William John Hunter

October 27, 1930 - March 30, 2021

William “Bill” John Hunter was born in Hamilton, Ontario, October 27, 1930, the eldest son of Marion Hunter (n?e Crawford, 1889-1981) and Thomas N. Hunter (1896-1962). His parents had come to Canada from Scotland in the 1920s, along with so many working people from the north of England and Scotland who chose the thriving industrial city of Hamilton as their home in the aftermath of the First World War, and at the height of the Great Depression. Marion was from Glasgow; she’d grown up in Barrowfield, a rough area of the city known for its uniform red brick Victorian row houses and textile mills on the River Clyde. Thomas came from the village of Milngavie (Mulguy) just north of the city; he’d volunteered in August of 1914 and served the duration of the war. Hamilton was an obvious destination for them, not only because of the employment opportunities, but because it had become a distinctly Scottish place where many people they knew had migrated. Bill was raised on Rosslyn Avenue North, near Cannon and Ottawa Street North, attended Memorial School and then Hamilton Technical Institute. While the family did reside briefly in Buckingham (Quebec) and Fort Wayne (Indiana), these were temporary stops; Bill was a Hamiltonian at heart, its where he apprenticed as a tool & die maker, sailed on the bay, played hockey, and met Anne-Marie Hunter (born 1933). She was half way through the nursing program at the General Hospital, they married in 1956, raised four children in a small house on the mountain, where Bill passed on March 30th, at 5:40pm, in his own bed, with Anne, as he wanted. July 14th would have been their 65th anniversary. It is difficult to condense all that Bill did in his long active life (“a good run” he told his friend Phil Moore on the phone just days before he passed), he never seemed to stop doing things (curling, sailing, skating, skiing, carving, making furniture). With Anne, he travelled to almost every corner of Canada. They loved Newfoundland & Labrador, their annual trips to Vancouver Island to be with their daughter Susan and her family, driving trips to Quebec and Northern Ontario, and short Sunday drives to Niagara, where Anne had grown up on a farm in Fenwick. They had their routines, including Saturday mornings at the Hamilton Market (year round) and the Ottawa Street market (in season), a few blocks from Bill’s childhood home. The last time he ventured down to Ottawa Street, Bill shared stories with the staff of the coffee shop on the corner at Cannon, told them about how people would crowd the window of their shop, back when it was an appliance store, to watch Friday night boxing matches on the big TV. He was a voracious reader, of histories and mysteries, taking out and returning a half dozen books a week from Terryberry Library. He often said it was a “waste” to buy him a book as a gift (“I read them too quickly”). A true gift for him was family and friendship; he loved to be with young people. That there were little kids living next door in his final years made him very happy. Bill was always generous in sharing his knowledge, and open to learning from those he taught and mentored. He knew how to be a good father and grandfather, and a friend, knew the importance of family and kinship, but he also valued the independence and privacy he shared with Anne. Bill knew his children as individuals, as he did his grandchildren. He treated them all as adults, never imposing, but always open to being called upon for advice and support. “The biggest compliment I can pay my dad,” his oldest son Douglas said, “is that he kept growing as a person, throughout his life.” He looked younger than he was, not just because he was physically active, but because he was mentally engaged, he didn’t look 90 in his final months (even though he’d struggled through illness). He remained deeply present; a daily reader and consumer of the news, he would watch documentaries about almost anything (as long as they were well made). He stuck with the newspaper, never embraced the internet or new technology (unless it was a useful tool for his woodworking shop); he loved his crosswords, and reading the comics (his favourite, sadly long out of print, was Walt Kelly’s Pogo, who’s famous line “I have met the enemy and he is us,” captures the essence of Dad’s sense of humour). He loved jazz (Oscar Peterson, Oliver Jones and Count Basie, and new artists such as Diane Krall), a genre he was first introduced to by Harry Hunter (no relation), the Hamilton labour activist and Communist city councillor who lived across Rosslyn Avenue. Bill didn’t care for labels, his respect for others was grounded in their presence and authenticity and not their inherited status or position; he saw people for who they were, as individuals. He had an aversion to formal organizations and rigid hierarchies and shared Groucho Marx’s stance: “I would never be a member of a group