Brian Keith Woodard

Brian Keith Woodard, 66, of Palestine, IL, passed away on September 27, 2026, in the comfort of his home. He was born on June 19, 1960, in Effingham, IL, and after a short stretch in Newton, he spent most of his boyhood in Robinson. It was a childhood short on extras. There was no television in the house for the first several years, but there were guitars, and the Woodard kids filled the quiet with music. One Christmas, they each unwrapped a basketball, only to discover there was no hoop to shoot at, so they built one. It was an early lesson Brian never forgot: whatever he wanted in life, he'd have to build with his own two hands.

So he got to building. He left school early, set on making something of himself, and followed his sister to Texas. The stay was brief, just long enough to put a plumber's tools in his hands and show him what those hands could do. As it turned out, plumbing was just one of many trades he'd master. Whatever needed doing, Brian could wire it, build it, or fix it, and if he'd never done it before, he'd figure it out.

When Texas had served its purpose, he came back home and found his footing at Tempco, giving the company more than 30 years. Otie Electric and Illiana Core—his last stop—would round out his working life, but Tempco would always hold a special place in his story. After all, that's where a certain young woman caught his eye. (Or, if you let Brian tell it, where he caught hers.) Whoever did the flirting, it worked. Brian and Janice Hargis were married on June 12, 1987, and together, they built a family and a home.

Clocking out at work only meant clocking in at the house. He came home each day to a yard he kept immaculate and a garden that was the envy of anyone who saw it. The kids were mostly spared from outdoor chores, which wasn't a kindness so much as quality control. Brian had a standard all his own, and his family came to call it "Brian Perfect." When he finally left Illiana Core, he turned that same standard onto the house and spent his days remodeling it. He brought that same standard to other people's projects, too. If you needed help, he'd show up with tools in hand and wouldn't leave until it was right. And if he saw you settle for less, let's just say he wasn't particularly shy about letting you know.

For all his hard work, Brian knew how to enjoy himself, and nothing did it for him quite like coon hunting. It was a passion that began with his father and grew into a lifelong pursuit shared with a group of guys who loved it as much as he did. Brian felt most alive out in the dark of the woods, listening to the dogs sound off up ahead. Those dogs were his pride and joy. He had several through the years—Sassy and Bo being the last—and the bond he shared with each of them was something special. (Some in the family wonder—only half-jokingly—where they themselves ranked by comparison.)

When he wasn't in the woods, Brian could often be found on the Embarras River, netting catfish. Fried catfish was his go-to meal, though his part ended the moment the fish hit the bank. For a man who was willing and able to do just about anything, frying fish was one job he was glad to hand off. The garden was a different story. Every bit of it was his, from planting to picking, and it gave back generously. He grew tomatoes, corn, and radishes (which he especially enjoyed), and there was always plenty to share with anyone who wanted some. But the first picking of corn never made it to the kitchen. Brian would stand right there in the middle of the garden and eat it raw. "I like it better this way," he'd say, as if that settled it. For Brian, it usually did.

Ask anyone who knew him to describe him, and "stubborn" is likely the first word out of their mouth, with "hard-headed" close behind. He was impatient, too. If something needed doing, it needed doing now. He was particular about how things were done and never hesitated to call something "stupid" if he thought it was. He was rough around the edges, and the way he used his voice only added to the effect.

The grandkids, though, heard a different Brian. They rarely, if ever, heard him raise his voice, and he was far gentler with them than he had been with their parents. He was proud of all of them, grandchildren and stepgrandchildren alike. His grandkids lived far away, but he never missed a chance to show up for his stepgrandkids' events. And when he was babysitting, the Red Wing scooters came out, and off they'd go on another adventure together. The truth was, his voice had always made him sound rougher than his heart. Beneath the gruff exterior was a heart of gold, and more often than not, it spoke through what he did rather than what he said. Once he discovered Amazon, he started buying Janice hummingbird feeders. She loved watching the birds, and he wanted her to have something beautiful to watch and appreciate.

While Janice watched her hummingbirds, Brian had his own favorites to watch. After a debilitating stroke slowed him down, the television kept him company. Grit was his constant companion, playing one Western after another. Anything with John Wayne was a sure bet, and lately he'd gotten hooked on Yellowstone too. But mornings were for "Let's Make a Deal" and "The Price is Right." It's a little ironic, really. Brian could happily watch strangers go wild over prizes, but try giving him something, and you'd be lucky to get a smile. Gifts just weren't his thing. Brian was hard to buy for, mostly because he'd already bought whatever he wanted, and sometimes he found creative ways to get it. (The .22 he bought for his son, for instance, was really for himself.) Hand him a gift, and he wouldn't look excited. Hand him a bag of Dilly Bars, though, and he lit right up. So Dilly Bars it was.

The gift that cracked that tough exterior, though, had been a long time coming. As a little boy, Brian wanted a sock monkey more than anything. Instead, he got a doll, which he promptly beat against a tree until its head came off. Years later, Janice finally gave him one, and the little boy who'd waited all that time came right to the surface. He lit up like Christmas morning. That sock monkey went everywhere with him from then on, motorcycle rides included.

Brian spent a lifetime being hard to impress with gifts. It probably never occurred to him that he himself was one. He didn't come wrapped in anything fancy. He came with rough edges and a stubborn streak a mile wide. But underneath it all was a man who spent his life showing up to make the lives of the people around him better. That was the gift they were given in him, and just as he did with that sock monkey, his family will carry him with them everywhere they go.

He is survived by his wife of 39 years, Janice Woodard; his son, Nicholas Woodard; his stepdaughters, Nikki (Jeff) Craig and Joy (Travis) Miller; his grandchildren, Madison Woodard, Landon Woodard, Addie Jo (Cole) Keeler, Logan (Carly) Miller, Cade (Jillian) Fulling, and Chloe Fulling; his great-grandchildren, Eden, Emrey, Elijah, Kyran, Alex, Larson, and Noa; his brothers, Mike (Diane) Woodard and Mark Woodard; his sister-in-law, Sharon Price; and several nieces and nephews. He was preceded in death by his parents, Maynard & Kaye (Matson) Woodard; his sister, Deborah Hoyt; and his granddaughter, Skylar Gower.

A graveside service officiated by Celebrant Curt Goodwine will be held at 3:00 p.m. on Wednesday, September 30th, at the Christian Chapel Cemetery (rural Falmouth, IL). The Goodwine Funeral Home in Palestine is assisting the family at this time.