Thomas Eugene Bradford
Thomas Eugene Bradford, 72, of Leavenworth , KS Leavenworth ,
KS
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"The soil of a man's heart is stonier... A man grows what he can ... and he tends it."
I’ve admired this passage from a book I’ve read many times because I think in many ways it reflects what I believe to be true about “manhood” for many. In this respect, my father is certainly no exception, and when I knew his life was short I immediately thought of the relevancy of this passage as it related to him.
"The soil of a man's heart is stonier... A man grows what he can ... and he tends it."
My father wasn’t one to show his emotions outwardly and if the phrase “wear your emotions on your sleeve” was ever applicable, I’m quite sure he did his best to wear a jacket over those sleeves. For him, the love he had for his family, the love he had for his friends, was shown vibrantly in the idea of “growing what he can…and tending it.” My father “tended what he could grow” day after day, and year after year, working hard for what he had, and working even harder to keep it. More than that, he did it without resentment, he did it largely without complaint, he did it with humility, with a quiet unspoken love, and he did it as a monument to his belief of being responsible and doing everything that it took, no matter what it took, to live up to that responsibility. Perhaps you are familiar with the expression, “Labor of Love”…Tom Bradford labored FOR the love of his family and his innate desire to embrace his ideas of manhood by striving always to provide for them in the best way he knew how. More than that, I would argue, he did it very well.
“The soil of a man’s heart is stonier…A man grows what he can…and he tends it.”
Tom Bradford tended to his wife, in his own way, for 48 years…and their marriage took root, weathered the extremes of drought and frost and everything in between and grew. I’d like to believe, that as long as I’ve known him, the last 5 or 6 years of his life were some of the happiest for my dad, because he could sit down from his labors, and really see what he had tended and grown all those years. The fruits of his labor included two children who had grown up, become independent, capable, driven, successful and happy. He was blessed with three grandchildren and just as his children grew through him, my father grew through his grandchildren. My father believed his responsibility was to tend to his family…but in doing so what he also grew was his humanity and compassion. He grew what he could and tended it, and I’ll never know whether he fully recognized or appreciated how much of what he grew and tended likewise strived to tend to him in return.
My father was a man of paradoxes…
*He had a gift with animals, but didn’t want pets…
*He hated Christmas but could wrap a present better than anyone I know…
*He hated to take pictures but was always the best looking guy in any of the photos…
*He was a slave to routine who would deliberately shock those around him with the occasional surprise…
*He would grant a first chance to anyone, a second chance to only the select few…
*He loved to be heard but hated to repeat himself…
*He struggled to find comfort in his role as a father, but embraced his role as a grandfather with ease, enthusiasm and joy…
*He would do anything for most anyone, but loathed the possibility that his own need for help might be a burden to others.
*He was one of the simplest people I’ve ever known, and one of the most complicated I’ve ever had to deal with…
*He could barely hear, but you still had to watch what you said around him…any hint of need would likely be greeted with a visit of assistance or with him giving you something you might need to accomplish your goal…
*He could barely see, but he still knew how to spot integrity, worth, honesty and loyalty in the hearts of those around him…
*He could barely walk, and mowed his own grass less than a week before his inability to breathe would send him to the hospital…and he mowed simply because it needed to be done.
*He could barely talk…OK…that’s not true, but sometimes we all wished it was…
Mark Twain is quoted as having said: “When I was a boy of fourteen, my father was so ignorant I could hardly stand to have the old man around. But when I got to be twenty-one, I was astonished by how much he'd learned in seven years.” This passage makes me think a lot of my father’s love of Western movies. Growing up, Channel 41, every Saturday night. As child, even as a teenager, Saturday nights were a source of disdain and frustration…John Wayne, Clint Eastwood, “Two Mules for Sister Sara,” “High Plains Drifter,” “Rio Bravo,” black and white movies we’d seen 50 times before of an unsophisticated era in history long since abandoned. Looking back though, I realize my father was to me a lot like John Wayne. He was an imposing, almost mythical creature as a child…powerful, intimidating, indestructible, tall in the saddle, larger than life, one of the “good guys.”
