Billy Morris Sinclair was born on February 18, 1948 in Freestone County near the town of Oakwood, Texas to Leon Randolph and Leetie Dorsett Sinclair. Known to his friends and colleagues as Bill, he grew up in Bryan, Texas and attended A & M University on full scholarship where he studied biochemistry. His interest in books led him to San Antonio in 1970, where he established Et Cetera Bookstore on Locust Street, home of rare books, chess games and conversation for 11 years. A renaissance man, Bill loved books, plants, fishing, tools and computers. He worked for many years in carpentry and home remodeling. In 1991, he went to work for Shook Mobile Technology where he applied his skills to a range of positions from woodworker to foreman to division manager until the time of his illness in late summer of 2006. Bill Sinclair passed from the earth on December 20, 2006 and he will be sorely missed by all who knew and loved him. Bill is preceded in death by his father and his brother John; and survived by his wife of 37 years, Yvonne; his mother, his brother Carroll and wife Barbara, Tyler, Texas; brother Keith and wife Betty, Broken Arrow, Oklahoma; brother James, Sherman, Texas; brother Leon and wife Nell, Bryan, Texas and eight nieces and five nephews. The family thanks everyone who cared for and supported Bill during his illness. Memorials may be made to: Friends of the Universal City Library, 100 Northview, Universal City, Texas 78148. A Memorial Service will be held on Sunday, January 28, 2007 at the Universal City United Methodist Church, 90 Winn Avenue, Universal City, Texas 78148 at 3:00 p.m.
Guestbook
I will always cherish "The Crown" and the good times and joking we had in the publishing of it. I'll miss you and I enjoyed being your big sister. Barbara Sinclair
Billy, thanks for sharing with me.......first your poems which were so intelligent, which my Minister Father let us use in our wedding ceremony. Then......your life with blooming plants, baby birds nesting in your home-made greenhouse, and naming every bird that flew through our back yard; tropical fish and the yellow angelfish that had babies, which we found in the newspaper after you had a wish to raise them; remember the pigeon, Walter Pigeon, who had a broken wing and came back to see us; and our Most Uncommon Cat, Carmen; the baby squirrels who you made a house for since the mother squirrel kicked them out of the nest (which you read about); and, the garden with always Active elements to eat in our meals, and, the bookstore, Et Cetera, which we had fun with and all got great libraries of collections from, which is still on E-Bay.......that I'm going to try to keep up with to remember you.
Most of all, you finally could say I love you without any prompting and the greatest gift of all from you was Trust. You trusted me and the words I spoke that allowed your departure seem easy. You went with peace and understanding. I don't know how to say goodbye except that you seem to be here still, as I move through space, you help me find lost items as I need them, like you said your brother John did for you. Thanks. I miss you. I love you.
Your wife of (37years), Yvonne
a very private person,
a very personal friend...
jim foster
Fare Well, Fair Friend of Mind ~
Your loving kindness is forever impressed in the memory of my heart and soul.
Thank you for asking me the right questions and for taking me with you to the razor's edge.
~Sharon
Of all the people, who graced me with wisdom and patience during my early life, Bill found a way for me to sit still. This was an accomplishment few have replicated. His method was simple though... teach the boy to fish.
Bill's abilities as a naturalist and teacher were so fascinating to me. He taught me to read nature- it's signs both subtle and apparent. Thank you for this gift BIll. I know you have a whole new universe and vision to explore and put your soul into with the same patience and devotion, with which you practiced in this world. Love you buddy... Rabi Shook
I remember Billy and Jimmy as handsome older boys, pretending they were sword fighting with sticks in the front yard at my Grandma Lola’s house. The fight took place over my head and one of them said “Look we are fighting over her!” Naturally he meant literally but in my little girl’s mind I like to remember it as having two dashing men fighting over me.Sharon West
I remember Bill most vividly as the quiet, good-looking, genius of a young man who swept my sister, Yvonne, off her feet in the late 60’s. He truly was a renaissance man whose intellectual explorations and fascination with books, was balanced with his love of nature and photography of it. Bill, you’ve left a void on earth, but you’ll be remembered often as we gaze toward the heavens. Doris Messer
I remember Bill as a great listener who always put the expression of the one he was listening to before his own. It was as if one could speak into his eyes as well as his ears.May the blessing of God rest upon you and may the hand of God speed Bill on his journey.Love,Sarmad
Bill, you were indeed a Man, without quotation marks; I will always remember you, as I have for many years, as you were that cold work morning on Craig street. You, Gary and I were assigned "shed duty". You created an intricate secret message: NO ONE was allowed into the shed if you didn't know the password. There was much laughter, smoking and armagnac, you in your wool cap, as we shivered that crsip, cold morning and I cherish such memories of you now on yet another cold morning. I will always remember. Blessings. ~ John Marcell
Reading all the posts from so many familiar names has brought back a ton of sweet memories. I knew Bill only a few years out of his full life, but I considered him a friend and I will miss him.