that would have someone like me as a member.” While he understood Hamilton and Canada as places of diversity, he acknowledged they were tainted by racism, classism and hierarchies of gender. He was critical, funny and sharp to the end, and his humour and frankness helped those privileged to support and care for him in his final days. Bill was generous, he gave of himself to the last breath, knew how to convey trust and let go, and appeared more concerned that his last chapter was causing more pain to us (especially Anne) than himself. There are so many pictures of Bill in boxes and albums around the house, and on the phones and computers of those close to him; in the majority of these he is with Anne, their bond was solid. A stand out image for many is of Bill sailing on the bay in the early 1950s; he is standing on the edge of the deck of his good friend Frank’s home-made Lightning, he is holding one of the thin wires supporting the mast, the boat heals and he is leaning out over the water, smiling (his hair a dark flattop you could rest a glass on). He wears a windbreaker, jeans and running shoes that are timeless, no different from the clothes his grandchildren now wear. He exudes a distinct energy of joy and presence, a lust for life. In a much later picture, decades on, taken at Sunday brunch with Anne, he exudes that same joyous energy. Bill lived fully and well, and when he died at in his own home, with Anne, as he wanted, he left his family and friends with vivid lasting memories of a life well lived. FAMILY THOUGHTS & MEMORIES Anne-Marie Hunter: It was a blind date, a dance for the nursing group from the General, all Bill’s sailor friends were there and already paired up with my classmates. My date had cancelled last minute. One of Bill’s friends found him holding up the bar and sent him to the dance to meet me, we were soon dating, meeting each other’s parents, then married, then we hardly saw each other because of our opposite shift work. We bought our house on the mountain in 1959, Bill’s mom couldn’t understand why we’d moved “way up there” (as if we’d moved to the Arctic). Over the years, we travelled to every province and territory in Canada, sailed on Great Slave Lake, went to Newfoundland & Labrador many times, cruised the west coast from Vancouver to Alaska. We made it to our parent’s birthplaces (Birmingham, North Walsham, Glasgow and Milngavie) only once, we’d really hoped to go again. I always say, "65 years of marital blitz!" We loved each other dearly, that's for sure. Grace (granddaughter): Grandpa along with Grandma always created a welcoming home. From wandering their backyard garden in summer and visiting Grandpa’s workshop as a child, to cooking together and sharing funky beers as adults, my memories of him are intricately tied to the image of an open door leading into his home. He once told me I could stay as long as I wanted and needed to, and I’ll always remember that. Susan (daughter): Some of my fondest memories of Dad centre around skiing, both while growing up and then with my own family. I also wish to acknowledge his unwavering support of my family, education and career. As kids, we learned to ski at Chedoke Hills in Hamilton. We also eagerly awoke at impossibly early hours to visit various Ontario ski resorts, and went on an amazing trip to Mont Sutton in Quebec. These were magical trips for our family! When I moved out west to settle on Vancouver Island, my husband Steve and I raised our sons to ski at our local mountain resort. Mom and Dad came out to visit during many winters, and stayed at our chalet, enjoying the downhill and Cross-country skiing there with my boys. A highlight was taking Dad to Whistler several times to ski as well; when he was 78 years old, he was asked by a ski resort liftee if he was “actually old enough to be skiing on a “seniors” (age 65) pass”, as he was so athletic. My move west did not prevent my Dad and Mom from getting to know my husband and sons, as my parents regularly visited our home in winter and summer, and we travelled back home multiple times for holidays around Ontario with them. I had the good fortune of experiencing my father’s unwavering support of my attendance at University and Medical School, and then moving to the west coast for post-graduate training. I am grateful for his unquestioning assumption that I would accomplish whatever I set out to do, if I put enough effort into it and wanted it seriously enough. I am indebted to his warm, kind reassurance through all the challenges of my life and career. Most importantly, my dad was a family man; his legacy to myself and my family was that he was a model of generosity and decency, with a great sense of adventure and positivity, whatever challenges came his way. He was loving, accepting and kind, which ultimately is what I, and my boys, will cherish most about him. Remembering Dad with much love. Marilyn (daughter): Dad was always there for everyone in the