Remembering Brian Bell

With heavy hearts, we share the passing of Brian Bell, a devoted Candace House Board member from September 2016 to September 2023. Below is a reflection from Executive Director Cecilly Hildebrand, honouring Brian’s profound contributions, leadership, and lasting impact on Candace House.

Brian Bell - Ruth Bonneville / Winnipeg Free Press / May 2016. Shared with permission

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I remember meeting Brian for the first time at 529 Wellington for lunch. He had recently retired from the Crown’s office, and I was a young, determined, slightly terrified Executive Director trying to help convince this intelligent, serious man to join the board of a fledgling organization with no building, no programs, and no stable funding. I’ll admit, I was intimidated, but also hopeful. Even then, we knew: this is someone we need. Brian agreed and officially joined the Board of Candace House in September of 2016.

It didn’t take long to begin understanding Brian’s presence in the community. I remember meeting him for coffee at Fools and Horses on Broadway in that first year, when Candace House was still more questions than answers. We were trying to imagine what it might become, who we would support, and how we would do that work. I sat there with my notebook open, brainstorming and leaning heavily on Brian’s many years of knowledge and experience. While we were talking, two people stopped to say hello — both assuming I was a reporter and that Brian was giving yet another interview. I remember thinking, this is someone whose presence carries respect and authority. 

The first board meeting that was held at the Candace House location (From left to right: Chris Epp-Vollrath, Monica Ross, Alan Libman, Cecilly Hildebrand, Ann Poole, Darryl Stewart, Brian Bell)

From the beginning, Brian was one of my main go-to people. I would send him emails asking for help with odd projects; reading funding agreements, reviewing building contracts, explaining insurance, walking me through corporate policy, WCB requirements, and all the invisible infrastructure that makes an organization legitimate. He even (though somewhat begrudgingly) helped me move furniture. He always said yes. Always read the documents. Always gave thoughtful, careful feedback. 

While I may have technically been the only staff person in those early years, Brian was always there. I was looking through old emails between us and came across one where I had sent a single line, “What are you up to November 8th from 9–12?” His reply came quick: “Anything you want me to do I guess.”  It perfectly captures Brian’s dedication, not flashy, not self-promoting, just steady and deeply committed.

In the earliest days, Brian came not just to board meetings, but to be with families. I remember standing outside sharing a cigarette with Brian and him talking about how healing it was for him to witness the impact of Candace House from this side of things, after so many years working within the justice system as a Crown. To sit with families, to provide the type of support that he had seen was so needed in his work. That mattered to him.

Brian gave Candace House stability. His presence added credibility, reputation, and a sense that we were no longer just an idea, we were a real organization. He attended funding meetings, donor meetings, celebrated our wins, and offered many kind words of encouragement when things went well. After nearly every board meeting I got a text message from Brian on my way home telling me I had done a good job. And when things didn’t go well, he was honest, direct, and grounded.

Brian never missed a board meeting — unless he was riding camels in Morocco, or scuba diving in the Adriatic, or walking through cherry blossom trees in Japan. And during the pandemic when we went virtual, I think we still might be waiting for Brian to join and unmute his mic if Beth hadn’t been around to help him navigate the technology. 

I had the honour of also getting to know Brian on a more personal level. Spending time together with him and his wife, Beth. I loved watching them together, the way they teased each other, respected each other, and clearly adored one another. He spoke with such pride about his children and was so genuinely excited to become a grandparent. That joy was unmistakable.

There was also Mike, Brian’s best friend. I feel like it would be incomplete not to mention him. I haven’t seen many friendships between two men like the one Brian and Mike shared. Full of trouble, laughter, loyalty, and usually an old-fashioned and a cigarillo nearby. It was so clear the love and care the two of them had for each other. 

Brian and I bonded over two main topics: dogs and travel. We exchanged countless stories about our pups, dream trips, and past adventures while relaxing by his pool. More than once, I ran into him while out running or walking my own dogs in the Assiniboine Forest, where he was out walking foster dogs from a nearby no-kill shelter. Those chance encounters always felt grounding, like reminders that life existed beyond board agendas and court schedules.

Brian disagreed with me — regularly. Especially early on, when it came to expansion and growth. He was the voice of caution, the reminder to slow down, to be sure, to not take risks lightly. And while he challenged me relentlessly, I always knew, without question, that he had my back.

One moment in particular stands out. Three years after Candace House opened in 2018, after what felt like a barely completed million-dollar capital campaign to secure our first space, an opportunity arose to expand into additional space in the building. I was ready and eager. Brian… not so much. After months of debate between the two of us and at the board level, Brian told me before a critical board meeting to prepare my best closing arguments. I did. And he agreed.

If you know Brian, you know what a moment that was. Convincing him wasn’t just approval, it was trust. I was thrilled we were moving forward, but also quietly proud that I had managed to persuade the formidable Brian Bell. Perhaps, one of my greatest personal victories.

Brian also supported me during difficult personal times. Giving me some of the most stern, serious, and impactful words I’ve ever received came from him, delivered with care, honesty, and an unmistakable desire for me to thrive and succeed. 

If you knew Brian, you’ve likely heard his refrain: “Be successful.” He said it often. To me, to others. And because of him, Candace House has been. When Brian joined the board, Candace House had no real roadmap. Today, Candace House has walked alongside over 3,000 people following nearly 300 homicides. That growth did not happen by accident; it happened because of people like Brian.

Brian resigned from the Candace House Board in September of 2023, after a seven year term. But his influence didn’t end there. His wisdom, steadiness, care, and belief in this work are woven into the very foundation of who we are, and who I am. 

I grew enormously, personally and professionally, over the 11 years I have been with Candace House, and I owe a great deal of that growth to Brian Bell.

He showed up. He stayed. He challenged. He supported. And he made all of us better.