Marc Elliot Hall Henderson, Nevada
Page created: 14 January, 2023
Page modified: 1 June, 2023
Thank you for your interest in the life of Sheila Stone Dill.
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In December, 1991 -- when I first met Sheila -- I was 23. And a half. She and Doug had driven down to Sacramento to meet me a few days before my marriage to Jan. Sheila, Doug, Jan, and my parents sat around the dining room table in my parents' home and chatted. I remember very few of the specifics of that first real conversation with Sheila, but about 25 years later she recalled to me one detail that revealed a little too much of my maturity level at the time, and which would no doubt embarrass Jan too much to relate here. Not only did Sheila recall -- and confoundingly express approval for -- my comments at that first meeting, she had apparently interpreted them as a validation of the upcoming union. Which, in retrospect, may have been a tad unwise (the endorsement, not the union). Nevertheless, she and Doug never once expressed condemnation, or even concern, to me about Jan's choice in mate. Go figure.
After Jan and I wed, we would make periodic pilgrimmages to Eugene to visit. On one such visit, we plowed through a deer, causing sgnificant damage to our Ford Tempo. On another visit, we plowed through a snowstorm, causing less significant damage to our Saturn SL1. But these setbacks were worth it, as Sheila would prepare food I wrongly thought I would never like, and we would luxuriate on the deck, enjoying the birdsong and forested vista behind their home.
The inside of the house was just as beautiful; Sheila's sewing complemented Doug's woodworking, and made their home a showpiece.
When we visited, we would walk for hours through the forest behind the house, at least before the clearcutting and subdivision of those many acres. The walking path through the neighborhood was a poor substitute for logging roads into the depths of the woods. Sheila always knew where to go to see fawns, or what birds were nesting nearby.
I suspect Sheila and Doug not only wanted to be closer to their kids and grandkids but also wanted to live somewhere a little less nuts-and-granola and a little more Wilford-Brimley-oatmeal. The transformation of wildlands into subdivision near their home in Eugene probably made that decision a lot easier.
Jan and I weren't much use in helping Sheila and Doug move their household to Gardnerville, but a month or two after the house was mostly unpacked we drove over the mountains from Shingle Springs with the kids and a rototiller in the back of the van. Sheila kept the kids from underfoot while I manhandled the machine through the yard to prepare it for the amazing garden that Sheila eventually grew there.
At every one of our subsequent visits, Sheila made a point to say thank you and credit the rototilling for making the garden happen. This was sweet -- if grossly mis-stating the comparative levels of effort involved -- but always gave me a little lift.
...And made me feel that much more guilty when, just two years after the Dills' big move from Eugene to Gardnerville, the Hall clan pulled stakes and moved to Missouri.
Fortunately, Sheila and Doug must have forgiven us, and a few years later agreed to play parents for Melody and Thomas while Jan, Bryan, and I went to Costa Rica for more than a week. This was the longest continuous exposure Melody and Thomas had to their grandparents, and it went well enough that nobody got murdered, maimed, or even maligned. Possibly because of the enormous volumes of ice cream involved.
Not much later, our family returned to the West, settling in Nevada. We would all drive up to Gardnerville two or three times a year (Jan and one or more of the kids much more often) to visit. The metamorphosis of Sheila's backyard from bare dirt, to lawn and pergola, to garden paradise, was ongoing. She would always welcome us and once again thank me for the rototilling. Her modesty at what she had accomplished was noteworthy.
During one of these visits, Doug, Jan, and I attended a performance by Sheila at the little community theater above Sharkey's Casino on Highway 395 in Gardnerville. Regretfully, I cannot recall the name of the play or the name of the character Sheila portrayed. But it was clever, and Sheila's delivery was solid and well-received. This was a new side of Sheila; after more than twenty years she could still surprise me.
Afterward, Sheila, Doug, Jan, and I went out to eat; I remember the restaurant staff recognized oth Sheila and Doug right away and enthusiastically welcomed them back. I felt just a little like Norm entering Cheers Beacon Hill.
This may have been one of Sheila's final roles on stage, as her memory was less and less reliable as the years wore on. She took her decline in stride, however, and seldom complained about it. I suspect that -- of all the things she gave up in her later years -- she missed her audience the most.
Whether that audience was a theater full of strangers, a gaggle of school kids wanting to hear another story, or a grandchild on her lap, Sheila always gave us her best self.
We miss you, Sheila.
