chair to paint, if it had taken a bad turn” he says, his voice trailing off. Formerly a fast, prolific painter, he suffered post-surgical nerve impairment that made speed impossible. “I had to go through six months of blocks to shut down my right arm and try to reboot it; calming it. It did work, eventually.” He was also lucky that he had decades of work to draw from. “The one advantage I had was to pull on my library of paintings. That was when I had the idea for the book North Carolina Beautiful in 2011.” His granddaughter, Jayden Honeycutt, gave Mangum the inspiration for a green theme, “the idea of protecting things for the future.” He contacted six conservation and preservation groups, conceptualizing a book that contained natural scenes worth noting and protecting. He slowly, painfully, doodled. “Then I began small illustrations to round out the book. Small flowers and butterflies. Outside of that, out of the 130 paintings inside, I only did eight or ten new ones,” he says. “I drew upon previous work to round out that book.” All the while, Mangum remained true to his faith and kept giving generously to charities, especially the Greensboro Urban Ministry and those benefitting the homeless. His 2012 Honor Card raised nearly $500,000. The Ministry’s programs derive enormous benefit from Mangum’s contribution: over $3.1 million netted and counting. Statewide, the Honor Card has generated $4.5 million.
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or twenty-five years watercolor artist William Mangum has been a hands-on advocate for the homeless, donating his artistic skills and publishing gifts to make the Honor Card program one of the most well-run and leveraged charitable programs in the country,” writes Mike Aiken, executive director of Greensboro Urban Ministry, which keeps all sales proceeds from cards bearing Mangum scenes. Greensboro Urban Ministry keeps all sales proceeds from cards bearing Mangum scenes. “I was coming out of the arm surgery. I had to do the Honor Card left-handed, for the most part. If there was one thing I was going to accomplish, it was the Honor Card — it took me 2013 Honor Card about three months to do it,” he says. “I don’t care to do that again.” Volunteer Lynette Bleisteiner met Mangum two years ago working at the shelter’s Wednesday morning breakfast. “Bill encourages homeless people who try their hand at art. They proudly bring it to breakfast for his opinion and critique. He motivates them and gives them dignity.” Still unable to paint, Mangum worked at the gallery as often as he could, helping with sales, leveraging his enormous body of work through products — puzzles, calendars, gifts and cards. And he dreamed of a licensing agreement, twice coming within a whisper of making it work with two large furniture companies. Licensing agreements had been the key to enormous success for painters like Bob Timberlake. He also learned he had damaged tendons in his wrist. “I didn’t want the public to know,” Mangum admits. “From the early days, I always believed in the starving artist label. I thought people would buy from an artist for a season, but if you didn’t (keep going) it would get stale. That’s when the idea came of doing Michael’s book.” By the fall of 2012, Mangum completed the primary work on Michael’s Gift. Then in November 2012, Mangum had a head-on collision while driving
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alone en route to Greenville, for a speaking engagement. “On my way there for the Honor Card program. I was on Highway 64, watching traffic. There was a big ramp and a pickup truck coming down.” Before crashing, Mangum remembers veering into the left lane, unable to avoid it. Mangum left his demolished van behind and gave the speech. Afterward, he rode home in a wrecker with the van in tow. The next day, he saw a doctor to appraise the damage. “It set me back a few months. ” And problems with his hands continued. Mangum has been diagnosed with basal thumb arthritis. In January of 2013, Mangum underwent surgery on his left hand. “When I had the hand surgery, it was career-threatening surgery. Any dentist, surgeon or musician has a career ended without use of their hand,” he says. Mangum has delayed surgery on his dominant right hand. Sympathetic nerve problems returned; a vicious loop played on. Going into 2013, it looked as if Mangum’s streak of bad luck was coming to an end. On mend from his multiple injuries, he got a phone call from Klaussner furniture executive Geoff Beaston. Beaston, who had worked on Bob Timberlake’s line for Lexington Furniture in 1990, wanted to meet with Mangum to discuss a licensing deal based upon his Carolina Preserves art book. The collection, built around the book’s images, rolled out on the occasion of Klaussner’s 50th anniversary. On October 24, 2013, an exuberant Mangum strode through the Carolina Preserves Collection rooms. A group of about fifty friends and families met for a private reception in Klaussner’s showroom as dusk fell over an emptying Hamilton Street. High Point — manic for one long burst — was about to enter its extended winter hibernation until spring market. But not yet. “Can you believe it? Isn’t this just great?” Mangum asked over and over. Rita Heath, a retired employee, who had traveled from Oak Island, said “I am so, so thrilled. I am so happy for him.” Beaston radiated calm excitement as he waited for the crowd to quiet. He took the microphone in hand to announce that Klaussner’s excellent market results, “were up 29 percent.” By any marker, this was excellent news. And nobody appreciated that more than Mangum. Mangum began thanking people present “for staying the long journey.” He joked lightly about “falling off a roof,” and the people who had bought an original recently “knowing old Bill probably needed that.” His speech was a summation of a daunting journey that even his closest friends feared might end in a different place. He spied Tonya, his Pilates instructor. “You’re the real reason I’m standing here,” he smiled, eyes moist. “I couldn’t be standing without you,” and then looked down, collecting himself. “You hurt me,” he smiled, “but I’m standing here because of it.” It was vintage William Mangum, a man who’s learned that misfortune, pain and suffering are part of the human lot, no matter your talent or wealth, and that enduring it and rising above it are all that matters — something he learned from his long-deceased Aunt Kate and his mother, and their belief in his talent. “Mom always said, ‘Just wait,’” he said, voice cracking. “‘Just wait, Honey,’” he repeated softly. OH The Art & Soul of Greensboro