Uncle Bill Installment #20

The family speculates:

The only thing I could ever get out of my brother, who’s about five years older than me, when I asked him about Uncle Bill was, “Bill experienced the rapture of the deep.” Then …

My brother recently told me he has dementia. I immediately asked, “Ok. Before you forget. What do you remember about Uncle Bill?”

He shared that our mom always regretted her final argument with Bill, a disagreement centered around his education. “He left for college, but never attended classes.”

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Spy-speculations:

Spy theories and conjecture began during my mom’s generation and continues to this day:

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Cousins speculate:

Earlier this year, I met up with some cousins. One night a group of us sat in the fireplace room of our rental and tried to think of anything anyone might remember about Uncle Bill. Cousin John sort of polled each of us, one by one.

Cousin Chad [he’s 60 now],

“When I was five or six, we lived in Bloomfield Hills in a two story home. In the basement, under the steps, was a bunch of stuff. It was tucked under the stairwell. Unfinished basement. You know, the wood stairs going down. There’s a spooky spot where there was a tackle box. Wicker I guess? There were some flippers, and scuba gear. A tank, some fins and a Minox camera. My dad said it was my uncle’s and he liked to dive. He died. He was young. I don’t know if he told me the Minox took a picture like this [he made an in-and-out motion with his hands] or … I remember pulling it apart anyway. Sorry if I broke it.” [He BROKE it!]

Chad continued: “Somehow I thought he was, like, some secret agent or something. He did stuff we couldn’t talk about. He worked for the government and it was secret. He had a Minox, and James Bond had a Minox. So I put the two together. Scuba, Minox. Can’t talk about it… Wow! He was basically James Bond, no question.”

[The question of who broke the spy camera was solved that day. It was five year old Chad. I let him know he owes me, like, $200-something bucks for the repair.]

Then my cousin Jeff took his turn:

“Kind of winding back a little bit, is there no more about his disappearance, other than the mystery of it? Because, frankly, it was mysterious. That said, he was technologically very smart. I got his military wool jacket … I don’t think I have it anymore. But it was the wool jacket that he wore in the military. It was blue and had an insignia on it. A white star, red circle, red dot and black background.”

Insignia Side Note:

The star with a red dot likely represents the Army Air Force, while the black background might signify a tactical or covert operation—possibly linked to night missions or stealth units. Many unit insignias during this era were customized to reflect their specific roles.

Could this insignia date back to Uncle Bill’s time at Fort Meade or Fort Monmouth? The 1950s, steeped in Cold War secrecy, saw the rise of classified and experimental military projects. It’s entirely plausible that this insignia belongs to an obscure or covert division, hinting at a part of his story still shrouded in mystery.

Cousin John reminisces:

His mom, Jane – Bill’s younger sister, once said, “The communists took him.” She also mused that sometimes when you’re diving, you get mixed up. You think you’re going up when you’re actually going down.

I asked:

Did anyone gain anything about Bill’s personal life from his photos? Unresolved issues? “Some of the photos he takes of other men …?” Chad’s daughter had seen the photos and her thoughts aligned with mine.

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When I found that box of slides in my mom’s attic… years ago, when I first lifted the slides to the light … I don’t know exactly what it was about those shots, but as I squinted at the images, I had the thought that my uncle was probably gay.

During that same visit home, I asked my mom – without even thinking about it. Without even thinking that it might not be an okay thing to ask. I mean, jeezuz gawd, it’s the 21st century, for cryin’ out loud. Even though she simply seemed a bit irritated and said, “No. Bill wasn’t gay.” I don’t feel she gave time to think about it. She didn’t ponder the question. She simply shrugged it off. Basically a knee-jerk reaction.

Back home, I had Bill’s prints and slides sitting on our kitchen counter. Bob casually glanced at a few and out of the blue he asked, “Was your uncle gay?” I’m, like, that’s what I was wondering.

Uncle John, Bill’s brother and only surviving sibling once said to me he felt Bill never came to terms with his rift with their father. Part of me thought that maybe our grandfather – Bill’s father – suspected, and couldn’t accept Bill’s … differentness?

