Dr. William Joseph Thomas, Jr.

Dr. William Joseph Thomas, Jr., slipped peacefully away on June 27, 2025, in his Arroyo Grande, California, home as his family held vigil.

Born 81 years and four days prior, little Billy was the fourth of eight children raised by William and Margaret (Bruton) Thomas, in Prospect Park, Pennsylvania. There Bill met the love of his life, Frances Ann (Famous), the daughter of his Boy Scout troop leader. (As if made for Bill, little Frannie was, coincidentally, his oldest sister's namesake.) Bill and Fran shared 65 years together, 59 as husband and wife. They had four children, whom Bill tended to spoil, and four granddaughters, whom he adored.

Inspired by a doctor's house call, Bill knew from an early age that he would pursue a career in medicine. With this goal in mind, he joined the Navy, where he served for more than 20 years, retiring at the rank of Captain. He was a proud graduate of St. James High School, Villanova University, and Jefferson Medical College. Of these, Villanova held a special spot in his heart. Bill wore his class ring as faithfully as his wedding ring. With his wardrobe, he took every opportunity to advertise his alma mater. His children learned to sing Villanova's fight song along with the alphabet. In short, Bill loved Villanova long before Pope Leo XIV made it cool.

A gifted student, Bill never let academics distract him from his duties as a sports fan. In school and well beyond, he was frequently found with his nose in a book, a game on the television, and another on the radio. It fueled him, cheering on (or cursing at) his beloved Phillies, Eagles, and Wildcats. He forgave them when they dropped the ball and always held out hope for a comeback.

Bill's fatherhood looked much like his fanhood. He showed up when it mattered, rooted for the underdog, and believed in big dreams. He welcomed his prodigal progeny back time and again. Bill was known for giving A-frame hugs and for passing the phone over to Fran as quickly as possible, but only from awkwardness and efficiency, never animosity. He wrapped himself around his children's and grandchildren's fingers and hoped never to fall off.

Bill didn't just love his own children, he loved all children, so much so that he dedicated his life to helping them fight blood disorders and cancer. He practiced pediatric hematology and oncology for nearly 50 years, first with the Navy in Bethesda and San Diego, and finally with Pediatrics Northwest and Mary Bridge Children's, both in Tacoma. Bill treasured his patients and related better to them than to some adults. He attended camp every summer. He wore costumes every Halloween. He kept his trademark comb over hairstyle for far too long, arguing in its defense that a patient found it "pretty." He even made the most of his accidental thumb amputation, turning it into a wildly convincing party trick.

Because pediatric oncology isn't all fun and games, Bill's career provided plenty of opportunities to deepen his already strong faith. He made many big asks, sent many prayers of thanks, and said too many goodbyes. Bill often expressed his faith through philanthropy, drawn largely to organizations that fed children and kept them safe. A lifelong regular at Mass (and, let's be honest, Confession), Bill took a more active role in his congregation upon retiring to Arroyo Grande. He and Fran joined St. Patrick's Outreach ministry, helping with the Food Pantry, and found themselves welcomed into a supportive community they didn't realize they'd been missing.

Because Bill was slow to come out of his shell, it's virtually certain that his new friends did not get the chance to truly know him. In many ways, he was a study in contradiction.

Bill was a man of few words. He preferred eavesdropping to participating. When he did speak, he proved quite quotable, uttering such family favorites as "No one in this car needs a donut." and "Fran, I know when I've lost my thumb." When inspired, he loved a captive audience. Whether reporting on his reading, sharing sports scores, or relaying recent news, he often began with, "This is interesting." (Sadly, this was often only subjectively true.)

While Bill was quiet, his home life rarely was. Adept at tuning out conflict, Bill found the calm in the chaotic households of his origin and his making. Bill loved to sleep and could sleep through almost anything — other than someone turning off the TV. His napping schedule was rigorous and often required him to nod off in the parking lot at work. At home, he'd be found on the couch or in his chair, often under a cat who snuck around for surreptitious snuggles.

While Bill was incredibly generous, he was also famously cheap. He ran out of gas driving across town to save pennies per gallon. He had Fran cut his hair — something she is not qualified to do. (But then, he had very little hair.) Yet Bill splurged to buy a Wildwood, New Jersey, rental property that had his name written all over it. It was advertised as "the penny pincher's dream." Rather than give it the refresh it was screaming for, Bill continued pinching pennies, putting off repairs and putting family to work. To complement the shabby-chic décor, he considered salvaging a chair from the curb on trash day. (Sadly, this plan failed as the chair smelled of literal death. R.I.P., neighbor dog.)

Despite being a Boy Scout, Bill was terrible at camping. He preferred road trips, but only ones that felt like work. Miles must be logged; beverages and bathroom stops restricted. He loved the scenic route — so long as he was driving. He loved ancient trees and majestic mountains. Lakes were less exciting. It all looked the same from the back seats.

Bill had simple tastes, and a sweet tooth. He loved peanut butter sandwiches and jelly sandwiches, but never peanut butter and jelly sandwiches. He was leery of most green foods. They were poison until proven otherwise. He loved Cheerios, pretzels, and Butterscotch Krimpet Tastykakes. His love of carbohydrates was apparently hereditary.

Bill will be greatly missed by his wife, Fran, their daughters, Suzanne (P.J.) Thomas and Jenni (Erik) James, their sons, Billy (Debby) and Kevin, and his lifelong friend, Dr. Henry (Marie) Kneidinger, among many others. He is further specifically survived by his sister Kathy (Ed) Masterson, his brothers, John (Mary Therese) and Michael (Becky), his granddaughters, Grace, Savannah, Madisyn, and Bella, and countless nieces and nephews. Bill is preceded in death by his parents, his sisters, Frances (Bob) McGowan, Mary (Harvey) Pike, Margie (John) McLaughlin, and Jane (Jim) O'Malley, his favorite cousin, Kathleen Polishuk, and the tip of his right thumb.

Bill's remains are interred at the Cayucos-Morro Bay Cemetery, and his spirit is surely with the Lord. In lieu of flowers, please consider a donation to one of Bill's favorite charities, such as Mercy Corps, Covenant House, Doctors without Borders, or St. Joseph's Mission Fund.