The amusement park was somewhere in Florida. Orlando would be a good guess, because that’s where all the state’s amusement parks are, right? At any rate, that’s where I captured a snapshot years ago of Bill Fisher, then the sports editor of the Lancaster Sunday News — if only in my mind’s eye. It’s one I’ve been reviewing a lot since he died on Nov. 14, at age 93, and one that will warrant a peek Tuesday, when he is laid to rest.

It’s also one I’ll carry around forever.

We were on a Penn State bowl trip and decided to visit this amusement park with our wives. Only problem was, Bill set out at a brisk pace, well ahead of the rest of us. There’s so much to see, so much to explore! And we really need to take it all in! 

His wife, Arlene, could only shake her head as he charged ahead: That’s just Bill. And indeed it was. He race-walked through life, savored every experience, relished what might be next. How can you not appreciate that? How can you not be inspired by that?

I’ve often mentioned one of the other snapshots I continue to cherish — most recently to LNP sports columnist Mike Gross, my podcast partner on “After the Buzzer,” who memorialized Bill for that outlet. It too involved Penn State, a beat on which Bill and I overlapped from 1984 to ‘96. 

The Nittany Lions — beloved by Bill, viewed a tad more skeptically by yours truly — played a night game, and rather than making the long drive home in the dark, we elected to shut it down at a hotel in Shamokin Dam. The next morning I headed downstairs to the coffee shop and found that Bill had already been there a while. Moreover, he had seemingly scribbled notes on every available surface, for a story he was planning.

Lancaster Newspapers being what it was at the time, he couldn’t tell me what had captured his imagination, nor did I bother to ask. And really, it doesn’t matter. The moment — the snapshot, as it were — speaks to his passion for the craft. That never waned.

He was at LNP for 42 years in all, from 1954-96, the last 25 of those as the Sunday News’ sports editor. He was, in fact, that publication’s only full-time sports person, and never mind that Saturdays tend to be the biggest sports days of the week. He nonetheless assembled a crew of loyal, hard-working lieutenants, and they cranked it out every week.

And goodness knows the guys who worked for the Intell and New Era chipped in with stories every now and again. You just couldn’t say no to Bill, truly one of the kindest, most upbeat people in the building.

Every now and then you’d come into the office and find a yellow interoffice envelope in your mailbox. Inside would be a note from Bill, telling you how much he’d enjoyed something you’d written. While you’d like to believe that you’re secure enough that you don’t need affirmation, let’s not kid ourselves — everybody does. Especially when you work in a profession where you’re routinely asked whether you know your hindquarters from third base.

So I’ll cherish that snapshot, too.

Post-retirement, he took to building birdhouses, and hawking his wares alongside Arlene, an accomplished artist, at shows all over the place. And understand that other than that one day in Florida, she kept pace with him, throughout a 62-year marriage that ended with her death in 2019. They loved each other, and they loved life. That’s why they lived it in fast-forward. And why every snapshot is so damn blurry.