Friends
I am offering something a bit different today. This is the tribute I shared about my father at his funeral on September 29th. You have read a lot about my father over the years, but this is his story, and for those that didn’t get to hear it, I wanted you to know the story. He was a remarkable man and a wonderful Daddy!
COL Joe W. Peden, USAR, retired
“Did you ever know that you’re my hero,
And everything I would like to be?
I can fly higher than an eagle,
For you are the wind beneath my wings.”
-Bette Midler, Wind Beneath My Wings, 1988
My Daddy was my hero, the wind beneath my wings. I am definitely a Daddy’s girl, and as far as I was concerned, my Dad hung the moon. To me, he was always larger than life, so handsome, standing tall in his Army fatigues, jump boots polished to a spit-shine, Green Beret perched just so over his neat Army crew-cut. Those magnificent baby blue eyes, still gorgeous even at 89, could melt your heart. He had such a witty sense of humor, and that mile-wide grin and outrageous laugh could light up a room.
Stand Strong
Joe was tough as nails. He was a career Army man through and through, but his toughness had its roots in the fields of that small farm near Fork Shoals, SC. He was the son of a hard-working cotton farmer and a serious-minded schoolteacher. He and his two much beloved brothers learned the meaning of hard work early, plowing fields, picking cotton, milking dairy cows, and caring for livestock. But it wasn’t all work and no play, because those Peden Boys knew how to have fun too. Dad used to say, “We grew up poor, but we didn’t know it, because everyone else was poor too.”
When he graduated from Furman University in 1958, he entered the US Army as a Second Lieutenant, having completed Army ROTC. After two years of active-duty service, he came home to Pelzer, SC intent on becoming a teacher. But after a couple of years, he returned to Army life, declaring that getting shot at was easier than teaching middle school boys.
Joe excelled in the Army, climbing through the ranks, eventually retiring with 30 years of military service as a full Colonel. Joe began as an infantrymen. He was soon selected for jump school, became an infantry paratrooper, and then later, received the honor of being selected for Special Forces training. Joe would tell you that his pinnacle of achievement was the day he earned his Green Beret. He shared recently that his days in the 8th Special Forces were some of the best times of his military career. In discussing the Green Berets, he said, “I always wondered if I could do it, if I was tough enough, if I could handle it. I proved it to myself when I made the cut. I proved it again in Vietnam. When everything was going haywire around me, I stayed just as cool and steady.”
Airborne all the way, giving up was not in his DNA. When he suffered his first heart attack at the age of 44, and a second one four years later, he battled his way back both times, committing wholeheartedly to Cardiac Rehab. For the next 35 years, he maintained near perfect health until heart failure hit him in 2016 and Parkinson’s showed up in 2019, both likely the result of Agent Orange exposure in Vietnam. Still, he marched on, keeping up his exercise, continuing on with life despite his limitations. He rarely complained, choosing instead to make the best out of every day. In a word, Joe was resilient, taking the hard knocks of life in stride, and soldiering on.
Family First
Army life was tough, taking him far away for long stretches of time. Yet, when he was home, he was home. Mama and I were the center of his world, and we were always his first priority.
My mother Pat was the love of his life. He was smitten from the first time he saw her at the burger joint up at the Ware Place. Theirs was a 70-year love affair, married for nearly 68 years, and Joe never wanted anything else except to have Pat by his side, and that’s exactly where my mother wanted to be. Mama had the choice of staying back home in Pelzer when Dad took off for his temporary tours of duty. It would have been easier, but she would have none of it, choosing instead to pack up and follow him everywhere the Army allowed her to go, to the tune of 29 moves in the span of 18 years. From apartments, to rental houses, to Army quarters, and even a camper with a Murphy bed one time, she didn’t bat an eye as she made each house a home, and my Daddy adored her for it. In June, after being separated for four weeks with a hospital and Rehab stay, my father said, “It’s so good to be back home with your Mama. I’m surprised, because we are as much in love now as we ever have been.”
My parents’ marriage was a living testimony of love, faithfulness, and commitment. When Dad’s health began to decline in July of 2025, my mother decided that maybe it was time to move closer to me and get more help in the home. As she was helping shave my Dad in the hospital, she broached the subject, “Joe, I think it’s time we moved to Twin Lakes.”
Dad looked directly into her eyes and tenderly offered, “Doll, I got orders, and you packed up and followed me all over the world. If you think it’s time to go to Twin Lakes, I’ll follow you this time.”
Dad missed a lot of my childhood, thanks to the demands of the US Army, but he made the most of every moment he got to spend with me. We played, and laughed, and talked, and sang together. For all my life, he was my teacher, showing me how to do everything from riding a bike without training wheels, to playing baseball so I wouldn’t get picked on in PE class, to driving a stick shift in a ‘62 VW Bug.