I asked my Aunt Jane. “Was Uncle Bill gay?” She absolutely bristled. “My brother was not gay!” Then, “Haven’t you seen the photos of the mysterious woman?” Like, that would answer the question.

Eventually I chalked my initial thoughts up to the short shorts styles of the 1950’s. It was an aspect on which I had only a very loose grip and I let it go without much more thought.

Bill had a childhood friend, Dick Palmer. Dick Palmer passed away just before I began looking for him. Frustrating, but that’s the way things go when you’re searching for folks who are, maybe, 90 or so. Recently I wondered if any relatives of Dick Palmer’s might have some insight into my uncle Bill. I sent a letter to Dick’s brother, Bill. [I know, another Bill. Confusing.] He called me. As I leaned on a freezer in the frozen foods section at Grocery Outlet, brother Bill told me his family wasn’t close. He had some fun memories of my Uncle. Specifically, Uncle Bill had constructed a boat “Basically, it was just a couple of pontoons and a piece of plywood”, he said.

Designing and dreaming up new creations were undoubtedly part of Uncle Bill’s skill set.

Bill Palmer said, “You really need to talk with my niece, Dick’s daughter.” He gave me her phone number.

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When I punched in Jenny’s number, she answered straight off. She was walking down a busy street in New York City (where she lives). She was a bit out of breath and there was a lot of traffic noise in the background. I started to tell her who I was and , “I’m researching my uncle who was a childhood friend of your dad and…” Jenny cut me off, “Was your uncle gay? Because my dad was gay.”

I laughed out loud, struck by the randomness of it.

By this time, the fact that I once suspected Bill was gay had been filed so far back in my mind, that it seemed funny.

“Maybe.”

Jenny and I had the funniest conversation and an [almost embarrassingly] immediate and intense connection. She had spent the final ten years of her father’s life, taking care of him. I asked if he might’ve had anything in his estate that could give insight into Uncle Bill. She didn’t know but she would eventually try to look. She said her father had love letters that he had written to a man he cared deeply about. “They are beautiful letters. Poetry, really.” They weren’t letters to my uncle, but they were something that stood out to her.

We joked about our weird-o dads. I texted her the next day. A few pictures my uncle had taken of her dad – when they were childhood friends.

The only person left to ask was Ross Taylor. Remember the guy in Ohio who wanted to do the late night raid on the chocolate factory? Another of my uncle’s childhood friends. I called him and I asked. His scratchy 92 year old voice, “Is THAT why you called me? To ask if your uncle was gay?” He actually thought about it for a minute then said, “I don’t think Bill was gay but I don’t know and I don’t care.” [Finally, someone who actually gave it a mental look-see.] We spoke about my conversation with Dick Palmer’s daughter and how her dad was openly gay. “All I know is we camped in tents together in boy scouts and nothing ever happened. … Now, Dick.” Ross’ voice slowed. He was thinking. “He was very feminine. He liked to hang out with girls and do things the girls did.” His voice trailed off … “Dick could’ve been gay.”

Early on, my Uncle John had suggested I speak with Ross Taylor. I asked about Dick Palmer. “Dick Palmer was a whole different ballgame.” Uncle John answered. We let that statement just sit there.

I still don’t know much about my uncle’s private life. On one hand, his sexuality may have no bearing on the larger mysteries surrounding him. On the other, understanding that part of his identity might offer a sharper lens through which to view his choices and experiences. Either way, his story reminds me that everyone carries secrets—some buried deep, some lost entirely—but it’s the search that helps us understand who we are and where we come from.

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We’re at Installment #20. If you’ve managed to get this far and have read some of the previous installments, what is your take on my uncle? What have you gleaned from his photos? Please feel free to comment below. Or send me an email.

Right now, I’m working on writing about my return to San Salvador Island. I’m also gathering my thoughts about my recent visit to Mayaguana and the surprises it held for me. Next up: Return To The Outmost Island.

Back to Installment #19.

You can keep track of updates and photos, beyond what I post on my site, on my Whatsapp channel “Outermost Uncle“.

If you’d like to email me my address is junkstorecameras@gmail.com