Henry Joseph Williams
Obituary
Henry “Hank” Williams passed away peacefully at home in Bellevue, Washington, on January 8, surrounded by his family. He was born on March 15, 1947, in Phoenix, Arizona, the youngest of a blended family of five children. Hank’s life was defined by deep connection—to people, to service, and to healing. He attended St. Francis Elementary School and Brophy College Preparatory in Phoenix, then graduated from Santa Clara University with a degree in electrical engineering. Seventeen years of Jesuit education instilled in him a profound sense of compassion, social justice, intellectual curiosity, generosity, and ethical leadership—values that shaped his character and guided his life.
After realizing that engineering wasn’t his calling, Hank set his sights on medicine. While living in Los Angeles and working toward medical school, his cousin introduced him to a woman he was convinced was “out of his league.” Hank moved to San Diego to be with Gwen, and they were married in the summer of 1971. The two then moved to Tucson so Hank could attend medical school at the University of Arizona. He completed medical school in three years and stayed on for his residency in internal medicine, becoming the first medical student to receive the award for “Best Teacher.”
Determined to better serve his patients, Hank taught himself Spanish, insisting it was easier than the Greek and Latin the nuns and priests had once forced on him—though both proved useful in medical school. When Gwen was seven months pregnant with their oldest daughter, Hank accepted a position in Seattle, launching a 39-year career in medicine in Washington. He was named one of Seattle’s “Top Doctors” several times, but his proudest professional accomplishments were co-founding the Overlake Senior Health Center and Bellevue Medical Partners with his partner, Rick Kaner. At every stage of his career, Hank formed lasting friendships that he maintained until the very end—a testament to his loyalty, generosity, and the way he truly showed up for others.
To know Hank was to know a truly gifted healer. His medical knowledge was vast, but it was his humanity that made him extraordinary. He believed healing lived not only in prescriptions or procedures, but in listening, laughter, connection, and love. He never treated “patients”—he treated people. His bedside manner was legendary, and many would say he redefined what it meant to be a doctor.
A natural teacher, Hank had an unmatched ability to make even the most complex medical topics engaging, accessible, and fun. He was a master educator in triage skills, geriatric care, and nearly any medical subject imaginable. His curiosity never waned, and he remained deeply committed to lifelong learning and holistic, compassionate care.
While at Santa Clara University, Hank was a three-sport athlete, competing in water polo, wrestling, and crew. He was team captain of the water polo team his senior year. His love of physical challenge and adventure stayed with him throughout his life—through triathlons, racket ball, hiking, skiing, walking his dogs Beeker and Murray, and even jumping out of airplanes.
One of Hank’s greatest personal challenges—and proudest identities—was serving as an officer in the United States Marine Corps. He felt a deep kinship with those who served and loved meeting fellow Marines, exchanging a heartfelt “Hoo Rah” or “Semper Fi.” He was often moved to tears when thanked for his service, a reflection of his profound sense of honor and humility.
Hank’s love of water polo is perhaps his greatest legacy within his family. Few things brought him more joy than sharing the sport with his two daughters and five grandchildren. He could happily watch—and enthusiastically talk about—water polo all day long. He loved traveling to their tournaments and always had advice for how players could improve. Parents loved sitting with him because he could explain the referee’s calls, and often voice his disagreement with them.
Hank also had a wonderful sense of humor and often felt like the life of the party. People naturally gravitated toward him, as he formed deep connections with ease and took a genuine interest in the lives of others. He told terrible jokes that somehow always landed, loved teaching kids how to cheat at cards, and was known for his famously foul mouth and complete lack of filter—traits that never failed to make those around him laugh.
Travel also brought great joy to Hank’s life. He grew up camping and fishing in Arizona and continued that with his family in Washington. Years of Williams-family-reunions took him to states like Montana, Wyoming, North Carolina, and Oregon. Of the 16 reunions total, he didn’t miss a single one. He was fortunate to travel the world as a physician, providing care and learning from others in places such as South Africa, Russia, Vietnam, India, and China. He took road trips with friends and loved national parks. He often traveled to California to visit Lara and Rob and spent many Thanksgivings with Rob’s family. He especially cherished family trips to Hawaii and Mexico, where he relished a margarita by the beach—most of all when shared with his beloved wife, Gwen.
