Eulogy for a Woodshop Teacher

Eulogy shared at Service for James T. Pickard on Friday, January 2nd, 2026 at the Jacksonville Veterans Cemetery. By Joyce Wood Pickard Claassen

Farther along, we’ll know all about it
Farther along, we’ll understand why
Cheer up, my brother, live in the sunshine
We’ll understand it all by and by

My sister & brother, I love you and we will navigate this new norm together and continue to share and show our children the goodness of our parents through stories and everyday acts of kindness and grace. Farther along, we’ll understand why.

2018 my mother passed away and I proceeded to write a eulogy for a librarian. That eulogy was sudden and unexpected, but that eulogy helped me heal. It pulled out the happiness and the sadness of the occasion and gave a place for my heart and head to dwell as well as a token to honor my mom’s life.

As I share with you a eulogy for a woodshop teacher, unlike the previous eulogy, I have been practicing this since the 90’s and continued to refine this eulogy after many narrowing attempts at his life. Between the gator incident, the first stroke he had while hunting (which he managed to fell a deer in SC, drag it out with one working hand, and then drive back to Florida before heading to the hospital). Then, there was the ATV accident that resulted in a life flight event, a chainsaw event that messed up a pair of pants, a few more strokes peppered in there, a T-Bone accident with the Game & Fish, another chainsaw event in a tree where he was sling-shotted out of a tree that landed him in the neighbor’s backyard with the chainsaw still running, and many more; undocumented life threatening, narrowing events. He had accumulated more lives than a cat and he spent them all on his terms.

This is my token for my father and a place for a few of my favorite memories that help explain who my father was. A life with so much story is worth the time to listen.

James T. Pickard most often known as Jim, dad, or Grandaddy. Some were lucky enough to know him as Mr. Pickard or Coach Pickard from his time spent in Duval Public Schools. Jan, Jay and I often heard through the halls of Landon Junior High or from the front porch of Hogan, our last name being butchered to pieces that matched the vibrato of a morning rooster, “Pick, Pick, Pick, Pick, Pick-ard!”. Other notable names were Gator-bait, which Is when I started practicing his first eulogy and then in later years he was known as, “Sedo” by a group of students he taught at Ed White High School which means boss man for a grandpa or older man in Arabic. Most recently he was known as “old man” by his kids or his preferred nickname “birdman” from his walks on Jax beach, feeding the birds while he worked on healing after my mother’s sudden passing. There are very few who remain who ever heard him called “Tommy” by his parents and siblings, but I often would love to tease him with it when he was being childish.

Myself as well as my sister & brother grew up as teachers’ kids, and my dad grew up as a preacher’s kid. My dad was pretty sure his experience was worse, but my siblings and I would often disagree. My grandfather was often traveling as a visiting Presbyterian preacher in the south between North & South Carolina, Georgia, and Florida. My dad was often moving from one parsonage to the next or left at home to tend to his older brother George who was dependent on care, while his mom & dad were gone many weekends to cover services at a distant church. I believe this experience shaped how my father became the person he was. At a young age he was independent, a caregiver, in charge, as well as creative. He honed in on all those traits as he grew up and managed to keep his inner child alive through pranks, jokes, and goofy faces to keep himself out of trouble all the way till his last days.

His years spent in Florida as a kid were spent on a boat, dodging gators, learning to fish and how to build nets by hand from an old sailor. Some of his fondest years were spent on St. Joe’s Parish in the gulf while my grandfather was the preacher at a nearby church. My dad spent most of his time escaping to the water. Not a fan of how they taught school in the one-room schoolhouse, he learned early the art of playing hooky. I joked the years that he skipped school as a child; he made up for by teaching middle school for almost 30 years and barely missing a day at that. I remembered my dad going to school drenched in sweat from a fever, but he never missed school because he didn’t trust a sub, let alone the students alone in his woodshop. When he retired, he had well over a year’s worth of unused sick days that he was able to cash out.

He joined the US Navy at the age of 17 after the prompting of a Boy Scout leader, because of his age, he had to have his parents sign off on him enlisting as a minor. He was stationed on the USS Rich and spent time across the globe, but his most notable events were his time spent at Guantanamo Bay during the Cuban Missile Crisis.

After his service in the U.S. Navy, he moved back closer to his parents, who were in South Carolina then, and my dad used his GI Bill to attend Anderson College which is now known as Anderson University. He worked to pursue a degree in education as well as pursue the heart of a beautiful young local named Frances Jane Wood. My dad followed my mom all the way to Appalachian State University when she transferred to complete her degree. Mixed in this extended time frame between Boone, NC, Charleston, SC, and Jacksonville, FL, my mom and dad were married, both finished master’s degrees at Appalachian State, and had their first child, Jan.

