Barney James Cromie

Wing Commander Cromie has officially shifted into his final gear. On January 3, 2026, West Vancouver’s most frequent "unintended participant" in police chases finally reached the end of the road, likely with a wink and a cloud of tire smoke.

Born on September 21, 1950, Barney grew up in West Vancouver, attending Brentwood College and West Vancouver High School. As the last of the Cromie family from the legendary Vancouver Sun era to cross the finish line, he was a true original. To say he lived life to the fullest is a massive understatement; Barney lived it at a permanent redline, reminding us all that life is meant to be lived until the very last mile.

He was never truly at peace unless he was breaking a speed limit, whether on a motorcycle, in a car, or skipping a boat across the water at a pace that made everyone else hold their breath. A rebel, a joker, and a one-man riot, he possessed a deep, infectious belly laugh that could shake a room. He was also a proud black belt and would make great reference to this when having "conversations" with the police during his various encounters.

Known for his great sense of style and for being a natural athlete, Barney did everything his way. He was famous for throwing the legendary Halloween and Christmas parties that defined West Van’s social calendar, and he never met a corner he didn't want to drift, a cop he didn't want to test, or a friend he couldn't make laugh until their ribs ached.

Barney leaves behind a legacy of burnt rubber, a world-class collection of "I almost had ’em" stories, and a family that is still collectively trying to figure out how he survived as long as he did. He is now reunited peacefully with his father and mother, his sisters Wendy and Jill, and his brother Patrick. He is survived by his ex-wife, Sharol Ryder (who deserves a trophy for endurance) and his children: Daryl, Dustin, and his favourite daughter Samantha, who wrote this shit, along with his cherished grandchildren. They are left with his best traits, his highly questionable advice, and the comforting knowledge that they will likely never have to pay for a drink in any West Van bar once people realize whose kids they are (or they’ll have to settle his old tab).

The family wishes to express their deepest gratitude to the staff at LGH, VGH, North Shore Hospice, and all his dedicated support workers for their unconditional care and kindness, as well as Steve for his unwavering friendship.

In keeping with his spirit, the family will be holding a private celebration of life consisting of a thorough fact-checking of his wildest stories.

Rest in peace, Barney. He’s finally wide-open throttle toward the horizon, probably arguing with Saint Peter about the lack of a designated burnout zone in the parking lot. For the first time, the rearview mirror is empty, and you're finally at peace.