I remember Bill as quiet, reserved, thoughtful. He was indeed a good listener: attentive, non-judgmental, centered, accepting. I remember with John Marcel those Work days on Craig Street, and the annual January celebrations. I remember G-flat. I remember being still. Bill's life affected a lot of us. I cherish those memories and will keep them with me always.
It's funny but the other day I was walking around near SAC and passed by the corner where Etcetera Books used to be. I thought about the first time I went into this space, how full it was and how quiet, except for a soft conversation coming from the center. It's amazing how things can change and yet remain the same. The book store is gone, but the corner holds this feeling even now. The energy is still there. Linda Weatherford
Beel, you encouraged me to fathom that striving to re-blend with the
hole... was not a drywall quandry.
The last thing you said to me was you didn't feel we were meant to
live this long...
I realize you did not intend to apply this concept to Jim or the rest
of us, but do you think we should mention it to Lane?
Thank you for your merciless sense of humor.
Swami
Billy's Writings
Letter from Presidio: (Not dated but circa 1965)
Dear Carroll<
I’ll not use a lot of decadent cliché’s about being sorry for not writing sooner but you could have found my address if you wanted. What finally made me write was that I’ve just finished reading “Fountainhead” by Ayn Rand. If you haven’t read it, but I hope you have, it is a must on your list, also an immediate. It was to me second only to Raintree County as a beautifully written book and second to none as a picture of modern philosophy in the words of a layman. Also it was so informative about architecture that I would like, right now, to go out ad buy a good architecture book and just see what I’ve been missing. Rarely has a book affected me in so many ways in so profound a way. Carroll, I just can’t put into words how much this summer has meant to me. It feels as if I’ve been exposed to Life for the first time, and I suppose that’s precisely what has happened. I love the country down here…..it has a quiet, slow quality to it that is evident in the majesty of the mountains and in the infinity of the desert as well as in the apathy of the people. I run the chromatograph now, completely by myself. Dr. Applegate put me in charge of it and although the responsibility is great, the attention required to handle the device is relatively little after a while, so that I have a lot of time to read and write between samples. To me, this summer has been nothing but one big adventure, I’ve been everywhere from Church to the Boys’ Town in Ojinaga. (This is the border phrase for whorehouse) I’ve sat in the Club Oasis sipping “lemonade” and watching the play of lights on the colors of dimly-lit corners while feeling the throbbing of the Mariachi combo playing some Mexican folk tune, or feeling the shimmering gliss of a hot trumpet sliding down the octaves. I’ve dated Latin girls and eaten in “expensive” Mexican café’s where one can buy a fantastically luscious meal, complete with “cabrito” (roasted young goat) and tacos and delicious Mexican bread for the Mexican equivalent of $1.25. I’ve walked thru the desert at night, looking for nothing, hearing nothing, and feeling everything. I’ve gone to bed at 8:00 P.M. and I’ve played pool until 2:00 A.M. I haven’t spent a wasted moment (or very few) since I’ve been down here. I get up at 8;00 A.M. and I’m up at least until 12:00 almost every night. I read, work, bird watch, hunt, look for cactus, chose girls, play pool, cook clean, rest, relax, think and observe. I’m looking now for a plot for a novel with a setting such as the one I’m in now. I know I could make a story out of the dimly lit deserted streets of Presidio at night with the groups of Latin boys clustered like moss to the outside of Simon’s adobe café”…….out of the noisy, yet seriousness of the parque in Ojinaga where the girls walk in one huge circle amid a tropically planted garden and the boys walk in an oppositely moving circle whispering phrases to the waiting ears of the girls….out of the grimy, mussed, and ragged kids that attack each American car as it rolls into Mexico with cries of “¿Shine?”, “¿Quieros seńoritas?”, “¿Whiskey?”, ”¿Watching your car?”, “¿Dime?”….and of the kid who does shine your shoes with great dignity and great enthusiasm but very little polish. Then you notice that his shoe polish can is empty and he has been cleverly keeping the mouth of the can so that you cannot see it…..of the wetbacks who sneak across the border and work like slaves in American cotton fields and cantaloupe sheds for $1.00 a day….and of the Border Patrols who take them back, often several times a month. It’s a rough, rugged country, unlike anything I’ve ever seen, but somehow there’s a basic honesty to the whole scene that makes it crudely likeable in spite of the dirt and vulgarity and ain that makes up this isolated little area of the world. Write me immediately. Mom says that you are moving soon. I hope you get this letter. What are you planning to do for a job? I am sure you have one, but let me hear about it. Recommend a college for me to write to….everybody else is. What do you think of small colleges? That line of questioning ought to deserve an answer. Adios b. m. Sinclair General Delivery Presidio, Texas
