Posted by XXXXXX on May 20, 2008:

William Meredith Lyon discovered three passions early in his life—skiing, West Point, and flying. He skied his entire life and graduated from West Point, but a hearing impairment disqualified him from flying. That was a great disappointment to him, yet, during 12 years as an Air Force officer, 20 years as an Air Force civilian air traffic control specialist, and ten years as a consultant with aerospace industry, Bill Lyon contributed significantly to making flying safer for military and civilians in domestic and international airways. Born and raised in Punxsutawney, PA, Bill inherited his Quaker mother’s quiet strength, inner direction, and sense of moderation and his physician father’s sense of service, devotion to excellence, and resourcefulness. Always active, young Bill molded lead soldiers and deployed them in battle, hiked and camped with the Boy Scouts, became an Eagle Scout, tended the family garden, built a family tennis court, played tennis and football, operated photographic darkrooms at home and at school, worked at a local florist, and skied whenever possible. His sister remembers Bill “had a huge zest for living, quietly made friends, and was a delight to be with.” On 1 Jul 1944, Bill entered West Point with the Class of ’47. When WWII ended and the Academy resumed its normal four-year curriculum, the Class of ’47 was split in half and Bill elected the “long course” with the Class of ’48. Bill was a solid, dependable, quietly effective cadet with abiding respect for the Academy’s purpose and ideals. His extracurricular activities included pistol, soccer, Ring Committee, chapel ushering, and skiing. Appointments as corporal during Third and Second Class years and as lieutenant, battalion supply officer, during First Class year, recognized Bill’s leadership talent. Looking back over half a century, Bill’s classmates remember him as “quiet, serious, reserved, friendly, open, straight-forward, honest, courageous, habitually considerate of others, warm smile, good humored, fun to be around, sterling character, true gentleman, and a good man.” One classmate and fellow Air Force officer concluded his appreciation with “I wish that we had more Bill Lyons!” Commissioned as a non-flying Air Force officer in June 1948, Bill completed a graduate course in aeronautical engineering at the Air Force Institute of Technology and then was assigned line duty with an operational squadron. During the first two years of the Korean War, Bill was aircraft maintenance officer for a B-29 squadron that flew almost daily combat missions from its base in Japan. He next served as ROTC instructor at Ohio State University and then as project officer on aircraft and missile development programs at Wright–Patterson AFB. In 1960, MAJ Bill Lyon resigned from active military service but remained with the Air Force as a civilian senior engineer for air traffic control and navigation systems then under development. In 1971, Mr. Bill Lyon was assigned to the USAF Electronic Systems Division at Hanscom AFB, MA, as Chief Engineer of a newly established program to develop and implement innovative control and navigation systems for the Air Force. Since the military services and the Federal Aviation Administration share operational needs in air traffic control, a joint office was established to coordinate and streamline inter-agency programs and activities. Bill Lyon became Director of Air Traffic Control Systems for the Air Force, Army, Navy, and FAA; a position he held until his retirement in December 1980 and in which he twice was awarded the Department of Air Force Exceptional Civilian Service Award. Following his retirement from the Air Force, Bill spent ten years as aviation consultant to the aerospace and electronic industry in matters concerning air traffic control equipment and procedures and remained active in professional and technical societies. In 1950, Bill married Gwyneth Houghton, a graduate of Vassar. Together, they had son Douglas and daughters Sara and Melinda. Gwyneth died of cancer in 1983. In 1986, Bill married Sallie Berman, who brought him three step-daughters—Amy Berman Thai, Barbara Wray, and Marcia Podlisny. Bill and Sallie enjoyed 15 full and happy years together walking, biking, golfing, and skiing. They explored craft shops and art galleries and attended concerts. Most of all, they enjoyed their home, flower garden, outdoors, and just being together. Bill loved working in his wood shop and filled the house with his furniture and special pieces. Bill began to battle lung cancer in March 1997. He seemed to have won that fight, but cancer reasserted itself in June 1999. Bill renewed a valiant, but losing, battle and died in March 2000. In seeking to capture the essence of Bill’s life and influence on others, his children, step-children, and friends invariably use words similar to those of his West Point classmates. His daughter Sara remembers Bill’s “neatness and precision,” devotion to “doing things because it’s right and what you have to do,” passion for flying, and his being “happiest and most unreserved when he was skiing.” His step-daughter Marcia remembers Bill as “gentle, caring, loving, beloved, understated, never drawing attention to himself yet vibrant and active, and a loving grandfather to all our children.” Words from poems and a traditional prayer left on his word processor reflect Bill Lyons’ spirit and, perhaps, how he would like to be remembered. High Flight by John Gillespie McGee, Jr.: Oh, I have slipped the surly bonds of earth, And danced the skies on laughter-silvered wings; Sunward I’ve climbed and joined the tumbling mirth Of sun-split clouds—and done a hundred things You have not dreamed of— wheeled and soared and swung High in the sunlit silence. Hov’ring there, I’ve chased the shouting wind along and flung My eager craft through footless halls of air. Up, up the long, delirious, burning blue I’ve topped the wind-swept heights with easy grace, Where never lark, or even eagle, flew; And, while with silent, lifting mind I’ve trod The high, untrespassed sanctity of space, Put out my hand, and touched the face of God. The poem Continuities from Walt Whitman’s Leaves of Grass: Nothing is ever really lost, or can be lost, No birth, identity, form—no object of the world. Nor life, nor force, nor any visible thing. From a traditional prayer, we conclude with, “Until we meet again, may God hold you in the palm of his hand.” Bill’s family and friends

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