Tribute

Tribute

by Tom Woodard

One of the most wonderful things in life which we have to cherish is the special people who cross our paths. I have had many such individuals cross mine, and I am thankful for all of them, and for the blessings and lessons which they have brought to my journey through life thus far. Chief among these are my father, Tommy Woodard (an Eagle Scout, Captain, U.S. Army Corps of Engineers, World War II, and a great civic citizen), and my grandfather, John Tyler McShan, II (a truly great man, and one who lived his faith in his actions), but there have been others; men and women the world would consider insignificant but who are the heroes of my life, people who shared their faith in God, and by their example showed me how to walk with God, and who set examples for me in humility, wisdom, and good old-fashioned horse sense - men and women like my Uncle Morris Manning (a great man of God), Mrs. Vergie Findley (whom I called Grandmother, even tho she was really my former wife's grandmother, and who was instrumental in leading me to a saving knowledge of Jesus Christ), my former Father-in-Law, Fred Findley (who was more like a father to me than a father-in-law), Mr. A.D. Hitt (who taught me so much about my Christian walk), my Uncle Ben Lyles (who taught me so much about humor), Mr. Boyd Huff, Mr. J.O. Puckett, Mr. G.S. Spruill (my high school principal and a man of great wisdom and a wonderful dry wit), Mrs. Sarah Cowart, Mrs. Helen Davis, Mrs. Wilma Taylor, and Mr. Boyd Batchelor (all wonderful high school teachers), and Mrs. Margaret Huff (my third grade teacher), Rev. C.C. Conner and Rev. Joe Randolph (two very dear black preacher friends of mine), Mrs. Sarah Taylor, Rev. Neil Nichols (who married Angie and me), Judge B.G. Robison, Jr., Dr. William H. Hill, Mrs. Elsie Latham (who helped to raise me), Aunt Zaida Keasler (my Mother's Mother's sister, and more like a grandmother to me than a great-aunt), and so many, many more, too numerous to name. Naturally, most of these people were one or two generations older than I, and most of them have passed away - though, thankfully, not all.

There was one, however, who was actually a generation my junior. This tribute is to him.

On October 14th, 2005, my nephew, Michael Anthony Woodard, was fatally injured in a motorcycle accident in Auburn, Alabama, while a student of engineering at Auburn University, there on a full academic scholarship. He was 20 years old. Michael was a perfect example of the mystery of physics (about which I know little) whereby the whole is sometimes far greater than its component parts. Michael was greater than the sum of his parents - not to detract from them, but to let you know how exceptional he was. The only explanation I have for this is that God gave Michael extraordinary gifts. That these qualities manifested themselves so clearly at his young age still causes me to marvel.

I was not personally close to Michael until after I was separated from my first wife, and was going through a very difficult emotional time in my life as a consequence. My brother Mike, Michael's father, had an unimproved lot on Lake Tuscaloosa and asked me if I wanted to help him, Michael, and my other nephew, John (my sister's son) build a floating

dock, steps up from the dock (it took 69 in all), and a deck on the property. I accepted and it proved to be great therapy for me in that difficult time. The hard work was part of it, but getting to really know my nephews was the biggest part. We did work hard, and it didn't take long for me to realize that Michael was a real worker. He worked with zeal, and seemingly never tired. He not only did what was asked of him, but wanted to do more, and was eager to learn how to use a square, and mark and cut boards, as well as other carpentry skills which I taught him. When Mike and I were about to drop in our tracks, Michael would want to continue working for another hour or two! His work ethic was superb, and rare, at least in my experience, in his generation.

As we worked on the lake lot, we talked, and I told him and John stories of my youth and young adulthood (what some folks call misadventures), which they found to be hilarious. We also ate a lot of meals together, at lunch time, and they would ask me to repeat, over and over again, stories I had already told them. They thought their Uncle Tom was a character! And we developed a great love for one another. I noticed then that Michael was a very attentive listener, and as we interacted with other people, at my Mom's house or in restaurants, or wherever, I saw that he was always listening, not only with his ears but also with his mind and heart and soul. Michael listened to, and gained insights and knowledge from, people who others wouldn't pay any attention to, because they were "nobodys". And he accepted people as they were, and loved them as they were, without passing judgement on them or looking down at them. Thus, he got along with everyone. I also learned over time that Michael was a great judge of character, and that he read people like a book. He observed who they were on the inside, and not just on the paper shell. But having done so, he did not condemn or judge them for their faults or weaknesses, even though he was aware of them. These are rare and astounding traits even for a mature, seasoned person, but in someone so young they were miraculous, at least to me.

Michael also took pains to reach out to people who others either shunned or paid no heed. I recall that at his graduation from Holy Spirit, in Tuscaloosa, I was talking to a young lady, a member of the graduating class and an Honor Graduate, and she told me that she was sort of an outsider, with few, if any, real friends. I could tell that, although she was very pretty, she had insecurities and was a shy person. Michael, on the other hand, was immensely popular among his classmates, and a member of the "in crowd". Nevertheless, she said, he would often leave his group of friends and come over to her, purposely, to talk to her. For her to be telling me this evidenced how much it meant to her for him to pay attention to her, even when his friends did not. And her telling me this also told me volumes about who Michael was.

Another incident which is dear to me, and which I also think reveals the character and the heart of Michael, occurred on the day, November 13th, 2004, that Angie and I got married at my Mom's house, out on the rear deck. After the simple ceremony (it was a blue jean wedding), we all went inside to eat barbeque and watch the Auburn - Georgia football game. As I milled around, I happened to glance out on the deck, and there sat Michael, all alone but for my two grandsons, Ethan and Bailin, who were then mere toddlers, ages 2 and 1. Michael was playing with those two babies and having a ball. How many 19 year old boys would be found there? Not many, I know. This, of all my wonderful memories of Michael, is my favorite and most cherished, for it painted a picture, so beautiful, of the depth of Michael's heart, and the tremendous breadth of his love. In fact, Michael got along with everyone, regardless of age, station in life, color or background. His love extended all the way from those babies to his "Memaw", my Mother, with whom he had a very special bond.

And if you ever doubted Michael's love, all you had to experience to set you back on track was one of his fabulous hugs. I often said that Michael had the best hugs in the world, for when he hugged you, you could literally feel that love pouring through his strong hands into your back and shoulders. It makes me feel like weeping to recall those hugs now. In the days and weeks following his death, how often I wished for one more hug from Michael! That day will come, however!

Michael was human, I know, and he had faults, just like everyone else (they were just hard to see, and seldom seen, in him), and he made mistakes, just like everyone else, but sometimes I think that Michael was really an angel, sent by God from Heaven to minister to all with whom he came in contact. The stories we heard after his death, from innumerable people from all walks of life, about how Michael had touched their lives, were seemingly endless. One, however, sticks out in my mind. At the graveside following Michael's funeral, a young man approached Michael's Dad, my brother Mike. He was obviously of somewhat limited mental ability, and what most folks would describe as "a little odd", or eccentric. He was, I believe, a mechanic at a motorcycle shop, and appeared a little out of place among all the others around the graveside. We found out later that he was, indeed, a little different, and therefore subject to ridicule, and the butt of offensive laughter. He came all the way from Auburn to pay his respects and to tell Mike what Michael had meant to him. It seems that in the midst of all that insensitive ridicule, Michael had reached out to this man and made him feel like someone who mattered, and who was worthy of friendship.

This, dear friends, was Michael, my nephew, and one of the finest human beings I have ever had the privilege to know and to share life with. There are so many other things I could tell you about him, and perhaps some day I will.

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