William Thomas (Tom) Girard

Born on October 18, 1946

Departed on December 25, 2014 and resided in Goodlettsville, TN

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William T. (Tom or Tommy) Girard, 68 passed away on December 25th 2014. He was preceded in death by his father and mother, William E. Girard and Judith B. Girard. He is survived by his wife, Jannette B. Girard, his son, John Jason Girard and his fiancée Elyse Lovelace, his brother, George E. Girard and other family members.
A Veteran of Vietnam and Desert Storm, he retired from the Army as a Chief Warrant Officer Three (CW3). He retired from the federal government with 27 years of total service in 1996 and from state government in 2009.
A native of Nashville he attended public schools graduating from West End High School, class of 1964. He also attended Belmont College. He earned his Bachelor’s degree while on active duty military. He was a member of the Church of Christ. A private graveside service will be held. In lieu of flowers, please make a donation to St. Jude’s Children’s Hospital or the Nashville Humane Association.

One Comment to William Thomas (Tom) Girard

  1. John Alexander
    December 29, 2014 12:40 pm

    Tom was not only my comrade in arms, but a friend like no other. Rest easy, brother, your duty is done.

    (‘Brother Square-Toes’—Rewards and Fairies)

    If you can keep your head when all about you
    Are losing theirs and blaming it on you,
    If you can trust yourself when all men doubt you,
    But make allowance for their doubting too;
    If you can wait and not be tired by waiting,
    Or being lied about, don’t deal in lies,
    Or being hated, don’t give way to hating,
    And yet don’t look too good, nor talk too wise:

    If you can dream—and not make dreams your master;
    If you can think—and not make thoughts your aim;
    If you can meet with Triumph and Disaster
    And treat those two impostors just the same;
    If you can bear to hear the truth you’ve spoken
    Twisted by knaves to make a trap for fools,
    Or watch the things you gave your life to, broken,
    And stoop and build ’em up with worn-out tools:

    If you can make one heap of all your winnings
    And risk it on one turn of pitch-and-toss,
    And lose, and start again at your beginnings
    And never breathe a word about your loss;
    If you can force your heart and nerve and sinew
    To serve your turn long after they are gone,
    And so hold on when there is nothing in you
    Except the Will which says to them: ‘Hold on!’

    If you can talk with crowds and keep your virtue,
    Or walk with Kings—nor lose the common touch,
    If neither foes nor loving friends can hurt you,
    If all men count with you, but none too much;
    If you can fill the unforgiving minute
    With sixty seconds’ worth of distance run,
    Yours is the Earth and everything that’s in it,
    And—which is more—you’ll be a Man, my son!

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