William “Bill” Jay Hoffman, a makeup artist, businessman and civil rights advocate who blended artistry with conviction and Jewish heritage with progressive ideals, died on July 6 in Rockville. He was 87.
Hoffman lived a life marked by generosity, expression and deep commitment to social justice, said his daughter Kaylia Hoffman Bravo. “He had the courage of his convictions. He taught us to live by a moral compass, to speak up and to stay engaged.”
Born on July 11, 1937, in Washington, D.C., Hoffman was raised in Silver Spring and graduated from Montgomery Blair High School. Though he enrolled at the University of Colorado, he was drawn to a different kind of education, one found in theater wings, activist meetings and community gatherings.
His early career included work as a makeup artist in New York City and Atlanta, where he collaborated with theater companies and contributed to film and television, including “2001: A Space Odyssey.” But it was his time in Atlanta during the civil rights movement that set the tone for his lifelong activism.
Alongside his then-wife, activist and folk singer Eleanor Walden, Hoffman used music and the arts to raise funds for civil rights causes. They organized folk festivals, voter registration drives and political gatherings at a time when public solidarity with the movement came with real risk — especially for a Jewish family in the Deep South.
He supported organizations such as the Congress of Racial Equality, the Student Nonviolent Coordinating Committee and the ACLU.
“Their home was a gathering place for musicians and activists,” said his son, Chandler Hoffman. “People would sing, share food and strategize for justice.” Hoffman managed and promoted artists like blues legend Buddy Moss and refused to back down even in the face of threats from the Ku Klux Klan. “He believed everyone belongs,” his son said.
Bravo recalled that in Clarkston, just outside Atlanta, her father’s solidarity with Black people made the family a target. “The Klan was embedded in the fire department, the police — every institution,” she said. “My dad would bail people out of jail who had done nothing but leave our home.”
After returning to Maryland, Hoffman ran his father’s home improvement business, which provided storm doors and windows — what his daughter called “energy-efficient products before sustainability was a trend.”
When the rise of big-box stores forced the business to close, he shifted careers again, joining his brother’s law firm as a paralegal. He remained there for two decades.
In his final chapter, Hoffman found a new cause with Smiles on Wings, a nonprofit providing dental care and education to underserved communities. “He helped organize fundraising events and brought his production skills and business sense to the table,” Chandler said. “The founder told me she didn’t think the organization could have done what it did without his help.”
Hoffman’s Jewish identity shaped his worldview. Though not affiliated with a specific synagogue later in life, he had been bar mitzvahed, knew the Hebrew prayers and often quoted Jewish teachings on justice and compassion. “He taught us Jewish values through how he lived — through fairness, kindness and inclusion,” Chandler said. His artwork reflected that moral clarity.
His creative passions extended well beyond makeup and theater. He was a sculptor, a writer of whimsical folk tales and a lifelong lover of literature and philosophy. He found inspiration in thinkers like William James and C. Wright Mills and in the speculative visions of Isaac Asimov, Aldous Huxley and George Orwell.
He was a gifted storyteller, often entertaining his grandchildren with vivid, imaginative tales, Bravo said.
That spirit of imagination flowed through every part of his life, from the narratives he shared to the way he experienced art. “Even when he could barely walk, I took him to the National Gallery, and he lit up,” Chandler said. “He was fully present, engaged.”
Hoffman’s personality was equally vibrant. He was impish, playful and endearingly mischievous. “He was a trickster,” Bravo said. “He made jokes, teased and attracted young people with his warmth. At Thanksgiving, the teenagers at the table would all gather around him. That says everything.”
He believed in the dignity of everyday moments — brief encounters that reflected shared humanity. “He taught me to make small connections with everyone you meet,” Chandler said. “The person making your sandwich, the grocery clerk — they’re human beings who deserve to be seen. That was his way of being in the world.”
Hoffman never stopped learning or giving. Beyond his nonprofit work and artistic pursuits, he volunteered as a makeup artist for Montgomery College’s Summer Dinner Theatre and stayed politically engaged, attending town halls and urging others to vote and participate in civic life.
His devotion to family was constant. “He raised my kids with me,” Kaylia said. “He was their zayde, their storyteller, their constant.”
To those who knew him, Hoffman leaves behind more than memories; he leaves a legacy of compassion, originality and conscience. “He lived life on his own terms,” Bravo said. “He was curious, principled and so full of love.”
Ellen Braunstein is a freelance writer.