When I was 13, Dad bought a Yamaha 100 motorcycle, against my mother’s wishes, I might add, because he wanted something for him and me to do together. Many evenings and every Saturday, Dad and I would ride off to experience the twists and turns of some curvy highway. With every ride, there was the moment when we would pull off to the side of the road, shrug off our helmets, lean back against the bike, and have ourselves a father-daughter chat. We talked about everything from history, to family stories, to the inevitable question of how school was going, and in all of it, he was teaching.
He was a stickler too. If you were going to learn to do something, you were going to learn to do it right. When I wanted to learn to drive the motorcycle, he made me practice letting out the clutch a thousand times. I couldn’t drive it solo until I got it perfect, with him saying, “No daughter of mine is gonna drive a motorcycle until she’s ready. I’m not gonna let you get hurt.” I did learn to drive that Yamaha, and later, his Honda 350, and he was proud of that.
Those motorcycle adventures were the start of what he affectionately called “our father-daughter days.” Periodically, he would carve out a day for us to spend some one-on-one time together to have some fun and explore a new place. We kept that tradition up for decades, long after I was married. While those little retreats were full of fun, they were also about building a firm foundation of trust, respect, and self-esteem. When things weren’t going well at school, he would tell me I was smart, that I could do anything I set my mind to, and be anything I wanted to be.
On one of those father-daughter days in my early 20s, I remember complaining about the unfairness of my nursing work requirements. Dad listened for a bit and then shared a story about one of his sergeants. A young private was complaining about a task he was required to do. The sergeant looked at him, “Son, did you say you’d work for that amount of money?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Did the Army pay you at the end of the week?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Well then, you’re even. They don’t owe you nothing.”
Daddy turned those brilliant blue eyes on me and smiled, “They paid you. You’re even.” I got the message. I went back to work with renewed resolve.
Dad had the gift of wisdom and discernment, and he had a way of putting things in perspective. I soaked up his life lessons like a sponge, knowing that my success and happiness were his top priority.
After completing his active-duty service, we moved back home to Pelzer, thinking we were settled there for life. We had only been there eighteen months when Dad was offered an excellent civil service job with exceptional benefits in Richmond, Virginia. Instead of immediately accepting the offer, he called a family meeting, spending time explaining the position, as well as its pros and cons. Then he poised those baby blue eyes right on my face, and said, “It’s a good deal for me, but your Mama and I have talked, and we feel its not fair to you. Doll, I’ve dragged you around all over the world, from one school to the next. It’s gonna be your senior year, and we don’t think it’s fair to move you again so we wanted to talk to you about it first. It’s up to you.”
Dad was serious. He would have turned down that incredible job opportunity for my sake. That’s how much my happiness meant to him. I remember pausing for a minute or two to think it over, but I actually knew immediately what my answer would be. “Oh Daddy, this is a great deal for you, and it would help you and Mama a lot. I’ve done been to 24 schools. What’s one more? Let’s go to Richmond.”
Richmond turned out to be the right move, because Dad later became the senior administrator over all of the 80th Army Reserve Division, serving Virginia, West Virginia, and Maryland, and he had an incredible second career there. But there is another reason that the move to Richmond was important, and it had to do with the handsome 16-year-old football player that showed up in our driveway. I knew Daddy liked Eric from the start, because he didn’t run him off from the get-go. Before I knew it, Dad was teaching Eric car maintenance and staying up late with him to watch football or some old war movie. Dad finally had a guy to hang out with, and boy, did they have fun together over the years.
It was my father who took Eric to his first NASCAR race, and Eric was hooked from the first lap. Thus began a 25-year fascination with racing with the two of them attending several races per year, and later bringing his grandson Jonathan along to join in the fun. The three of them had a blast together.
Eric admired my father all his life, and Dad was as much of a father to him as his own. Dad taught Eric what it means to be a good man, a lesson Eric learned well. In these last years, Eric honored my father by taking on so much responsibility for his care, finances, and transportation. Dad shared many times how much he appreciated all Eric did for him, paying him the highest of compliments when he told me, “You married well.”
If I was the apple of my Daddy’s eye, then his grandson Jonathan was the sun, the moon, and the stars. My Daddy was smitten with that boy from the first time he held him in his arms. To say he spoiled him is an understatement. If Jonathan asked, “Grandaddy, can you ride me on your shoulders?” or “Grandaddy, can we get a biscuit?” The answer was invariably “Sure, sport!” Whatever Jonathan wanted to do, Grandaddy made it happen.
