William Mack Smith

William M. "Bill" Smith, 60, of Due West, died on Wednesday, February 15, 2012 at his residence. He was born in Cedartown, GA to Robert E. Smith and the late Margaret Robinson Smith. Mr. Smith was a graduate of Erskine College and retired from the SC Highway Department. The below editorial from the Anderson Independent best represents Mr. Smith: My name is Bonnie Williams. Some of you know me as an individual, others know me only from this page. For almost 12 years, I've written editorials and put together the editorial section, sometimes to readers' delight, other times to their chagrin. During that time, I've met many people through the Independent Mail, people who wrote letters to the editor and guest columns and those who shared their comments on the views I presented in this space. Some were kind. Others were not. But all are treasured. Anyone who cares enough to call or visit me or stop me on the street or in a restaurant, even to disagree, is of value in a way they can never imagine. Of particular value to me are those people with whom I've interacted over the years who have become friends. I am departing from the norm today to tell you about one of them. He was a gentle soul with a joyful laugh. He loved books and reading newspapers and writing and cats and life and was thirsty for knowledge long after his college days were through. He looked forward to every day with anticipation. He loved the outdoors and took long walks around his home, marveling at nature's ways and believing, as I did, that while we all have the right — even the responsibility — to question the world and its sometimes cruel or careless aspects, there are obligations we can never escape: to do some good while we're here, to be kind to others and to listen to and respond to them with respect, if not with agreement. He was a regular writer of letters to the editor and it was one of those letters that began our friendship all those years ago. I called to verify a point he had made and we had a nice conversation. I can't remember all the details today, but I do remember that he spoke in a manner I would learn was his norm, with passion for his topic and for the written word. And so a relationship, of sorts, began with something we both loved: opinion. He tried emailing letters for a short time, but he soon lost patience with his computer and reverted to his old way of typing his letters (he called me when he "graduated" to a vintage IBM Selectric), choosing his words carefully and, more often than not, asking that I call him if I had any suggestions. Sometimes he would even mail a rough draft. Those letters and the telephone were his lifeline to the world. He wasn't an old man, even younger than I. But he preferred to live in a simpler time, one in which there was little traffic, even less noise and more solitude in which to think and observe the world around him. He had only a handful of friends, he told me once, but each was someone he cherished. He loved his family and spoke of them and his hopes for their happiness, his pride in who they were and what they had accomplished in life. But there was one member of his family that truly claimed his heart: his cat. Now those of you who aren't as attached to animals as he and I might find it odd that I would speak of a cat as family. But that was just the way it was. His cat was his companion, his friend, his family, a source of delight and a responsibility he never shirked but rather relished. Once I even received a letter to the editor from the cat, "signed" with a hand-drawn paw print. It was about shelter animals and how important it was to take care of animals and give them good homes. There was also a photograph enclosed, a real photograph taken with a camera, developed and saved for the right occasion, not a digital image. I published the cat's letter — with a "mugshot" — and from then on, the cat, too, became a regular correspondent. My husband and I would send postcards to them when we went on vacation (the last one, late last year, I signed with a "hand-drawn human print"). My last communication from my friend was a valentine from the cat. Two pictures were enclosed. Neither featured my friend the man, only the cat. There won't be any more letters. My friend is gone now. The details of his passing are not something of which I have direct knowledge, nor is it my place to share. What matters is the way he lived and the careful but still hopeful way he took each day. I'm grateful that I have such happy memories of my friend's life and his joy whenever a letter was published. I can even now hear his voice over the telephone as we laughed over the antics of his cat and of my three cats or talked about politics or books or whatever else might have been on either of our minds. His laughter came through in his words, not just via his voice, but from somewhere deep inside where joy lives. I deliberately have not mentioned his name because of his need, always evident, of privacy. But I believe that he will know I've said goodbye, in my own way, and that I will miss him. We never met face to face. But we knew each other, if not by sight, by one of those connections that are rare but still possible. He — and his cat —were members of my family of choice. And I will miss them both. I like to hope he knows that. And that he will rest as he always wanted to live: in peace, with joy and knowing, somehow, that he made a difference in the world. Because he did. Surviving Mr. Smith is his father Robert E. Smith of Saluda, SC; a brother, Dr. Robert E. Smith, Jr., of Columbia, SC; two sisters, Carolyn S. Stevenson of Ridgeway, SC and Salli S. Alexander of Greenville, SC; numerous nieces, nephews, great nieces and great nephews. From the Love of Pets especially his best friend his cat, the family respectfully request any memorials in memory of Mr. Smith to the Anderson County Humane Society, PO Box 2262, Anderson, SC 29622 or to an animal shelter of your choice. Gifts may be acknowledged to the family: c/o Salli Alexander, 704 McDaniel Avenue, Greenville, SC 29605.