In his retirement years Hank was able to indulge his interests in cooking, woodworking, photography, and astronomy. He delighted in gifting cutting boards to his friends and sharing his beautiful pictures. He loved listening to and singing along with Willie Nelson, The Eagles, Fleetwood Mac, The Beatles, Pink Floyd, Van Morrison, Randy Newman, Bob Seger, Steve Miller Band, Waylon Jennings, Johnny Cash, Linda Ronstadt, Merle Haggard, IZ, and of course…Hank Williams.
At the very center of Hank’s world was Gwen. Married for 54 years, they built a beautiful life together as an extraordinary team. She was his partner, his anchor, and his greatest love.
Hank is survived by his wife, Gwen; his daughters, Lara Gill and Ali Goldsmith; his sons-in-law, Robbie Gill and Matthew Goldsmith; and his beloved grandchildren, Maxwell and Miles Gill, and Quincy, Camila, and Jolene Goldsmith. He was preceded in death by his parents, Marie and Henry Williams; his brothers, Jim Williams and Paul Brannigan; and his sister, Joyce Clark, and her husband, Howard. Hank is also survived by his sister, Margaret Lott, his cousin, Randy Robinson, sister-in-law Juanita Williams, as well as a wonderful extended family of nieces and nephews and great-nieces and great-nephews, all of whom adored their “Crazy Uncle Hank.”
Hank embraced the role of a healer not only in his profession, but in his everyday life. His legacy is one of kindness, humility, respect, laughter, love, and the enduring power of human connection.
Gallery
Memory wall
We were born the same year, grew up across the street from each other, he was my best friend through grade school and High school, we were together summers during the college years then moved in together in Santa Monica California after graduating college.
Hank was an engineer, programmer, but absolutely hated his work. After lots of late-night discussion regarding a change he finally said xx it and went back to school to become the Doc you all have come to love.
We both met our wives the same year, married and started families. We stayed in touch and found texting to be the easiest way to share our thoughts. We would txt during football games, or watching golf tournaments on a regular basis. Often, I would be asking him for medical advice and he made recommendations that I never hesitated to follow.
A very key event that took place and changed our lives forever was when Gwen invited us to crash one of their family reunions in Sedona Az. in 2011.
Most of his family was there and it was a wonderful trip. One afternoon while climbing the hill behind lodges he suddenly stopped, turned around and said “so Dick I’ve always respected you but tell me this, do you still believe all that Jesus stuff”? I couldn’t catch my breath for a long answer but it started a conversation that went on the rest of our lives. While we were both raised Catholic’s, he had no understanding of the difference in a religion and being a Christian.
January 27th 2021 Hank sent me a short txt “Dick after all our conversations and much reading I want you to know I have accepted Jesus Christ as my personal Lord and Savior. Thank you, Dick, for your guidance in this decision I am forever grateful love Hank. “
January 12th 2022 one of Hanks patients asked if he would read to her failing husband who was a decorated general in the Marine Corp. The only thing this gentleman wanted read to him was from “our daily bread” pamphlet. This prompted even more questions from Hank. The Lord must have been cracking up from this one.
I have memories that could go on for day’s and I know Gwen has heard so many of them over the years, which always seem to get grander with each tale. But even she will admit we did have a wonderful history together and nothing but true love for each other.
I was gutted to hear about Hank’s passing. As I’ve spent time reflecting on him over the last few weeks, I felt compelled to share with you the profound impact he had on my life. Having worked at many companies for many different people over the past 25 years, I can say with certainty that I have never met anyone like Hank. No one has come close to earning the level of respect he did. He had a heart of gold and a level of sincerity that is rare to find in any environment, let alone a professional one. I would not be where I am today if he hadn't believed in me, given me that first opportunity in medical records, and guided me on the value of a strong work ethic. I watched how he adored his patients and provided exceptional care even to the 'crankiest' among them. That experience instilled in me a deep desire to provide that same level of service in my own career. Today, I hold myself and my team to very high standards, and I know that all stems from the example Hank set for me.
