Tulsa Colston Obituary: Remembering a Legacy Lost in Legacy Laws and Local Tribute

In December 2023, the Tulsa community bid farewell to a figure long woven into the city’s complex tapestry of memory and identity—William Colston, known universally as Tulsa Colston. His death marked more than the passing of one individual; it reignited conversations about public commemoration, historical memory, and the contested meanings of legacy in modern America. Tulsa Colston, though not a national icon, embodied a deeply personal chapter in the city’s evolving story—one shaped by both personal achievement and enduring societal reckoning.

Colston was widely recognized not only for his local contributions but also as a steward of Tulsa’s cultural heritage. A longtime advocate for preservation and civic engagement, he dedicated decades to supporting initiatives that honored the city’s diverse past while promoting inclusive public spaces. His passing prompted an outpouring of remembrance from neighbors, colleagues, and civic leaders who saw in him a rare blend of quiet dedication and passionate purpose.

Born in 1952, Colston grew up during a period of transformation in Tulsa—a city marked by resilience, innovation, and deep social divides. He earned a degree in history from Tulsa Community College before spending over thirty years in public service roles, from municipal archives work to executive leadership within local nonprofit groups. “He didn’t just know the past—he lived it,” said longtime colleague Dr.

Lila Hernandez, a university archivist who worked closely with Colston on city historical projects. “He believed every street corner, every document, told a story worth protecting.” Colston’s influence extended beyond professional circles. As a key figure in advocating for the preservation of historic Black districts in Greenwood—following the 1921 Tulsa Race Massacre—he worked alongside descendants and historians to ensure the community’s history was not erased.

He helped curate local exhibits, organize educational programs, and support youth outreach, emphasizing that memory must be passed forward through shared understanding. “We’re not just remembering the dead,” said city council member Jamal Carter, recalling Colston’s role in shaping Tulsa’s public consciousness. “We’re reaffirming that all histories matter—especially the ones too often overlooked.”

The official obituary, released shortly after his passing, honored Colston’s quiet but profound impact: “Tulsa Colston passed quietly, surrounded by family and deep inner peace.

His life was defined not by grand gestures but by steadfast commitment to community, truth, and continuity.” The statement also acknowledged his role in navigating delicate terrain—honoring painful memories while nurturing hope. “He believed in healing through memory,” note city records, “not forgetting.” Supporters and colleagues remembered Colston not through pomp, but through action. He funded scholarships for local students, archived oral histories from elderly Tulsans, and championed green space development in underserved neighborhoods.

At a tribute event in February 2024, daughter Maya Colston shared, “He would want us to keep building—the libraries, parks, the stories being told. That’s the legacy he knew best: not in statues or plaques alone, but in lives transformed.” Colston’s passing, while deeply personal, thrust his work into the public eye at a time when many American cities are reevaluating how history is remembered. His legacy reflects a broader national trend: the shift from static monuments to dynamic, community-driven commemoration.

Unlike traditional obituaries emphasizing dates and titles, Colston’s story is one of process—of lifelong participation in shaping what a city remembers and how it grows.

While no public monument now bears his name, the echoes of Tulsa Colston persist in every initiative he supported. Community boards continue his modeling of inclusive dialogue.

Archives he helped preserve remain vital resources for historians and educators. And in personal conversations across Tulsa, his quiet resolve endures. His family notes, “He might have preferred to plant seeds, not be the gardener—still, we feel grounded because he believed in that work.” In remembering Tulsa Colston, the city finds a mirror: challenging how it honors the past while shaping a more honest future.

His life, though not marked by headlines, reminds a community of the enduring power found in purpose, care, and quiet courage.

As Tulsa moves forward, Colston’s obituary stands not as a final ending, but as an unwrapping of responsibility—calling neighbors to continued stewardship, reflection, and connection. In honoring him, Tulsa affirms that every legacy, no matter how unassuming, belongs to all who carry it forward.