It took going to college for me to recognize the beauty of Western movies and to gain a clearer more nuanced appreciation and understanding of the themes, the characters, the imagery, and the deeper message conveyed by The West. Similarly, older now, I look back on my father and see no John Wayne, but a Clint Eastwood: A determined man with a quiet confidence, strength and courage. Someone who wasn’t larger than life because of his stature or because of his swagger, but because of gritty determination, uncommon humility, and a well-defined sense of duty, humanity and decency. Someone who’s courage…and no small amount of it…was demonstrated on the battlefield, but in punching a time clock for 35 years. My father wasn’t flawless, but he had character, integrity, and a personality forged from adversity that would have broken and defeated many others.
My dad was well known as a CB enthusiast, which, like the Westerns he loved, embodies a bygone era that seems so distant in the age of cell phones, texting, emails and instant messaging. My father was known to many as “Guard Rail,” his CB handle, which by and large I believe was a reference to his work for the Kansas Turnpike. Looking now, it strikes me for the first time how appropriate the handle “Guard Rail” is on other levels as well. A guard rail is primarily designed to protect, it prevents people from going too far off the road, it protects them from adversity and danger when poor decisions or bad luck might otherwise lead them there. More than that, guard exist as a guide, a way to keep you not only from danger, but as a reminder of the path you are on, a simple guide forward and a reminder of our destination. Guard rails are of the simplest of design, but of unparalleled strength and value. A guard rail endures the elements, ready when needed, ready when not. A guardrail stands as a quiet and humble testimony of persistence, dependability, strength, guidance, determination and a resolute sense of purpose…a fitting reflection of my father’s character. But guard rails aren’t flashy, they aren’t awe inspiring. People can speak of a great highway, a breathtaking bridge, a stunning overpass; marvels of architecture. Nobody would ever call a guard rail “great.” By the standards of the world, my father never did anything great. To his friends and family though, HE was undeniably a great man…
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EULOGY
"The soil of a man's heart is stonier... A man grows what he can ... and he tends it."
I’ve admired this passage from a book I’ve read many times because I think in many ways it reflects what I believe to be true about “manhood” for many. In this respect, my father is certainly no exception, and when I knew his life was short I immediately thought of the relevancy of this passage as it related to him.
"The soil of a man's heart is stonier... A man grows what he can ... and he tends it."
My father wasn’t one to show his emotions outwardly and if the phrase “wear your emotions on your sleeve” was ever applicable, I’m quite sure he did his best to wear a jacket over those sleeves. For him, the love he had for his family, the love he had for his friends, was shown vibrantly in the idea of “growing what he can…and tending it.” My father “tended what he could grow” day after day, and year after year, working hard for what he had, and working even harder to keep it. More than that, he did it without resentment, he did it largely without complaint, he did it with humility, with a quiet unspoken love, and he did it as a monument to his belief of being responsible and doing everything that it took, no matter what it took, to live up to that responsibility. Perhaps you are familiar with the expression, “Labor of Love”…Tom Bradford labored FOR the love of his family and his innate desire to embrace his ideas of manhood by striving always to provide for them in the best way he knew how. More than that, I would argue, he did it very well.
“The soil of a man’s heart is stonier…A man grows what he can…and he tends it.”
Tom Bradford tended to his wife, in his own way, for 48 years…and their marriage took root, weathered the extremes of drought and frost and everything in between and grew. I’d like to believe, that as long as I’ve known him, the last 5 or 6 years of his life were some of the happiest for my dad, because he could sit down from his labors, and really see what he had tended and grown all those years. The fruits of his labor included two children who had grown up, become independent, capable, driven, successful and happy. He was blessed with three grandchildren and just as his children grew through him, my father grew through his grandchildren. My father believed his responsibility was to tend to his family…but in doing so what he also grew was his humanity and compassion. He grew what he could and tended it, and I’ll never know whether he fully recognized or appreciated how much of what he grew and tended likewise strived to tend to him in return.