Grandaddy loved spoiling Jonathan with anything, and everything, from Biscuitville biscuits, to the bright yellow front loader riding toy called Caterpeg that Jonathan wore the wheels off of, to the hundreds of tennis shoes that covered his feet over the years, to the annual pile of presents under the Christmas tree. Grandaddy couldn’t wait to open up gifts on Christmas morning, and even as late as High school, he always wanted to be sure the two of them had something to play with. Later, he switched to cash, saying, “Every boy needs a little walking around money in his pocket!”
It’s hard to say who enjoyed the NASCAR races more. When Eric and my father took Jonathan to the 1998 NASCAR Cup race at Rockingham, Dad couldn’t believe how well-behaved Jonathan had been, and asked his grandson, “Jonathan, you’ve been so good today. Why you been so good?”
Without batting an eye, seven-year-old Jonathan blurted out, “Cause I wanna come back!” My father just howled with laughter!
Grandaddy didn’t just play with Jonathan, but he taught him everything from target shooting, to letting out the clutch smoothly in the little truck he helped him buy, to becoming a good man. Like his father before him, Grandaddy never lacked for a good story that could evoke a laugh or teach a lesson, and Jonathan hung on his every word.
Jonathan was the bright spot in my father’s life, and no grandfather ever loved a grandson more. The feeling was mutual. When his Grandaddy’s health declined in late August of 2025, Jonathan showed up from Montana to help care for him, and over the course of the next four months, he spent seven weeks as his primary caregiver. I was there, but Jonathan was in charge, and it was his encouragement and physical therapy that brought his grandfather back to life, allowing him to accomplish the unimaginable and graduate hospice. Their interactions were a precious sight to behold. For Grandaddy, the sun rose and set in Jonathan, and raising that boy was his life’s greatest joy!
Love, Laugh, Pray
Love
Joe was a man of war, but he was also a man of love. He loved his family fiercely, from his two beloved brothers to his brothers-in-law, sisters-in-law, nieces, nephews, and cousins. Not only did he revere his own parents, but he also adored my mother’s parents, considering them a bonus gift. No one could ask for a better son, brother, or uncle. He once told me, “Friends are great, but this is family, and family’s different.” Not only did he love all his family with his words and his positivity, he loved them with his actions, going the extra mile to help out both physically and financially, even when he didn’t have a lot himself. Joe was always thinking of others, his generosity extending to his friends, his neighbors, his church family, and even his troops.
Laugh
Joe’s sense of humor never left him. Even in his last days, he was still cracking jokes or casting out some witty remark. Just the other day, when the caregiver brought him his Levodopa for his Parkinson’s, he blurted out, “Ah, my birth control pills!” Joe loved to laugh, and better still, he loved to make YOU laugh. Joe believed the ups and downs of life are managed much better with a sense of humor, finding that when you approach a situation with a smile, things tend to work out. Joe’s laugh was infectious, and his joy, contagious.
Pray
Joe was a man of faith, a man of prayer. He didn’t just talk about faith, he lived it. His faith was an integral part of who he was. Church was always important, the Bible, precious.
After retiring and moving back to the family farm near Fork Shoals, SC, Joe returned to the church of his youth, Fairview Presbyterian Church, and for him, it was like coming home. For the next 35 years, Joe worked tirelessly to serve his congregation as the church treasurer, a choir member, an adult Sunday School teacher, and an Elder on the Session, later receiving the honor of Elder Emeritus. Joe loved Fairview, and Fairview loved him back.
When we spoke of faith, I always had the feeling that God was real to my father, and there was a living, breathing relationship there. It was that relationship, that faith, that fueled his hope, and his unwavering hope saw him through some very dark and difficult days.
In the last few weeks before he died, Dad and I started singing the old hymns together. Even though his mind was struggling from the Parkinson’s, he could remember every word to every song. As he sang out those words with such absolute joy, the smile it brought to his face was priceless.
I know that not everyone gets a Daddy like Joe Peden, and I am forever grateful for every story, every laugh, every moment we shared together. It has been a privilege to be the daughter of so great a man. As we lay the fine gentleman that was COL Joe Walter Peden to rest, I will say one more time, “I love you, Daddy“and I know full well that from somewhere beyond the gates of eternity, he is speaking back to me the words we so often shared with one another, “There ain’t no love lost, Doll, there ain’t no love lost.”
Written by Anita Peden Sherer in honor of my father:
COL Joe W. Peden, USAR, retired
October 31,1936 – September 20, 2026
Spoken as a eulogy at his funeral on September 29, 2026, and at his memorial service on October 6, 2026.
-APS 10/19/2026
and spoken as a eulogy for her father at his funeral on September 29, 2026
