My maternal grandfather passed away last week, two weeks shy of his 98th birthday.
Here’s the piece I read at the funeral:
My name is Kevin Hendricks and I’m Bill’s grandson. I’m Pam’s youngest, for those connecting the dots. I’m the middle grandchild, the city kid, who came to visit grandma and grandpa during the summer. Basically they had to entertain my brother and I.
We’d go down to the river or scout wildlife at Quivira or Cheyenne Bottoms. I’d tag along to the Co-op or the farm bureau, Grandpa always visiting. He’d take us out to shoot the .22 or go to the farm to play with our cousins in the scrap iron pile. All good fun for a city kid.
By the way, that iron pile is a good example of how he never threw anything away. We could call that being cheap, but I guess resourceful is the polite word for it. Grandpa did take old curvy plow seats and other random junk and turn it into a play structure for the grandkids in the front yard.
My favorite adventure was driving out to the farm one day, and Grandpa thought he saw something on the side of the road. He pulled the truck over and my brother and I climbed out. We walked back toward what Grandpa thought he saw, my brother and I along the field, and Grandpa along the road with a strip of overgrown brush in between, Grandpa occasionally poking at it with a stick. But there was nothing there and we were about to give up. Oh well, Grandpa said, and tossed his stick onto the brush. Then a bobcat darted out of the weeds not 10 feet in front of me. It took off across the tilled field toward the river, kicking up dust with every stride.
Some days we must have been harder to entertain, so Grandma and Grandpa would load my brother and I in the car and drive us all over central Kansas, taking us anywhere that could possibly be of interest. We saw Lake Wilson, Fort Larnerd, and the folk art Garden of Eden in Lucas.
Many of these trips would pause for lunch or supper at some cafe or tiny diner. We’d order food, and to Grandpa’s great consternation, I would order chicken strips. Here’s Bill the farmer, raising beef cattle, and his grandson wants nothing but chicken strips. Every. Single. Time.
He’d stick a toothpick between his lips, cross his arms, and look at me with a shrug. Mercy.
Unfortunately for Grandpa, my daughter’s a vegetarian, so it’s still not going his way.
And it often had to be Grandpa’s way. He could be stubborn. There’s a right way to do something, and that’s Grandpa’s way. One summer Grandpa, my dad, and I were going somewhere. We drove past a yard with a classic car on the lawn and my dad had to stop. “That’s a 1953 Chevy pickup,” my dad said. “Cool.”
“No, I think that’s a ‘54,” Grandpa had said.
“No, it’s a ‘53,” Dad said, and they started arguing about the details.
We got out to see this classic truck—with weeds growing through the floor boards, mind you. As Dad is getting a close look, Grandpa leans over and whispers to me, “Your dad thinks he knows everything, but that is a ‘54.”
While he could be stubborn, Grandpa often had a playful side. I imagine us grandkids saw it the most, whether he was taking us for ice cream or giving us a ride on the tractor.
There’s something comically wonderful about a 90-year-old man wearing his great-grand daughter’s pink cowboy hat.
One Thanksgiving, a great-granddaughter had lost her two front teeth. She was sad about how hard it would be to eat Thanksgiving dinner with no teeth. Grandpa looked her in the eye and said, “Well I don’t have any teeth either,” and flung his dentures out of his mouth and across the room.
The playfulness cracks me up, because so often Grandpa just looked dour—especially in pictures. There are plenty of pictures of Grandpa smiling, but so often it’s just a straight face.
It would be the happiest of occasions, and not a hint of a smile. It’s my parents’ wedding, and there’s a photo where everyone is smiling but him. Grandpa was already mad at Dad over that Chevy truck. There’s a family photo from the 70s, where the kids all have big toothy smiles, Grandma has a demure smile, and Grandpa has dour face.
My favorite is Grandma and Grandpa’s 25th wedding anniversary. There’s a picture of them with Grandpa’s parents, and you can see where Grandpa got it. They even infected Grandma. Maybe it’s a generational thing—kids these days mug for the camera, taking unlimited selfies. But Grandpa looked stern in so many photos.
In recent years, Grandpa’s photos have looked less dour and more tired. He’s been ready for a while. At least since he had to bury his own son, in this family’s terrible tragedy. That was rough.
And so Grandpa has been tired. But not so tired that he couldn’t be ornery. Five years ago, at Grandma and Grandpa’s 70th wedding anniversary I noticed how tired Grandpa looked in the pictures. He was 93. He couldn’t see. He could barely hear. But he wanted to wield a chainsaw and take down those cedar trees out at the playground.
He always had to do his own thing.
I’ll always remember Grandpa’s evening ritual. He’d shut off the TV, fold up his newspaper, put down the recliner’s leg rest with a ka-chunk, and then he’d sigh and let out a, ‘Whoa yuht. Time to go to roost.” My wife and I still say that to one another at bedtime, time to go to roost.
Grandpa lived a long, faithful life. He loved Grandma for 75 years. He worked hard, and enjoyed a good steak. Now it’s time for Grandpa to go to roost.
Here’s his obituary:
Bill Wayne Madden, 98, passed away at Brookdale Senior Living in Great Bend, KS on Feb. 17, 2025. The youngest of 5 children he was born in rural Ellinwood, KS on Mar. 2, 1926 to parents Carl Sr. and Hazel (Smith) Madden. Bill was a lifetime resident of Barton and Rice Counties where he worked as a farmer and stockman. He married Wanda Scheufler at First Baptist Church, Ellinwood on Sept. 7, 1949.
Bill was a longtime member of First Baptist Church, Ellinwood. He enjoyed collecting John Deere memorabilia, hunting, and growing watermelons which he shared with friends and neighbors. He was always accompanied by his four-legged faithful companion Pete.
Survivors include his wife of 75 years, Wanda Madden, Great Bend, KS; children Pam Hendricks (Kerry), Great Bend, KS and Tamara Madden, Hutchinson, KS; grandchildren Rick Hendricks, Kevin Hendricks (Abby), Thomas W. Madden (Elizabeth), Julie Boeckman (Matt), Breiane Madden, Tyler Young; 15 great-grandchildren, and 1 great-great-grandchild. He was preceded in death by siblings, Carl Madden Jr., Bette Kennedy, Dorothy Davis, Martha Marshall; son, Thomas T. Madden; grandson David Madden; infant great-grandchild, Isaiah Madden.
Funeral service will take place 1:30 PM, Sat., Feb. 22 at First Baptist Church south of Ellinwood. Interment will follow at Lakin-Comanche Cemetery, Ellinwood. Visitation will take place 12-6 PM, Fri., Feb. 21 at Minnis Chapel in Ellinwood with family receiving friends from 4-6 PM. Memorials are suggested to First Baptist Church or Heritage Senior Center, in care of Minnis Chapel, PO Box 246, Ellinwood, KS 67526. Condolences may be left at www.minnischapel.org