Barbara Willson

1933 - 2025

Barbara Willson
11/09/1933 - 04/11/2025
Barbara Willson passed away on April 11, 2025. She leaves behind her loving son, James, and four loving grandchildren, Dan, Emily, Sophie, and Brian. She is preceded in death by her husband of 46 years, James Robert Willson.
Barbara was born in Chicago, IL. She escaped from a less-than-ideal childhood which saw her spending several years in a boarding school through reading books, mostly novels, and by acquiring a love for history, poetry, and literature that lasted throughout her life. In her early 20s she moved to San Francisco, working behind the scenes at the Actors Workshop, a repertory theater that was the first on the west coast to premiere works by Beckett, Brecht, Pinter, and Miller, among others. This proved transformative. The combination of literature and theatre, and above all the plays of William Shakespeare, became the professional and intellectual touchstone of her life.
In 1972, after receiving her B.A. in English at San Francisco State University, she began teaching English and Speech at St. Paul High School. Very quickly she became a popular and inspiring teacher. In the mid-eighties, the city of San Francisco presented her with a "Teacher of the Year" award. Even 40-50 years after taking her classes, former students would send her letters or call her on the phone to let her know how much she still meant to them.
After retiring from teaching in 1992, she moved with her husband to Ashland, OR. There she helped found Ashland's "Learning in Retirement" organization, briefly serving as its president, and for years teaching highly popular courses on literature and poetry.
In her last years she moved to Northern Virginia to be near her son. Even at the end of her life, Barbara remained generous, witty, and always a great conversationalist. She loved to talk about politics, poetry, theater, and occasionally a beloved topic: why Stephen Sondheim was truly a genius.
Once, when she was struggling to find a way to get her students interested in poetry, she hit upon the idea of taking a kiwi to school and passing it around the class. The girls had never seen a kiwi before. She asked them what they thought the fruit tasted like. Everyone agreed it had to be awful. She cut open the fruit and gave everyone a taste, to their ensuing surprise. "This is what happens when you read a poem," she explained. And so in this way she spent her life opening up worlds to others. "Knowing her made a difference in my life and profession," one of her students has said. A statement that her family, friends, and all who knew and dearly loved her can confirm.