William “Bill” Cecil-Smith

Sending sympathy and condolences to family and friends of Bill Smith from myself and my husband Rob Cleaver in New Zealand for his passing away . I am sorry to hear of his passing. I met Bill in front of 352 Princess Ave while walking my bike down the street to go to work. I was invited by Marg Warren and Lesley Warren to drop by for beer. I found a community of people who were kind, friendly, and helpful. I drank French roast coffee with Bill and Black Russian cocktails. Ate French cheeses with fruit, bread, and crackers. Because of meeting this community I learned about food co-ops, co-op houses, sharing tools, sharing knowledge, and showing others how to do home and car repairs. There was no internet or cellphones only landlines and physical diaries. Bill had a huge network of people in his life and was a mover and a shaker. He did not need Facebook, Instagram, or Threads to meet people and become friends. Bill was a teacher, a leader, a knowledge bank, and had boundless energy. He loved riding his 10 speed bike, walking, running, and swimming. He took a group of us swimming out to the quarry during the summer. A great summertime memory. Another memory was riding around in his car listening to the radio. We shared a love of the Rolling Stones and music. I learned different types of music from Bill who was constantly listening to a wide variety of albums, going to concerts at bars, arenas, and live music. Bill and his friends got me hooked on folk festivals. Great music and a great celebration every time. A protest song from New Zealand “Nga iwi e” I was not able to supply a link for in this notice. It is often sung at protests and street protests. Search on Youtube for the song with the title. The lyrics from the song below sum what is needed to succeed. Kia ko tahi ra Te Moana nui a kiwa Rest easy Bill I know you will be up there networking your heart out and catching up with family and friends. Thank you for your friendship, kindness, and help through the years. Good smart people are hard to find Rob and I send sympathy to the loss of a kind, intelligent person.

Given as I wrote the obituary it feels a bit superfluous to say anything more. But more needs to be said. The flame requires tending. Bill kept the flame alive. It takes only a single spark. Nothing has caught yet but Bill was a good tinder keeper. He went through a great deal to keep the flame alive. Let's not let that be in vain. The prairies may yet burn. Thanks for your good work old friend.

For those of us in the London area, who knew Bill CECIL-SMITH, these words from the brief obituary, capture the essence of Bill.... "There was an intensity to Bill which we can't capture in these few words but if you knew him was memorable. " I've known Bill since the late 1970s, though the London Coop Store, NDP campaigns when he chose to support us, protests, and environmental activism ... Bill always let you know what he thought about the issues that were important to him, as us. I loved this intensity. He will be missed. We need another generation of activists with his intensity.

I knew BIll in the 60's in Montreal, and participated with him in my first protest march in support of the separatist movement. We heard some great blues at the Esquire, drank too much beer in large pitchers, and argued a lot about politics. I took over his apartment when he moved to London, summer 1967. He was a compelling presence and lots of fun even then.

I first met Bill in April of 1977. I was coaching the novice swim team at the London Memorial Boys and Girls Club as a volunteer and I also worked there part time doing various cleaning jobs.. On my way home from sweeping the gym floor, I would occasionally stop in at the "Mister Donut" shop on Richmond Street between King and Dundas streets for chocolate doughnuts and chocolate milk. The waitress behind the counter was usually reading the "Free Press," all the while making bitter comments about Trudeau's (the elder) weak efforts to combat inflation through wage and price controls which were ever only wage controls. Her way home was in my general direction, so one day she invited me over for a beer since it was close to quitting time. Once at her place I discovered that the house at 352 Princess Street was more or less run cooperatively and it was Bill's night to cook. He was preparing fish for dinner which was kept frozen as a block and needed to be thawed prior to cooking. Bill, however, threw the entire frozen block into a frying pan and turned up the heat. I was at loose ends that Spring with the miserably weary break up of my marriage after two tumultuous years. I had emigrated from the United States and was struggling with whether to return to New York City or remain in Canada. While living in New York I attended Columbia and became belatedly involved in the anti-war movement. I wouldn't dignify my left wing sentiments at the time as an "analysis" but when I found out who Bill was as Edward Cecil-Smith's son and also discovered who he was involved with, I knew that I had hit the political mother load! My friendly waitress, Marg by name, would go on to become a long time manager of the London Co-Op Store. Frank, a Gay activist, also lived at 352 having been barred from studying for the Anglican priesthood. Together with Bill we formed Towards Communism and focussed our efforts on producing the journal "Something Else" and studying the classics. Bill was something of a political guru and possessed a psychological presence and fire that I was simultaneously attracted to but feared. I always felt that I shouldn't get too close for fear of getting burned. Yet the fact that I am still poitically engaged nearly fifty years after our first encounter is due to the warmth that I still feel.

The first time I met Bill he showed up to a May Day party at a friend's house in 2001. It was shortly after the Summit of the America's in Québec City and paranoia was running high so we all thought that Bill was a cop at first. Later Bill and I were both members at the East Village Arts Collective (EVAC) on Dundas Street. He used to think it was funny that "the anarchist" (me) kept insisting on so many rules. He was fond of telling me that a "biker will drink beer from your skull!" When I lived in Montréal for a few years Bill slept a night on my couch while on some kind of trip in 2014. I loved Bill and I regret not having seen him for so long before it was too late. I'm pretty sure that Bill loved everyone. Attached is a photo of Bill surrounded by some of his many friends at a critical mass in London circa 2006. Bill is in the centre shielding his eyes from the sun in a blue flannel shirt. Rest in peace Bill.

As Bill once told me an old comrade of his used to say to him “to the barricades!” RIP Bill, you had a complicated and very interesting life.