Understanding my dad and his impact on people could be summarized as an educator at heart. He was an avid “doer”. He did not idle well at any age. He enjoyed teaching. It was not always teaching the safety, the skill, or the art of woodworking that he enjoyed sharing, but often it was little random life lessons or random facts that he would share. But to be fair to his trade, he did love to teach his craft. From the stories shared by his students it would include missing appendages, second chances, and stories of a craft that they still use today. They still hear my dad saying, “measure twice, cut once.” Even my own kids and nieces & nephews know the value of a good pair of leather gloves, eye protection, & hearing protection. For dancing on the edge of a fire pit, he sure was passionate about teaching safety. If you look up oxymoron in the dictionary, my dad teaching safety would be the example.

My dad did not rest well. When he wasn’t busy with his full-time job as a middle or high school teacher, he would then spend time as a 3-season coach between head coaching or assisting coaching for football, soccer, track, and even a stint in baseball & softball whenever there was a need–he was constantly invested at work. When something was falling apart at school, my dad was often the first to be called to help fix a situation. I sit and stare at my own ring of school keys and smile or grimace because this apple hasn’t fallen too far from the tree. The 10-hour days at school were not enough for my dad, he also was an active reservist for the Game and Freshwater Fish Commission, spending weekends or random afternoons relocating alligators out of neighborhood retention ponds, managing drunk hunters, or helping with hunter & boater education.

His Greatest Joys were his people, the outdoors, and helping.

Insatiable desire to pick a fight.

I would be remiss if I didn’t acknowledge my father’s favorite quote in his last few years, he would often say that he was being a “Smart Ass-tronaut”. My father was hard-nosed, short-tempered, and 100% smart ass. But he was never ill-willed. He would want the best for you, but he would be brutally honest if he didn’t agree with you. One of his great joys was “poking the bear”. He loved getting a good argument going whether he was right or wrong, and he loved watching his kids or grandkids lose their minds arguing with him. It took a while for me to figure his tactics out. It wasn’t till later that I started to turn the tables on him in arguments using his same tactics. I would use his own words and wisdom to change his tone. Whether I was arguing with him about his health, his relationship with his grandkids, or about politics. He seemed to listen better the louder and more cross I became. One of our last disagreements was when he started to “poke the bear” and brought up a recent headline about the mayor of Nashville who I voted for. I responded mildly to his questioning, and I told him that depends on what side of history you want to be a part of. I told him, “Dad, you taught me how to love and fight for kids, and I will do the same if someone comes for my kids!” I listed off various students by name that he made space for in sports and in class. Students he invested in and encouraged a bright future in education and community. He could not argue with the facts, and he agreed without disagreeing.

An End with a Future

My dad on the surface was not a religious man. He knew more verses than I could quote, but due to his insatiable desire to pick a fight he tended to keep himself out of the halls of church and spent more time admiring the work of our creator and the glory of the heavens. I often think of a quote from John Muir, “I would rather be in the mountains thinking about God, then in church thinking about the mountains.” I believe you could interchange the word often with anything outdoors be it the mountains, the woods, the marsh, the river, the beach, or the ocean and that would be my dad. He loved the outdoors, and he knew his Creator. He would acknowledge moments of not ready, but he longed for a reunion above. My last Christmas gift was going to be a book called “Theo of Golden”. There were too many themes in that book that followed a template of my dad’s story. My dad walked the beaches between Neptune, Atlantic, Jax, & Ponte Vedra after the passing of my mom. He would rise before dawn, with his bag of day-old bread, birdseed, or cat food and walk the beaches, taking sunrise pictures and feeding the birds, picking up trash, and starting conversations with strangers on the beach. He made new friends and made many reconnections with old students and old friends from his walks on the beach. He visited art galleries and shared with me so many stories of new friends he had made. In the past week, these random encounters have reached out to me or my siblings telling us impactful stories of my dad and how he helped or assisted. How he helped a struggling family with a meal or took a homeless person to the Salvation Army to help him get what he needed. His acts of service were there, and they were often quiet.

Auld lang Syne

There is no better way to say goodbye to my father than the tune of Auld lang Syne. A Scottish verse not just for new years, but for remembering and toasting those who have passed by. Literally, “Auld Lang Syne” translates from Scots to “old long since” or “old long ago,” but its deeper meaning is “for old times’ sake,” or “days gone by,” referring to cherished past memories, friendship, and shared history.

Please remember the good, remember the hard, and share the story.

2 Corinthians 4:16 So we do not lose heart. Though our self is wasting away, our inner self is being renewed day by day.

With a new year and a new season without my dad here, please sing a verse or 2 of Auld Lang syne together.

Should auld acquaintance be forgot,

And never brought to mind?

Should auld acquaintance be forgot,

And auld lang syne!

Chorus:

For auld lang syne, my dear,

For auld lang syne.

We’ll take a cup o’ kindness yet,

For auld lang syne.