"His Song Is in My Soul"

Fogelberg spoke of the profound influence his father had had on his life, an influence that escaped him as a young man but that he had come to recognize clearly as he grew older. He spoke of his father’s “gentle means of sculpting souls” that instilled discipline and taught life lessons. He spoke of his “stories of the road” that provided a window into his past and a portal into his future. He spoke of the gift of “roots and wings” that gave him stability while allowing him the freedom to pursue his dreams.

 

The lyrics so resonated with me that I began teaching them as a poem to each of my English classes. Three-and-a-half decades later, I’m teaching them still because, then and now, they remind me of my Dad.

 

Bear with me a moment, please, while I tell you a bit about him.

 

Clyde Bradshaw was born in 1915 in the Prince Edward County town of Rice before the advent of the amenities we take for granted: electricity, telephones, indoor plumbing, paved roads, and motorized vehicles.

 

Working on the family farm, he learned from his father values that would serve him well through life: industriousness, resilience, helpfulness, loyalty, perseverance, and a don't-stop-'til-the-job’s-done mentality.

 

My Dad served in the Cadet Corps at Virginia Tech, graduated in 1936, and went to work for his uncle, the founder of Weaver Fertilizer Co. in Norfolk.  Eventually, he was called to active duty, and as an Army officer stationed at Ft. Bliss, TX, met Ruth, a young teacher from Kentucky. A year later, on October 2, 1943, they married. Shortly thereafter, he deployed to England. Two weeks after D-Day, his unit, the 203^rd Antiaircraft Battalion attached to the Seventh Armored Division, landed amidst intense hostile fire on Utah Beach. During 20 months overseas, he fought in five major campaigns, earned a Bronze Star for meritorious service at the Battle of the Bulge, and rose to the rank of lieutenant colonel.

 

He never talked much about the War. When I’d ask, he preferred to speak of the friendships, the connections, the one-for-all, all-for-one brotherhood that made bearable his unimaginably challenging experiences far from the safety of home. Connections always meant so much to my Dad. They did back then. They did in his later years.

 

My parents eventually settled in Norfolk, and in 1956, my Dad succeeded his uncle as company president. During the ensuing 50 years, he earned the reputation as an astute, honest businessman who treated everyone from the captains of industry to laborers at his plant with respect. Consequently, he earned the abiding respect of colleagues and customers that is truly reverence.

 

Sixteen years ago, my parents pulled up stakes and moved to Westminster Canterbury Richmond. Starting anew wasn’t easy, but they forged new friendships and soon became vital and beloved members of their community.

 

After my Mother passed away in 2005, my Dad soldiered on. He rose each day at 4 a.m., prepared his own breakfast, read the newspaper cover-to-cover, and walked for as long as an hour. A century into his well-lived life, he was as mentally sharp as ever. Only this past summer did he finally turn in his car keys.

 

On November 1, my Dad felt a bit infirm and went to the clinic and then, reluctantly, to Health Care. At 11:30 a.m. on November 19, he slipped peacefully away. He was 101 years old.

 

To say that we miss him, his stories, and his wisdom is an understatement. To three generations of our family, he provided steadiness, inspiration, and a voice of reason. He taught me to be strong and self-reliant and fearless in the face of seemingly insurmountable challenges, to fight my own battles, and to take the high road always. Sometimes his words flowed, sometimes he said very little, but his gentlemanly demeanor, humility, kindness, and positive nature spoke more loudly than any words he ever uttered.

 

My Dad fought the good fight to the very end. He finished the race. He kept the faith.
He taught us to live in this crazy, confusing world with honor and purpose.
He taught us to leave it with grace, dignity, and courage.
The moment will pass. The lessons will endure.
What extraordinary lessons they are!

         -- Weldon Bradshaw