For Bill, supporting Wesley isn’t just about giving back. It’s about remembering where he came from and making sure others experience the same kindness that once changed his own life.
Growing up in Hamilton, Bill remembers what it felt like to be poor. One Christmas when he was a young child, his family had no tree and no presents. It didn’t feel like Christmas at all. Then, late on Christmas Eve, there was a knock at the door. Boxes of food, more than he had ever seen in his young life, gifts for the children, and small presents for his parents had been left for them.
“For us kids, it meant we had a Christmas, I’ll never forget it.” Bill recalls.
Bill’s life hasn’t been easy, but he has always found joy in the little things and a passion for helping others. Now 76 years old, Bill left school at age 14 when his teachers deemed him “unteachable” because of his dyslexia. He began working in a lumberyard, and a few years later, he walked down Burlington Street in Hamilton and had four job offers within two days. He chose to work at Stelco because it had a union.
“That was important,” he says. “There were a lot of steelworkers in our neighbourhood, and those guys were heroes to us. The city is built on that; that’s the heart of Hamilton.”
Bill spent the rest of his career at Stelco, becoming deeply involved in the labour movement and community activism. Over the years he helped organize rallies, advocated for workers’ rights, and spoke publicly about issues affecting working people.
“I’ve always been an activist. Always been passionate about human rights. I attended my first Labour Day parade with my parents when I was only three weeks old.”
Over the years, he received multiple recognitions for his work, including awards from the Labour Council, the Steelworkers Union, and a Queen’s Jubilee medal for community service.
But for Bill, the real reward has always been simpler: making a difference.
While many of his coworkers chased overtime, shift work, and higher pay, Bill made a different choice. When a day job became available, he applied right away even though it meant a $2 an hour pay cut.
“Guys used to say to me, ‘you’re nuts. You could make more money!’ I said, no, I want a work-life balance. My house is paid off, I’ve got money in the bank. I’m home on the weekends with my wife, home for my niece and nephew’s birthday parties, and I’m going to retire at 56,” he says.
And he did.
That decision gave him something many people don’t have: time. Time for family, time for community, and time to give back.
When his sister got pregnant and needed a place to stay, Bill was able to provide that. They lived on the upper level of his home for 19 years.
If it’s any indication of the kind soul Bill is, his niece even said to him once, “I don’t mind that I don’t have a father because I have you, Uncle Bill.” He makes everyone feel loved, accepted, and welcomed, wherever he goes.
Despite dedicating so much time to giving back, Bill discovered another talent that he shared with his mother and his uncle: writing poetry. Bill began writing poems about labour struggles, poverty, and social justice.
At one point, he was writing constantly and reading his poems at various events and meetings in the community.
“My union president would call and say, ‘Bill, I need something for tomorrow,’ and I’d be up until two in the morning writing,” he says.
His poems, often based on real people and real struggles, resonated deeply with audiences. At one rally, he received a standing ovation from 2,000 people.
“Writing things that are relatable, that’s not easy,” he says.
For Bill, poetry is a living thing. “It doesn’t die on the page. I’ll add lines years later when I have new ideas.”
“I’ve always believed that if you’ve been given a talent,” he says, “you have an obligation to use it for the good of society.”
His collection of poems, Rebel Rhymes, is now something he sells to raise money for Wesley, which he puts towards his annual holiday donation. Local bookstore The City & The City Books on Ottawa Street will buy books up front to support his efforts, which most independent bookstores don’t do.
Bill first connected with Wesley more than 25 years ago after reading a small notice in the newspaper asking for volunteers for the Christmas store.
Like always, he stepped in to help.
Over the years, whenever it came time to book his holidays, he knew he had enough seniority to book time off in July, a highly sought after month for vacation. But Bill chose to take time off in December, so he could volunteer at Wesley’s Christmas store. To him, helping those in need was more important than getting a sunburn.
At first, he worked behind the scenes sorting donations. Eventually he moved to the front door, greeting families and helping guide them through the program.
It was a role he loved.
“People often wanted to tell their story,” Bill says. “And I would listen.”
Having grown up poor himself, Bill understood something many people don’t.
“If you haven’t been poor and you haven’t been hungry, you don’t understand,” he explains. “You can’t learn what poverty feels like from a book. It drains your soul. It takes your self-esteem in ways that are hard to explain.”
Previously, Bill had taken union counselling courses, learning about community support and services. He often connected people to additional help, directing them to agencies like the United Way when they needed more than food.
For Bill, the most important part of volunteering was treating every person with respect, and people trusted him because of this.
Over the years, Bill witnessed thousands of families come through Wesley’s doors. What stayed with him were the personal moments, the stories behind the statistics.