Beyond the workplace, Hank was the first person who showed me what a true, healthy father figure looked like. At that time in my life, I don’t think I was even ready to process what a healthy relationship should be, but he was the epitome of a great human being. He made me feel smart, worthy, and deserving of a chance at a time when I truly needed to believe those things about myself.
I am so grateful to have known him. My heart goes out to you and your family as you celebrate the life of such an extraordinary man.
We want you to know how much we adored Hank with his funny antics and amazing wisdom, as well as his pleasant mannerisms. It was also very convenient to have a neighbor with a medical background available to answer questions on the spot. And it wasn't just a quick answer. He would go into detail to cover as much as he thought would be helpful. He was always so generously willing to share his knowledge that way. And, yes, sometimes his jokes were a bit corny, but we knew he was just having fun.
Lara and Ali, we know your Dad would be thrilled to see how lovingly you documented his life so well-lived with an array of family, colleagues, and friends. Gwen, we appreciate how you and Hank invited us into your family with your open arms and neighbor-friendly attitudes and appreciate the connection that remains to this day.
Hank's laughter and his presence will surely be missed, but somehow, some way, without a doubt, he will find his way into a conversation when we visit.
Please know that we are available in whatever way you might need or desire support.
But then Henry had SO MANY good friends. He had a way of making whomever he was with feel heard, like the most important person. It’s true that lots of good people demonstrate empathy. But Hank had a heightened quality of empathy, a genuinely rare intensity. In this, he reminded me of another genuine, genius empath—my mom.
The two of them were just plain good, down-to-earth people. My mom—Dorothy/Dotty/Dot/Dorse—was a saint; of this I am sure, the Catholic variety. Hank was—how to put it? A secular saint? He was certainly something special, deserving of a top-shelf, heavenly honorific.
His spirituality seemed complicated. You may know more than I. I DO know he did not think much of “The Church.” And he more than once told me that when we die, that’s it: good night nurse, lights out, Katy bar the door. His seemed more of a Buddhist than a Christian viewpoint. Still, that viewpoint allows for one’s spirit to live on, in the minds and hearts of loved ones. Nothing is lost. Hank is not lost. He lives on.
But then he also talked as though there was both heaven and hell (and how “Our Dear Leader” would one fine day find himself in a special corner of hell).
And his last words to me, when he somehow knew his time had come, were a late-night text: Goodbye, James. I’ll say hello to Doug for you.
When our son Doug died last June, I, the lifelong skeptic, WANTED there to be a heavenly realm where those two could now clink shot glasses, neat, or maybe on rocks.
Hank’s promise to meet up with Doug could have been just a conceit, a sentimental construct. Or it could have been the genuine expression of a man who believes in an afterlife. It’s comforting to imagine, though, there’s a spot up there for Doug along with Hank.
Hey, Doug, in heaven, lucky duck, you can smoke all you want up there and nobody minds at all! and it won’t mess with your health! Hell, man, it’s HEAVEN!!
I’d LIKE there to be a heaven, because my empatha-Mom and empatha-Hank would have front row seats. Maybe a skybox. There, Hank could perhaps finally do something about sports officials, whom he found universally wanting, be they refs or be they umps.
At a recent family holiday get together, Hank greeted me with a shot of Jack and a teary-eyed “Here’s to Doug.” This meant the world to me, his love for both my sons. Living in the same house as Matthew and family, those two men became thick as thieves. It was like Matt had a second father. Which is fine with me. There could be no better relative or finer friend than Henry. And it was like Hank had a son (along of course with Lara’s Robbie) to augment his two perfect daughters.
And thanks to Hank and Gwen, Sheila and I have a more extended, richer, and wonderful family. We have had the two elders, our contemporaries. We have Ali (a more precious daughter in law does not on this world walk), and the children—Quincy, Camila and Jolene—We even have the more distant but oh-so-valuable Lara, Robbie, Maxwell and Miles.
Hank, if you can hear me (what are the odds since in this life the last decade or so, he never could hear anybody . . .