family and he taught me many things, and we shared a love for mysteries books. He encouraged me to do what I can and to show everyone what I can do as a Deaf person. I remembered him coming to pick me up at my school in Milton (E.C.Drury). It was during the class changes and he was walking down the hall when my classmates saw him and said, “That handsome man is in the wrong area, he should be in the elementary school!” I looked and said “No, that is my Dad, they were stunned and signed, “Your Dad looks so young and handsome!” William (grandson): For my whole life, whenever I saw my grandpa, he always wore the same watch on his wrist. I don't recall the make, but I remember as a kid being fascinated by the complicated dials and colours on its face. Grandpa explained to me how it worked one time on a family trip, how the extra dials were for timing during sailing races, and then he regaled me with stories of races gone awry, of booms hitting unsuspecting sailors in the head while tacking, of hockey pucks knocking teeth out and bench-emptying brawls during beer-league games, of trips to china during his career in the factory, and on and on. I met my grandpa long after all of these stories took place, and only in recent years have I ever seen photographs of him in his youth. I remember his laugh, his woodshop, his carvings, and through the watch I remember his life of adventure and passion. Lisa (daughter-in-law): Who would have guessed that a smile and a hello in a tiny kitchen 35 years ago would lead to a life-changing relationship described as one of not only family, but friendship. We talked and never ran out of words, laughed until the tears flowed, shared delight in cottages, dogs, music, newborn babies, history, bread baking and making things. Most of all, we just loved hanging out, which is what friends do best. My love for Bill cannot be measured and he will forever be in my heart. Douglas (son): The biggest compliment I can pay my dad is that he kept growing as a person, throughout his life. A lot of people come of age and are then pretty much fixed in their interests and outlook. My dad was a guy who left high school to pursue a trade as a tool-and-die maker, went back to complete his senior years at night school when I was a kid, and was fundamentally curious and welcoming. Sometimes he was almost too welcoming. He epitomized the Australian term “looner magnet,” for the guy who can walk into a bar and in five minutes have the loopiest person there sitting next to him, talking his ear off. Sometimes when we were at regattas, I would think, “Why do we manage to attract the weirdos in this fleet?” It was because he was very approachable and courteous, as long as people weren’t abusive or outright fools. I think he liked meeting the creative types I hung out with I went to art school, and later in his own life, he turned his trades-based skills to furniture, but most rewardingly to wood carving. He churned out a lot of ducks, but especially some really remarkable half-models of whales. He never exhibited or tried to sell these things, but they were genuine works of art. He came out of trades training where you executed something that came with a precise plan to follow, but in carving he found an outlet for a creative genius that he may not have known or ever admitted he had. Creative people, whether they were artists, writers, or even yacht designers, interested him, because they were people with knowledge and skill sets, but also blank sheets of paper. They had no blueprint to follow or to restrain them, and he took his own pleasure in freeing himself from blueprints. Claire (granddaughter): Grampa was always picking me up from somewhere; we’d drive around listening to jazz and sometimes I’d put on my music and he’d laugh at it, and then at me for listening to it. I remember going out on his boat and him trying to teach me to steer, and me failing miserably. He was just always laughing with me, we made fun of each other a lot, even down to the fact that we had a handshake instead of hugging. Just like Gramma, he was always there for me and accepted me for who I am. Deb (daughter-in-law): Bill’s unwavering love and support for Anne for 65 years of marriage has been truly inspirational. It has been the best lesson for Doug and me as we navigate our marriage. The love Bill and Anne have had for their grandchildren, Grace, Crawford and Drew, was so appreciated. I will always remember the strength and love with which Bill squeezed my hand the last time we were together.... it was so hard to let go. He will be missed! Max (grandchild): I will always fondly remember my Grampa as a true gentleman and fierce advocate for those around him, one with an incredible ability to see and care for loved ones exactly as they were. Having him in my life has been an immense privilege, and I’ve been so lucky to grow up with him here as an avid supporter of my arts and educational pursuits; from attending