Some of you may remember that last July I wrote about my Bill Tunilla and his struggle with cancer. I asked for donations because he was destitute and simply couldn’t continue working at the Iliad Bookshop anymore. We raised about $600 as I recall (thanks to all who donated money!) which helped Bill re-locate to another friend’s apartment where he’s been staying ever since.
I’m sorry to say that Bill died in his sleep on Tuesday last.
His health had declined a lot over the last year. He was forced to use Oxygen pretty much every day and became somewhat feeble. His trips to the County Hospital were taxing even with help. I spoke to him several times by phone and he was always cheery and full of questions about the bookstore. We sent him a bunch of books for his birthday several months ago. And he was surrounded by what was left of his own book collection.
I don’t know a lot about Bill as he didn’t talk a lot about himself, but I do know that he spent a good amount of time in Great Britain as a young man. He trained there as a documentary filmmaker and worked on several films there until he was forced to leave since they wouldn’t let him into the union. Once in the U.S. he continued to work on documentaries in Chicago ( I wish I could remember the names of the films…) until he finally came to Los Angeles in 1981 and founded a well-know bookstore in Pasadena called The House of Fiction.
Bill ran the House of Fiction for over 20 years. Anyone who loved books in Los Angeles knew about his store and most likely shopped there as well. Bill was a big Baseball fan and loved to talk about books and Baseball. And he loved cats. One Washington post reviewer who recommended his bookstore said that it “smelled of cat urine and you found your books as quickly as possible”. I don’t know about that, since Bill was always cleaning after our cats at the Iliad, but cat lovers are often more tolerant of that pecuilar smell.
Eventually, real estate values peaked and he was pushed out of business in the nineties. I first met him at another great bookstore, the Brand Bookshop, in Glendale. He worked behind the counter and had that “Beckett character” look with his long, white hair and short beard. He was very helpful and I remember making a note to seek him out whenever I came to the store.
Eventually, Bill applied for work at the Iliad Bookshop where I’ve been for the last 10 years. He started working part-time doing the cleaning and book stocking. I felt sorry for him at first since I knew he was most likely a far better bookseller than I would ever be and yet he wasn’t even allowed to ring at the register (?). But Bill never got upset or felt the work was beneath him. He just went about doing his job and helping people find books.
Over a couple years, I began to know him better and discovered his passion for baseball and a bit about his past. He had no relatives it seems. But lots of friends. One friend, Jill, became very close and it was to her place he eventually moved too once the doctors told him about his cancer.
We moved the Iliad Bookshop back in 2006 and Bill (even though he was in his seventies) moved heavy boxes every day right along with everyone else for two full weeks. I never saw him slack off or leave early. Even though I could see he was beat most days. That’s just the kind of person Bill Tunilla was: reliable and uncomplaining. A rare type of person in this world today, I think.
We talked a lot about books at the store during the times we worked together. He loved modern literature, but I never found out who his favorite authors were. I remember him with a pile of books in his arms, stopping to look through one of them before he stocked it on the shelf.
I wish I had more pictures of Bill, but then again he was always just there, never calling attention to himself or trying to assert himself. The one time I had an argument with him about something (my damn temper) he just smiled and walked away. Would that I could be as self-possessed as Bill Tunilla was.
Bill never became a celebrity. He never won awards or gave speeches. But he did love life, I’m sure of it. And for many years he ran a bookstore that was a gathering place of like-minded people. I think that’s a real accomplishment to my mind: to bring a good book together with the right person, and then watch the fireworks. This was his excellence; his gift. That and predicting who would win the pennant each year.
Ah, Bill, you were one of the good ones.