My father was a man of paradoxes…
*He had a gift with animals, but didn’t want pets…
*He hated Christmas but could wrap a present better than anyone I know…
*He hated to take pictures but was always the best looking guy in any of the photos…
*He was a slave to routine who would deliberately shock those around him with the occasional surprise…
*He would grant a first chance to anyone, a second chance to only the select few…
*He loved to be heard but hated to repeat himself…
*He struggled to find comfort in his role as a father, but embraced his role as a grandfather with ease, enthusiasm and joy…
*He would do anything for most anyone, but loathed the possibility that his own need for help might be a burden to others.
*He was one of the simplest people I’ve ever known, and one of the most complicated I’ve ever had to deal with…
*He could barely hear, but you still had to watch what you said around him…any hint of need would likely be greeted with a visit of assistance or with him giving you something you might need to accomplish your goal…
*He could barely see, but he still knew how to spot integrity, worth, honesty and loyalty in the hearts of those around him…
*He could barely walk, and mowed his own grass less than a week before his inability to breathe would send him to the hospital…and he mowed simply because it needed to be done.
*He could barely talk…OK…that’s not true, but sometimes we all wished it was…
Mark Twain is quoted as having said: “When I was a boy of fourteen, my father was so ignorant I could hardly stand to have the old man around. But when I got to be twenty-one, I was astonished by how much he'd learned in seven years.” This passage makes me think a lot of my father’s love of Western movies. Growing up, Channel 41, every Saturday night. As child, even as a teenager, Saturday nights were a source of disdain and frustration…John Wayne, Clint Eastwood, “Two Mules for Sister Sara,” “High Plains Drifter,” “Rio Bravo,” black and white movies we’d seen 50 times before of an unsophisticated era in history long since abandoned. Looking back though, I realize my father was to me a lot like John Wayne. He was an imposing, almost mythical creature as a child…powerful, intimidating, indestructible, tall in the saddle, larger than life, one of the “good guys.”
It took going to college for me to recognize the beauty of Western movies and to gain a clearer more nuanced appreciation and understanding of the themes, the characters, the imagery, and the deeper message conveyed by The West. Similarly, older now, I look back on my father and see no John Wayne, but a Clint Eastwood: A determined man with a quiet confidence, strength and courage. Someone who wasn’t larger than life because of his stature or because of his swagger, but because of gritty determination, uncommon humility, and a well-defined sense of duty, humanity and decency. Someone who’s courage…and no small amount of it…was demonstrated on the battlefield, but in punching a time clock for 35 years. My father wasn’t flawless, but he had character, integrity, and a personality forged from adversity that would have broken and defeated many others.
My dad was well known as a CB enthusiast, which, like the Westerns he loved, embodies a bygone era that seems so distant in the age of cell phones, texting, emails and instant messaging. My father was known to many as “Guard Rail,” his CB handle, which by and large I believe was a reference to his work for the Kansas Turnpike. Looking now, it strikes me for the first time how appropriate the handle “Guard Rail” is on other levels as well. A guard rail is primarily designed to protect, it prevents people from going too far off the road, it protects them from adversity and danger when poor decisions or bad luck might otherwise lead them there. More than that, guard exist as a guide, a way to keep you not only from danger, but as a reminder of the path you are on, a simple guide forward and a reminder of our destination. Guard rails are of the simplest of design, but of unparalleled strength and value. A guard rail endures the elements, ready when needed, ready when not. A guardrail stands as a quiet and humble testimony of persistence, dependability, strength, guidance, determination and a resolute sense of purpose…a fitting reflection of my father’s character. But guard rails aren’t flashy, they aren’t awe inspiring. People can speak of a great highway, a breathtaking bridge, a stunning overpass; marvels of architecture. Nobody would ever call a guard rail “great.” By the standards of the world, my father never did anything great. To his friends and family though, HE was undeniably a great man…
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