Andrew Williams

Andrew G. Williams (1947-2012): The first thing you should know about my dad is what he loved. Baseball. I can count on one hand the number of my games he missed growing up, from little league to high school. As a little boy he took me to the Denver Zephyr games, and then to Rockies games and even after I went to college it wasn’t a summer unless we spent a half-dozen days at Coors Field (sixteen rows behind home plate so the umpires could hear him). And cooking. He grew up in New York City working in my great uncle’s kitchen, doing line work and breakfasts. And then he passed on my grandmother’s love, the way she nourished with food. All the cold noodles were a link to our shared Japanese heritage; the clam chowder said something about our culture, something about our small family gathered together tight on a brisk autumn afternoon. Living with him meant homemade teriyaki and monthly fish. He loved history. And we’d talk over the dinner table about Joshua Lawrence Chamberlain’s feint on Little Round Top at Gettysburg, or maybe whether or not Lee would have sent Pickett against Cemetery Ridge if he had his cavalry on the first of July 1864. And music. He still had boxes of LPs and tapes and Cds when we got him into digital music and then he rapidly filled up a couple of iPods and abused his iTunes account. He loved RocknRoll and liked to say that Clapton was God. He loved Doo-wop and the boyhood memories of picking up the AM stations from Chicago late at night. He loved love songs. And he could play the guitar (especially for the girls). He was a Japanese-American. And this led him into the cultures of all peoples. He worked 36 years at the EEOC to stamp out discrimination and protect the civil liberties of all Americans. And he was unbelievably kind. Always listening to people’s stories, always helping with advice or food or money or sympathy. Whether in the government or in the armed forces, he spent his life in service to the people around him. My dad leaves behind a huge network of friendships, some that have spanned more than forty years. He had a way with people, as though you were the only person in the room, totally earnest and sincerely genuine. He brought out the best in everyone, always championed the underdogs. I’ll remember him walking the basset hound (Philly) around the neighborhood, wearing his Vietnam Veteran hat, carrying a plastic bag of dog treats, smiling. Always smiling. He is survived by me, his son Jesse, and the dog. And Amanda, who became part of his family. And many others who found his house and heart unconditionally open. My dad passed on April 10th, 2012. There will be a service at Ft. Logan on Thursday the 26th of April with a reception afterwards. In lieu of flowers please donate to the Colorado Basset Rescue Society or a no-kill animal shelter of your choice.