Ha! it just occurs to me—the irony that a man who struggled mightily in late life to hear ANYBODY, could deep down, through those crappy, betraying ears, past the active lips that helped him hear, sliding, maybe glissading complete, all on down to that great big ol’ heart—the man actually heard EVERYBODY!
Hey, Doug, say hello to Hank for me. Give the old guy the good chair, and all around, let flow shots of Jack!
This is such a beautiful and perfect tribute to Hank. He was definitely one of a kind in so many wonderful ways and had an amazing ability to make each person he cared for feel so special. He combined his medical expertise and his compassion and love for people (and his humor and craziness) and then practiced medicine as an art. We were all so blessed to work with him at the Overlake Senior Health Center.
Love and hugs to all of you.
We became friends from that point on. Some years later, I worked with Hank as a CPA when he founded and ran Bellevue Internal Medicine Associates and Bellevue Medical Partners. He was a quick learner and picked up accounting without effort. We’d meet at least quarterly. Our meetings were always a combination of hard work and great humor and storytelling by Hank. Additionally, I learned how some clients experience wireless mouse failures, something I had wondered about for years. Turns out when the State of Washington made errors on tax filings, Hank’s mouse would somehow fly out of his hand and smack into a wall, smashing it to smithereens.
Hank took care of my mother, Shirley Strand, for many years, first as a patient of Overlake Senior Health Center and then at Bellevue Medical Partners. He was known for his care of the elderly, being able to successfully and succinctly speak with older patients in a kind, caring manner they could understand. My mother appreciated Hank.
Hank leaves behind a legacy of a great family, along with a fabulous medical clinic, one that I now use as my own. He was truly one of the nicest, caring and most wonderful man that I’ve ever met. He’ll be sorely missed.
I am in part without words at how big and palpable this loss is, and also full of words of how incredible Hank was, and how freaking lucky I have been to have known Hank as a mentor and as a friend.
I will never forget Hank and Rick reaching out to me for the first time - a 'let's just talk about outpatient medicine at Bellevue Medical Partners'. Hank was an absolute legend at Overlake, so I could not say no to a meeting with him. This was the start of a turning point in my career - becoming part of Bellevue Medical Partners. A turning point that has brought me incredible amounts of joy and has fulfilled me professionally and personally. Hank had a powerful way of practicing the art of medicine - of having vast knowledge and experience and combining it with the ability to be human and to connect with all parts of a person's health and wellbeing - the physical, emotional and spiritual. To watch him in action, to practice alongside him, and to be brought into this amazing mission-driven clinic was and is truly one of the greatest gifts of my life. Hank was a powerful teacher, and I am in awe at how far and wide his teaching efforts will continue to impact patient care for so many years to come. It is truly an impressive part of his legacy.
I will forever smile at his Hank-isms. "Jesus, Mary and Joseph!" He has "no complaints anyone wants to hear about!" He practiced medicine since "Christ was a Corporal" and insurers and the government don't know "Shit from Shinola" - and so many more. The smiles and laughter generated in his presence were in themselves healing. I can still hear his laughter, and feel his completely endearing way of being right in your face when he had something important (or hilarious) to say.
Attending a party with Hank is an adventure I will miss - I still remember fondly coming to the Williams home for the first time as I joined BMP, where I learned about what it means to be properly 'Hanked'.
Perhaps the greatest bonus of all for me was watching Hank and Jason together - two truly kindred spirits who genuinely loved being with one another, and spent much time together developing a wonderful friendship. The ways in which Hank enriched not only me but also my family are profound.
To have had a mentor and a friend as amazing as Hank is a treasure that I will be forever grateful for. I miss him along with you.
I also became a Captain of the water polo team at Linfeild College.
I saved over 50 lives with his medical tutoring.
He made me laugh till my sides hurt.
Nothing better than spending the found of July with his family.