university orientation day (he took more notes than any student in attendance), the matinees of many plays (always sharply dressed and accompanied by Gramma), to carving props in the workshop and driving up for a midterm cafeteria breakfasts, to video calls about grad school and squirrel feeding. Always a joy to be around, I always looked up to him for his quick wit, wise words, precision craftsmanship, inventive baking, and his ability to give a well-placed stern look. I will miss him very dearly. Iain (grandson): The news that Grandpa has passed is truly sad, but it brings me comfort to know that he was able to spend his last weeks surrounded by his family who he loved so much. I wish I could have been there with all of you but unfortunately due to the times we are in it was just not possible. I hope he is remembered as the funny, loving, kind person that I knew him to be. He will always be with us, and he will be missed. Lots of Love Grandpa. Steve Matous (son-in-law): Remembering Bill Hunter, A great father-in-law Loved a good book, or three An enthusiastic competitor A dedicated family man Always open to new things at which to try his hand Never short of energy Had a flair for baking Had an inquiring mind, but in a good way Put the grand in grandfather Generous with his time Made a science out of curling and sailing Committed to always being better Had a knack for finding the bird or the whale hidden in a block of wood Never met a crossword puzzle he didn’t like Made an effort to be a good mentor Could have lived in the workshop Loved to travel Was a great guy with whom to share a beer, or a dram of good scotch WILL BE MISSED! Andrew (son): I am my father’s son, a maker and reader, an artist, story-teller and life-long learner; I see life as an unpredictable journey filled with opportunities to venture out, to try new things and question my understandings and values. My father gave me the confidence to not have all the answers and to believe I had something to offer. His (and Mom’s) incredible patience and support have carried me along. I remember when I was around 9 or 10, puttering in dad’s workroom, making a “sculpture” out of what I thought were scraps of wood (but turned out to be pieces of precious mahogany). Dad found me struggling to nail those boards together into an awkward likeness of a goalie. He sighed, patiently took them and put them high up on a shelf, and then proceeded to carve a perfectly proportioned representation of hockey legend Jacques Plante out of a piece of old 2x4. When he made that carving, he wasn’t doing it for me, he was modelling a way forward; he taught me by example and mentorship, not discipline or punishment. This early experience was the foundation of our many collaborations making things for exhibitions. As I struggled (emotionally and with mental illness in my adult years) he listened then offered his own experiences of anxiety and depression, not to downplay my afflictions as common to many, but to let me know he understood, had been there, and that we were in it together. He would rest his hand on my shoulder, a deeply meaningful gesture from a man who did not always express his love physically, who’s gestures were very real, never a performance. The night before he passed, we were sitting on the edge of the bed, my hand now pressing on his shoulder, my arm supporting him. I told him it felt like when we were sailing together, on the Lightning, pressed together on the windward rail. Dad gestured with his left hand as if steering with the tiller, his right hand holding the sheet for the main sail. I described the sensation of crossing the bay on a tight reach, heading for the far shore. I will always associate my father with the feeling of a boat’s momentum, a vessel’s journey. On his last day, I thanked Dad for encouraging me to read, and we spoke of our favourite books and author’s. “A journey is called that because you cannot know what you will discover,” I said to him, quoting James Baldwin, “what you will do with what you find, or what you find will do to you.” There are too many stories to tell, so many memories and lessons I carry that I want to share of my journey with this man, who I know will remain very present in my life, and is waiting on that farther shore. *** William John Hunter was predeceased by his siblings Marion, Robert and Thomas, and his much-loved grandson Nicholas. He is survived by his wife Anne, his four children Marilyn, Douglas, Susan and Andrew, his grandchildren Grace, Crawford, Drew, Will, Iain, Max and Claire, his daughters-in-law Deb and Lisa and son-in-law Steve, his in-laws Betty, Mel, Robert and Barbara. Anne and family are extremely grateful to the VON nursing team (Meaghen, Carley, Victor and Tim) for their exceptional care of Bill. Donations can be made in his memory to the Hamilton Centre for Civic Inclusion: A community-based organization mobilizing all Hamiltonians to create an inclusive and welcoming city.