In Memory of Senator David Bradley

Originally written February 24, 2022.
"Let us lower our voices, let the clever and flippant remarks yield to the thoughtful and the discerning ones, let's put our heads and hearts together to formulate a budget that raises people up, for beyond these walls, there are lives to be saved. There is work to be done. The young, and the old, the infirm, await our decisions."

That was a prayer by the late State Senator David Bradley, who passed away on Saturday morning of Feb 19, 2022. That was during the daily opening prayer of the senate session. Here was a man whose mission permeated everything he did and not once wavered, even his very prayer.

It's been 6 months since I last wrote on this blog. And it was not for lack of actual writing. Several blog posts were written but never made it here. My wife and I would see whether it was advancing our organization and speaking the mission and vision that we stood for. And if we doubted that it did, we simply did not post it. If there is one thing that Senator Bradley taught me, it was this intentionality and thoughtfulness on every action. "Don't just make statements for the sake of making a statement," he once said to me, "every word should be focused on how this would impact those we serve."

And this is how he lived his life - from leading La Paloma to working in La Frontera to becoming an elected official who fought for children, families, and victims of abuse. Drawing from his own life experience and childhood trauma, he used that as the personal fuel for his life's calling.

He often talked about finding a way to keep the ship afloat after his experience of abuse as an adolescent. And how he wanted to help others do the same. And that he did. For many of us who knew him, he helped us build our ships so that we could stay afloat.

To someone like me who lived with an abusive father, he was more than just a board chair or an advocate. He was an inspiration and a father figure. And unlike many experts out there, he never just gave advice; he always listened. And often gave the platform to me, a naive upstart, insignificant compared to the many accolades Senator Bradley has already achieved in his life.

But that's who he is. He wanted others to be greater than him. He wanted others to use his achievements as a stepping stone.

I'll never forget the first time we got to share a platform together at a fundraiser. He prepped me and told me that all I had to do was talk about our work the way I talked about it with him, and the rest would follow. I was nervous, sweating, and no matter what I did, a voice in my head always said I was never good enough.

But not that day. As I did my presentation, I kept glancing at him, and he gave me this approving nod and smile that I came to look for whenever he was present in my speeches for years to come. After my presentation, he came up next. The crowd knew who he was and they respected his very presence. He told them he could not possibly follow my act.

He was lying, of course. He was a master orator. He was a poet that didn't need to use grandiose vocabulary. But the way he arranged his words made everyone feel the weight of the passion and purpose behind everything he said. I watched him put the entire crowd to tears in less than a minute. Something that took me 5 whole minutes; he closed out in a minute.

And yet, after the presentation, when people began to flock to him, he pointed them to me. He elevated me, and during our lunch, he sang praises about this upstart young man who was in his 20s doing things that made it sound like I was something extraordinary.

For a day, all the self-doubt and loud voice from my abusive childhood that screamed in my solitude were drowned out. And from that point on, I knew, whenever I needed to quiet the loud doubts in my mind, I just needed to call Senator David Bradley.

Perhaps he saw the darkness in me and knew that a thin line separates me from being who I am now and who I could have been, having experienced so much abuse. Or perhaps he simply saw the good in people and sought to support that. Or maybe, he simply believed that our mission aligned, and he wanted to mentor the next generation to move the torch forward. After all, this is a marathon, and he knew that too well.

Whatever the reason was, he always believed in me more than I believed in myself. And this, I found out, is an experience many have had with him.

He made me laugh many times. He had jokes for many things. Stories upon stories. He would cross his arms together, put his finger on his lips, and have this mischievous grin. Once he did that, I knew I had to brace myself for some wild story or joke about the situation we were discussing. He had that famous smile. A smile that I now miss.

Senator Bradley was more than just a board chair for me. He was an inspiration, one of my few father figures, and someone I desire to be.

I will never forget his words when I first heard he had cancer -"you have great work to do, and I know you will rise to it. I love you." He thought of his life's mission and sought to lift me up even in his pain. And towards the end of his life, he still figured out ways to support our work and fight for the underserved communities.

If you never had a chance to meet him, don't worry. It's easy to know him. Look around Arizona, and if there is good work happening for the sake of children and families, chances are, you are looking at his legacy. If there is a group of people elevating underserved communities, chances are, he inspired those people. Any work in early childhood, education, or bridging gaps caused by poverty and trauma, chances are, you are looking at the policies he helped enact, people he supported, and leaders he mentored.

So when we heard he had passed away, it was devastating. Even though we knew for months about the cancer and knew how hopeless it would be, we still could not embrace the idea that his smile, his ability to lift us up, and most importantly, the man he is, was gone.

And while his life mission lives on with many of us, it is hard to accept that this captain has sailed his ship for the last time. As his daughter Brooke wrote, "My father loved poetry, and one of his favorites was Whitman's O Captain! My Captain! A poem fitting for the passing of a legend, my Dad was nothing short of a champion for children and other vulnerable communities throughout his long career as a public servant."

Indeed, David Bradley was a legendary captain for many of us in this work. I can only hope to live my life with the same dedication and perseverance to the mission that he lived to his dying breath.

"O Captain! my Captain! rise up and hear the bells; Rise up- for you the flag is flung- for you the bugle trills, For you bouquets and ribbon'd wreaths- for you the shores a-crowding, For you they call, the swaying mass, their eager faces turning; Here Captain! dear father! This arm beneath your head! It is some dream that on the deck, You've fallen cold and dead."