William Thomas "Bill" Richardson

September 7, 1930-November 24, 2020

If you ever wondered what quiet heroism looks like, picture a gentle man with one pair of worn, threadbare pants, a prayer-polished rosary, a stack of murder mysteries, and a handful of neighborhood cats who trusted him with their lives.

Born William Henry Richardson in Philadelphia on September 7, 1930, he chose Thomas at his Catholic confirmation and kept it. From then on, he was Bill Thomas Richardson. The apostle appealed to him: Thomas asked honest questions and reached for truth; Bill did too-and loved all the more because of it. He would forever carry that name like a compass.

He served in the U.S. Marine Corps during the Korean War era, with time at Camp Pendleton. Training dimmed his hearing, not his heart. For nearly 20 years in Berlin Township, a few shy neighbors with whiskers found food and safety on his stoop; when his wallet thinned, they still ate first, and he always found a way to cover vet visits. Then the wind shifted. Township officials filed charges-"having an unlicensed cat"-and his senior complex moved to evict him when he wouldn't abandon the outdoor cats who counted on him. He kept his two indoor cats, Peanut and Dolly, close, and his faith closer.

In those lean months, when Peanut fell gravely ill, he quietly spent his own grocery money on vet care because, as he put it, "She needs me." During the worst of it, his rosary slipped through a hole in the pocket of his one pair of pants and vanished. Two women whom he had just met went searching until they found it. The pants didn't last; the friendship did.

They reached out to a journalist who fancies felines, and the story of the cat-loving Marine veteran, on the brink of homelessness, spread. The community answered. Boy, did they answer. Neighbors, rescuers, veterinarians, and total strangers showed up with food and furniture, crates and carriers, rides and rent. Someone baked a birthday cake. People who had never met him called him by name. His new apartment, in Barrington, New Jersey, brought more than a door and four walls; it brought dignity. The manager happened to love animals-especially those of the feline persuasion. She even gave Bill a cat calendar and welcomed a managed colony for the cats in danger at his old place. Peanut got the care she needed and rallied; Dolly supervised from the sunniest chair. Bill's response, always: gratitude. "Thank you, especially for caring for the cats."

In Barrington, he lived peacefully, surrounded by friends who became family and by the animals who had always been both his responsibility and his joy.

Bill died of COVID-19 on November 24, 2020. The pandemic kept us apart then; we will gather now to lay him to rest and to tell the stories we did not get to tell in person.

How to remember Bill: learn the names of the cats on your block. Carry a spare rosary for a friend. Patch a pocket. Feed someone before you feed yourself. Ask honest questions and love all the more. Most of all, choose kindness when comfort would be easier.

A graveside service will be held on September 29th at 11:00 AM at Finn's Point National Cemetery, 454 Fort Mott Rd, Pennsville, New Jersey. Bill's service will include military honors. In lieu of flowers, please consider a gift to a local rescue, a community cat program, or simply set out a bowl of food with a side of compassion for a shy neighbor with whiskers.