William Tecumseh Sherman Ewing, Sr., known as "Cumpy" to his side of the family, "Bill" to most of the world, and simply Dad to his children, was born on October 12, 1954, on Governors Island, NY. He lived in Roselle, NJ, until age 10, then moved to Silver Spring, MD, where he grew up. He made his first family home in Germantown, MD, and in 1976, he moved to Orange County, VA, where he lived for 16 years. He then moved to Fredericksburg, VA, in 1992 and, in 2005, bought his dream home on an inlet of the Potomac River in Hague, VA.

As Bill would say whenever something went wrong, "Eh, we're all gonna die someday." And now, apparently, his time has come. Nine years after his diagnosis of ALS, far outliving any projections, he died at his home surrounded by family on December 29, 2025, from complications of the disease.

Bill believed life was meant to be enjoyed loudly, generously, and peppered with movie quotes from indisputable classics like Alien(s), Michael Clayton, The Aviator, O Brother, Where Art Thou?, Forrest Gump, There Will Be Blood, Die Hard, American Astronaut, and Pulp Fiction. For maximum enjoyment, pair with extra-extra hot pour-over coffee or a venti iced Americano with extra-extra ice to the top before water — then water "to here"; extra-extra crispy fries; and a house full of family, dogs, and laughter.

Family was always his main priority, and he made life so much fun. The party didn't start until he arrived. Schedules were optional. Budgets were truly theoretical. Short stories were impossible. But love, laughter, endless curiosity, and showing up for the people he loved were non-negotiable.

He was married to Carol Ewing (née Oliver) for 52 years and together for 54 — a love story for the ages. They were best friends in every sense of the word. Bill was Carol's biggest champion, her partner in all things, and her loudest supporter. He built his life around a love story so big it became the foundation for everyone who came after them.

He is survived by his wife, Carol; his children, Tonja Ewing Gomez (married to Nelson Gomez), William Ewing, Jr. (married to Lauren Church), and Jenna Kole (married to Jay Kole); his grandchildren, Ethan Ewing, Aviana Gomez, Scarlett Ewing, and Ariella Gomez; his brother, Joseph Ewing; and his brother-in-law, Allen L. Oliver. Each of his grandchildren knew a different version of Bill — and yet, somehow, the very same one. He was preceded in death by his parents, Joseph H. Ewing and Jacqueline Ewing, and his sister, Jackie Ewing.

He is also survived by a devoted team of caregivers who showed up day and night, attended to his every need, shared inside jokes with him, watched movies together, and received plenty of Bill's unsolicited life advice along the way. They knew how much they were loved and appreciated. When he could no longer say it with words, he said it with his eyes and a smile.

Bill loved all of his dogs throughout his life, but Levon and Lucy, who preceded him in death, were his favorites. He took them to McDonald's so often they learned to recognize the Golden Arches. Each got their own plain burger and fries, served personally — one bite of burger, then three or four fries, every time. We're sure the pearly gates looked a lot like the Golden Arches to Levon and Lucy when Bill met them at the end of the Rainbow Bridge. They were ready.

For much of his life, Bill worked as a highly skilled ASE Certified Master Mechanic, respected for his expertise, problem-solving ability, fairness, and pride in his craft. Later in life, he found his true calling with the Bridges Public Guardianship Program, working alongside his wife, daughter, and son-in-law (and occasionally Levon and Lucy). His work focused on advocating for intellectually disabled and indigent adults—incapacitated people who were often overlooked and unheard. As he was losing his own voice, Bill remained a voice for the voiceless, fighting for his clients' dignity, safety, and quality of life. He continued working as long as he could, because the work mattered. This was where his compassion, persistence, and sense of justice were fully realized.

Bill loved strong coffee and plates piled high with "good" food—which came with a running soundtrack of satisfied "mmm… mmm… mmm" from the first bite to the last. He was a relentless food pusher who insisted you try whatever he suggested, because good food, like life, was meant to be shared. He had an expansive taste in music, from John Prine to Deep Purple, B.B. King to Björk. He relished his time on the water and driving his family and friends around on his beloved boat. He loved working with his hands—woodworking, doodling while on calls, or sculpting unholy creatures from clay—and was famously persistent about the things that mattered to him, from his lifelong dedication to vitamins, to his brief stint as a vegan, to his hatred of Geraldo, and David Lynch's early work. He laughed infectiously and had a way of pulling everyone around him into his experience. Life with Bill wasn't efficient—plans ran long, especially the stories filled with what some might think were insignificant details—and now we'd give anything for just one more.

As a lifelong Catholic, Bill found comfort and respite in his faith and was able to continue his practice by watching Sunday services and having Carol pray the rosary for him. After nine years of choosing life, love, and laughter in the face of ALS, even after becoming paralyzed and communicating through a computer, Bill never complained. He would still remind us, with complete sincerity, that he was the
luckiest man in the world.

A Funeral Mass will be held on Friday, January 9, 2026, at 5:00 PM at St. Paul's Catholic Church, 7808 Cople Highway, Hague, VA 22469.

Burial will take place on Saturday, January 10, 2026, at 12:00 PM at Laurel Hill Funeral Home and Memorial Park, 10127 Plank Road, Spotsylvania Courthouse, VA 22553, followed immediately by a Bill Ewing–style Celebration of Life, where stories and laughter are relentlessly encouraged.

He will be resting eternally in one of his iconic Hawaiian shirts, a black Hanes Beefy-T, two pairs of glasses, khakis, and thick, cushiony socks — exactly as his children insisted.

Instead of flowers, the family asks that you use that money to spend quality time with your family and friends, in honor of what truly mattered most to Bill.

If Bill were editing this obituary himself, he'd probably say it's too long—then add another story, ask if anyone else is hot, and request something extra-extra crispy on the way out.