Bill Frederick Boughton

August 31, 1936 - October 6, 2024

Bill Boughton, age 88, shuffled off this mortal coil on October 6, 2024. Bill was as charming and beautiful a human being as they come. He was a true friend; one you could count on to delight and surprise you, make you laugh, and make you think. He was an amazing story and joke teller. His laugh shook the room. When he opened his mouth, you would pay attention. When he entered a room, his presence was palpable. His sky-blue eyes warmed your soul with love and happiness. He had a smile that made you melt. His hug was as strong as his spirit and you could feel it for days. Those who knew him knew how fortunate they were. He was one of those people you wished everyone had in their lives. So, if you didn't have the chance to know him, here is a glimpse into his beautiful life:

He was born in Appleton, Wisconsin in 1936 to Frederick and Agnes Boughton, in the teeth of the depression. After the depression, the family (his elder sister Elizabeth had been born in 1930) moved to Brentwood, Missouri where Bill took up an interest in the soapbox derby and built three different cars over three years. The third was a charm, as in 1950 he won the St. Louis soapbox derby and advanced to the nationals in Akron, Ohio. He finished 27th out of 140. After that, the family moved to Winona, Minnesota where he went to high school and lettered in swimming and participated in speech and acting events.

Following high school, he enrolled in the University of Minnesota. He pledged Beta Theta Pi fraternity where he made many lasting friendships. After graduating under the ROTC program and getting his B.A. in theater art and speech, he became a second lieutenant in the Army. He was then assigned "recruiting publicity officer" for the sixth army group, southern California. During his active duty in Los Angeles, he married his college sweetheart, Barbara Parke. After completing military, they returned to Minneapolis, each resuming their academic pursuits, Bill in theater and Barbara in music. Bill was so fortunate, at that time, to be the first McKnight Fellowship recipient, which offered him the opportunity to work at the Guthrie Theater while pursuing his master's degree in speech and theater. He also received a Fulbright Fellowship to study in England at the Bristol Old Vic and Bristol University, which he declined in favor of a Ford Foundation grant to stay on an extra year at the Guthrie Theater, as its first box office manager.

Before assuming his role, he and Barbara decided to travel to Europe for a year to observe the many theaters and operas that represented the foundations of American theater. In 1964, after that wonderful year abroad, he was offered a position to manage a new theater in Hartford, Connecticut, which he accepted. After they moved to Hartford, they welcomed their first child, Michael, in 1965. Four years later, when the theatre had built an audience and was in the black, the family moved back to Minneapolis. Soon after, in 1970, his daughter Amy was born. Bill and Barbara divorced in 1983.

Bill was the quintessential renaissance man. He was a stockbroker for many years, owned and ran a restaurant, and managed one of Minneapolis's oldest golf courses, Theodore Wirthjust to mention a few careers. He loved to travel and especially enjoyed his time on horseback in the mountains.

But the biggest adventure in his life was building and living in his own log cabin on a beautiful little piece of land in the north woods of Wisconsin (logs, electric, plumbing, masonry, fireplace and chimney: 32 feet from foundation to chimney cap). Working alone with no outside help, it took him nearly six years to complete. He lived there for 13 years.

In 2013, he moved to Missoula, Montana to be close to his daughter, Amy, and son-in-law, Cory. His life in Missoula was lively and full! Fishing, camping, playing trivia, taking numerous courses through the MOLLI program, reading, and writing numerous editorials and guest columns for the Missoulian and, the last five years, he embarked on a new adventure: stand-up comedy!

As a member of Mensa, Bill was appreciated for his breadth of knowledge, his beautiful writing and spoken word. He could knock out the Sunday New York Times crossword in an afternoon. He was an editor for many professionals and students, working on books, letters, terms papers and dissertations. He considered this a happy avocation, as he learned so much from the many writings he edited. He loved to cook and would often fall asleep at night with his nose in a cookbook. He was a true lover of nature with the kindest heart for all beings and was accompanied by a dog, most of his life.

Bill loved words, and always found a way to poetically express his views on life, whether it was about love, politics, or fishing. He had the remarkable gift of taking any rather pedestrian moment in life, and making sense out of it, by relating it to Shakespeare or some other playwright.

Bill's love of old movies wasn't just because he loved the movies. They represented something that he cherished, but also genuinely saw missing in today; the days when things were simpler, when we were good to each other, when we could have differences and still raise a glass, tell each other stories, and share the gift of life with each other. That was the beauty of Bill.

After receiving a grim terminal diagnosis, rather than suffering anymore and living out his days in pain, he chose to leave us sooner rather than later by employing the amazing, right to die with dignity. One of his favorite expressions was, "Fun is fun, but enough is enough," which is exactly what he said, on his way out, when he died of his own volition.

He leaves behind his daughter, Amy Engkjer, and son-in-law, Cory Engkjer. He was preceded by his parents, his sister, his son Michael and all his dogs, from Pal, to Kai, to Bruno, to Muffin, to Sasha, and finally, to Mandy.

He spent his final days with Amy and Cory watching old movies, writing letters to friends, and telling stories and jokes. He is missed greatly and as a friend in New York said, "He is now infinite."

... I know we'll meet again some sunny day.