He knows key to a good time - The Spokesman-Review (Spokane, WA)

Bill Rasmussen"s act delights the lunchtime diners at the LakeCity Senior Center.

He taps out favorites like "Hey Good Lookin"" on his keyboard,occasionally jumping up and kicking over his stool like Jerry LeeLewis and dancing while he plays. Sweat beads on his forehead as hebounces in place, his sky blue eyes and little boy smile charmingthe grandmothers waiting for their apple cobbler.

"They love him here," says Tom Moore, the center"s director. By"they," Tom includes himself, although he"s younger than most. Heteases Bill mercilessly from the audience and Bill loves everyminute. Bill, 56, loves everything about his senior center visits.

"My life is here with the elders," he says, and he grins as hisaudience claps and cheers for him like kids at a rock concert.

When Bill walked into the center a year ago offering to perform,Vickie Harrison, Tom"s assistant, was guarded. She"s careful aboutwhom she allows to mix with the center"s guests. Bill was a bitscruffy in his worn jeans and T-shirt, although his white hair wasshort and neatly parted on one side.

He was barrel-chested and sounded as if he"d worn out his voicescreaming or, maybe, cheering. He told Vickie he played keyboard.She liked his smile, but she wondered about his ability. Bill"s armswere prostheses, with hooks for hands. Vickie invited him in.

He was an instant hit, which is why Bill spends most of his timenow in senior centers and nursing homes throughout the UnitedStates.

"It makes me feel like a million bucks," he says.

Seniors adore Bill, so when his van burned near Lewiston a fewweeks ago, they pulled together a benefit at the Post Falls SeniorCenter.

Bill lives with no electricity and no phone in a cabin he builtnear Plummer 14 years ago. He depended on his van to carry him tonursing homes throughout the Northwest.

He was scheduled to play in Grangeville the morning smokestarting pouring from his van"s motor. Bill managed to pull out hiskeyboard and stool, although both were singed, and a suitcase.

Everything else burned with the van, including two pairs ofprostheses. One pair was electronic and cost $32,000. His insurancecompany declared the prostheses personal property rather than health-related and won"t cover their replacement.

Hence, the benefit at the Post Falls Senior Center, which startedwith an anonymous $1,000 donation and someone"s offer to buy Bill anew set of electronic arms.

The benefit raised about $2,500 for Bill to use as he needs. Thegenerosity overwhelms him. He assumes the person who wants to buyhim electronic arms doesn"t know the price. Bill figures the stateof Montana will save the potential donor from an awkward situation.

The state has supplied his prostheses every three or four yearsfor 32 years, ever since Bill lost both arms below his elbows in abizarre accident.

He was a 24-year-old father with a pregnant wife in Great Fallswhen disaster hit. He managed the office of a company that repairedelectric motors, but on May 11, 1971, he was on the business"s flatroof painting the stucco building"s sides.

Bill put his roller on a 12-foot extension with an aluminum poleand reached over a guard rail 2 feet high. A 13,000-volt power linestretched 22 inches away. He was careful not to touch it.

But it didn"t matter. As he painted, power suddenly surgedthrough the line. It arced over to Bill and bounced him on the roofbefore throwing him over the rail, his boss reported to authorities.

They found him by railroad tracks. He didn"t regain consciousnessuntil Aug. 9. His arms had been amputated and his legs wereimmobilized. Doctors predicted he wouldn"t walk again. He didn"tknow his pregnant wife sitting by his bed or the friends whovisited. He didn"t know his little son, Lance.

He accepted the loss of his arms stoically. He knew he had nochoice but to learn to work without them. But he was determined toregain use of his legs. After doctors removed bandages, Bill triedwalking but took off running down the hospital hallway instead. Hedidn"t have the balance to walk because his heel cords had shrunkwhile he was recovering. He ran until he fell.

Doctors still predicted the worst, but Bill was encouraged thathis legs worked.

Three months after he left the hospital, Bill wore his firstprosthetic arms. They were manual. A strap connecting them stretchedbehind his neck. To open and close the two-pronged hooks that servedas hands, he flexed the muscles that turn hands palm up or palmdown.

"I"d sit by the hour picking up raw eggs. I busted a lot," hesays. "I didn"t want a nurse following me around the rest of mylife. I wanted to show people I could do for myself."

With work, Bill"s legs returned, but his marriage fell apart. Heneeded daily care that was too demanding for his young wife with twobabies. After she left, his skills improved by necessity.

He spent the next 25 years in and out of court, jobs andmarriages. The state paid for his prostheses, but cut him offworkers" compensation. He sued Montana Power and settled out ofcourt for $45,000. He fought Montana"s worker comp system until itawarded him $74,000 23 years after it had cut him off.

He mastered use of his prostheses and took a job at Fairchild AirForce Base as a controller, then in Lewiston as a job placementcounselor. In Lewiston, he began to focus on news reports of missingwomen in the area, then became driven to find them, certain that washis life"s mission. Instead, he irritated police in the region. Hemarried and divorced two more times.

Bill was searching for something, but he wasn"t sure what. Hefinally found it in 1990, after he retreated to the hills nearPlummer and built himself a hideaway.

"I wanted to be a social dropout," he says.

Bill had had a stroke in 1987. After the hospital released him,he roamed through a shopping mall and noticed a man playing akeyboard with the eraser end of a pencil. It gave Bill an idea.

He stuck erasers on his hooks and gave a keyboard a try. He hadtaken piano lessons as a child and could read music. As he poundedout "You Are My Sunshine," the thrill of making music returned tohim.

He immediately spent every penny he had on a Yamaha keyboard, buthe couldn"t play it in his fledgling Plummer retreat. It had noelectricity, only a generator that could burn up his keyboard.

To thank some of the local residents who helped him set up hishome, he played his keyboard at the nursing home in Fairfield.Residents wept as he played and he was moved to tears as well.

That"s when he knew what he wanted. Bill played at every nursinghome he could find. The keyboard, he decided, was his ticket toPennsylvania, where he always wanted to go. He wanted to see wherehis mother was raised and find his grandfather"s grave.

His friends in nursing homes gave Bill contacts throughout thecountry. Bill plotted a route that took him to 99 nursing homes fromPlummer to Pennsylvania. He offered a $20 keyboard show in everyone. Most showered him with tips, too.

The 1993 trip convinced Bill he"d discovered his life"s purpose.He found his grandfather"s grave. He made friends from Asotin toAkron.

"I"m so into elders because I get a smile out of them," he says."I can"t for the life of me figure out why everyone doesn"t feel asI do."

Since then, Bill plays regularly at senior centers and nursinghomes in Idaho, Washington, Montana and Wyoming. The tips fromseniors, plus his disability benefits, support him.

"He"s fantastic," says Morris Patton, a Post Falls Senior Centerregular. "People are crazy for him."

Dave Erickson of Erickson RV and Rentals in Coeur d"Alene heardabout the demise of Bill"s van and gave him a 1979 Dodge van with akitchen and room to sleep. The van needs work, but local garageshave donated a tuneup, carpet, radiator flush and oil change.

Bill shakes his head and grins at the unexpected kindness he"sreceived. As soon as the van is ready, he is scheduled to play inLewiston, Missoula, Bozeman and Billings. He can"t wait, and neithercan the seniors.

"Play `Orange Blossom,"" yells Tom at Lake City"s senior center."Get their appetites going."

So Bill does. His artificial arms fly. His stool thumps againstthe stage as it falls backward. He runs in place to the rollickingpiece without missing a note.

The audience goes wild, stamping feet and clapping in time. Billgrins. That"s what it"s all about.