kept the good times going without saying a word. He would lend a hand, or pick up a tab, then strategically take off before you could say, Thank you.
Over beers at the VFW one afternoon, I watched Kurt plant a big sloppy kiss on Uncle Bill and yelled “Happy Birthday, Brother Bill!” Bill tried to maintain his steely façade. But he couldn’t do it and that handsome Bill Unger smile he’d perfected for decades beamed through.
Brother, soldier, uncle, friend, lover, worker. Bill was a lifetime VFW member and served in numerous roles over 54 years. He held several jobs from auto mechanic to factory worker to custodian, but his job never defined him. He lived to spend time in the company of others, to laugh and to joke with friends, family, and new acquaintances.
As we celebrate Bill Unger’s life, let us take away some lessons from him. Care about your fellow man and fellow woman. Be kind for kindness sake; rather than for recognition for your kindness. Enjoy a few beers with friends and new acquaintances. Be a good friend. Never stop playing, embrace your inner child, and laugh often. He wouldn’t want to hear it in person, but Bill Unger would be pleased that this is his legacy that we cherish.