Semper Fidelis
Matthew Hunter Kramer
Godson
Last summer at the Junior Olympics tournament in LA, 9-year-old Miles wanted me to bring him to the ER. “I’m having a heart attack,” he kept yelling at me from the back seat of the car. It was 9 PM and I had no idea where a hospital was or how serious this was or what I could tell Miles to calm him down. I felt scared and started to panic. The shame of not knowing how to help my son constricted my throat, and the too recent memory of Rob’s very-real heart attack pushed burning tears to my eyes. It was dark, and each set of headlights from oncoming cars glared accusingly at me, precious seconds passing as my son grew more and more certain that he was about to die in a car because his mom didn’t know what the hell to do.
I pulled into a McDonald’s parking lot, tried to choke down a string of curse words, and did what I always did when I felt my body and mind breaking. I called my dad.
In a not-so-steady voice I explained what was happening and put the phone on speaker. Miles’ heart did actually feel like it was going to burst out of his chest and it was beating so fast. Dad walked me through taking Miles’ pulse and then slowly asked Miles questions about how long he had been feeling this way. We could hear the concern and care in his voice, and he was taking Miles so seriously. Instead of telling Miles to “calm down,” he tried to lead him to a more peaceful state by understanding him and respecting his fears. Dad guided Miles (and me) through breathing exercises for several minutes before asking me to take his pulse again. His words were so kind: “You did it, Miles. You were having a really bad panic attack. Those are scary, but they aren’t the same as heart attacks. You got this under control with your breathing. That’s not easy to do.” Miles asked, “What do I do if it happens again?” Dad said, “You can call and talk to me whenever you want.”
I know Dad did things like this for people all the time, but it felt pretty magical watching him be there for my son.
Last night I got into bed with Miles to read to him like I always do. I asked him if we could read a book about recognizing signs that people we love and lost are still with us. “No,” he said with surprising and resolute certainty. “I don’t need to read about signs because I know exactly where he is all the time. He said I can talk to him whenever I want.”
I didn’t teach him that, Dad.
You did.
He was listening, and now he’s teaching me.
Thank you.
I know you’ll answer the phone, so to speak, when I need to call you again.
(I’m still reading the book about Signs. And even though I know the cockroach is your spirit animal, Dad, I really hope that’s not the sign you decide to send me.)
Ohhhh where to start....
I met Hank and Gwen when I was 12 years old and became their babysitter for Lara, and then Ali pretty quickly thereafter. After introducing my parents to them, a new chapter began for our families. An important, deep, meaningful chapter but also a chapter full of mischief, laughs, loving harassment, family-that-you-choose, and most importantly, LOVE. Both of our families were transplants from other states, so we quickly became each others' company on holidays, birthdays, and the like. We all realized pretty quickly that this Williams family was going to be an important part of our lives-forever. We've all grown up together-from when Lara was 3 or so until now my children are grown-a VERY long time-and I wouldn't know what to do without the Williams family-and it's hard to even write this-our world will not be the same without Hank around.
Hank and my Dad (Curtis) were best friends for decades until my Dad passed away in 2020. Those two were TROUBLE together-and many of you reading this probably experienced it! From pretending they were a couple in the early days of the Bellevue Athletic Club and crashing wedding receptions, to food fights during holiday dinners (I remember at least one Easter spaghetti dinner where Hank started a food fight and my Dad joined in and my mother was PISSED!!!) to arguing their different takes on politics, to harassing us awkward teens and our friends--OH please let me share this one: Imagine, awkward maybe 16 year old me with a new 'boyfriend' coming to our house to meet my parents for the first time--and Hank and my Dad sneak out in the dark to the car where our friends, another young couple, are snuggled up waiting for us--and they quietly climbed under the car and started MOOING. MOO-ing like a cow. Yes, they did this. Scared the ever-living-crap out of the two teens in the car and I'm fairly sure they never came back to my house!!!! OH Hank and Curt laughed...and laughed...and laughed about this for a LONG time. 16-year-old me did NOT think it was funny in the least-at the time-but gosh it makes me laugh now. And tear up as I write this. Those two were pure trouble. And as much as they argued, told each other they didn't know what they were talking about, definitely leaned different directions in many ways-they had a friendship that many never find.
Losing Hank last week was losing a member of our family. We will miss him dearly. But I HAVE to think that he and Curtie (as he called my Dad) are together again causing ALL SORTS of ruckus. With margaritas in their hands. Laughing their asses off.
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