He remembers a man in his 40’s who was living in a boarding house. He was only able to take a small amount of food because he had nowhere to cook it. Bill quietly added extra treats for him, cookies and chocolate bars, along with a small gift, a pack of socks.
“The man said, ‘This is going to be the best Christmas I ever had,’” Bill recalls.
Another time, a young woman arrived well-dressed but clearly nervous. It was her first time seeking help. Bill found someone to cover his greeter role while he guided her through the process, explaining how everything worked and helping her pick out items. She eventually broke down in tears and explained she had left an abusive relationship and was trying to care for her baby.
“The kindness I’ve been shown here today has restored my faith in humanity,” she told him.
Moments like that reminded Bill that Wesley offered more than food.
“We gave her hope,” he says.
Sometimes the smallest gestures made the biggest difference. Bill recalls greeting a man and addressing him respectfully as “sir.”
The man nearly cried.
“He told me he couldn’t remember the last time someone had spoken to him like that,” Bill says. “And I told him that just because you’re down on your luck, that doesn’t mean you shouldn’t be treated with respect.”
For Bill, preserving people’s dignity was always at the center of his work.
Through the years, Bill also helped younger volunteers understand the realities many clients faced.
There were times when others questioned why someone experiencing poverty might still have a cell phone or a piece of jewelry. Bill explained that a phone might be the only way to contact an employer or support worker. A necklace might be the last possession someone had managed to hold onto, maybe something given or left to them by a loved one.
“Nobody chooses to be poor,” he says. “Some people may feel that those experiencing poverty are victims of their own selfishness or laziness or drugs or alcohol, but nobody chooses it.”
He also remembers seniors who would take only a small amount of food, insisting the rest should go to someone who needed it more.
“They didn’t want to be there,” Bill explains. “Saving items for others is how they held on to their dignity.”
Without them asking, Bill could see that others needed something more than food. Like the elderly woman who arrived wearing a coat held together with duct tape. She had no choice, and she had no food at home.
By chance, Bill had just received a donation of a brand-new coat from a neighbour.
“It fit her like a glove,” he says. “She began to cry and said ‘now I can go back to church. I stopped going when it got cold because I was ashamed to wear this. Now I can go back and see my friends.”
That coat didn’t just keep her warm. It gave her back her community, her confidence, and her connection to others.
People from all walks of life, all ages, all circumstances, have had the opportunity to have their lives touched by Bill. He knows that no two people who walk through Wesley’s doors have the same story or the same needs.
He remembers a father and son who had fled war in Syria. The young boy had lost both legs at the knee. When Bill spoke to them, the father quietly said “war,” while the boy, clutching a small yellow toy truck, translated in English. Bill found someone to help push his wheelchair so his father could pick out what they needed.
Another day, he noticed a toddler frozen with fear, pushing an empty toy stroller. Instead of approaching her directly, which he knew might be frightening, Bill gently gave a donated Raggedy Ann doll to her father, pointed to the stroller, and said “baby”.
When the doll was placed inside, the child’s eyes lit up and her whole body finally relaxed.
“We have no idea what these kids have gone through, but all it took one word and one action,” Bill says. “And she knew she was in a safe place.” For him, these moments matter. They become part of a family’s story: how they were welcomed, how they were treated. And those memories stay with them long after they leave.
Bill didn’t need people to tell him how his hard work was paying off; it showed up in the smiles, the tears, and in people paying it forward when they were able to.
It showed up in the form of a woman excitedly telling him that her husband found a job after three long years of searching, and that it was the last time she would need to come in for the support that had gotten them through.
Bill had been there for most of their journey, and he was so proud of their outcome.
Although health challenges have made it harder for Bill to volunteer in person today, his connection to Wesley remains strong.
“I used to be there every day, all day during the holidays,” he says. “Now I just can’t physically do it.”
But that hasn’t stopped him.
He continues to support Wesley financially, including donating proceeds from his poetry book sales. Every year during the holidays, he makes sure his contribution reaches $500, even if it means topping it up out of his own pocket.
For Bill, giving back is simply part of who he is.
“I’ve seen firsthand the work that Wesley does,” he says. “It changes lives.”
If you can believe it, Bill’s generosity extends beyond his lifetime. Bill has arranged for his home to eventually be donated to Wesley so it can continue helping others, his legacy that will carry on for decades to come.
Bill often reflects on something he once heard:
“If you want to end your own suffering, begin by helping the suffering of others.”
It’s a philosophy he has lived by for his entire life.
From a child receiving unexpected kindness on Christmas Eve, to a man ensuring others experience that same care decades later.
Bill’s story is a reminder that compassion doesn’t have to be complicated.
Sometimes, it looks like listening.
Sometimes, it looks like a warm coat.
Sometimes, it’s just saying “sir.”
And sometimes, it changes everything.
