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Bruce Haynes
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Bruce Wayne Haynes, 75, passed away on February 16, 2025. Born on May 29, 1949, in Millinocket, Maine, to James and Margaret Haynes, he is survived by his wife Maureen, daughter Claire (Mike) and grandchildren Lindsay and Cormac, stepchildren Dylan, Kate (Eric), Tyler, and Kim (Zach), and his grandchildren Rowan, Brodie, Matilda, Olivia, and Brooklyn. He was also deeply loved by numerous family members and friends.
Bruce served in the Vietnam War with the 5th Special Forces and later in the Airborne Reserves. He earned degrees in history and public administration from Virginia Commonwealth University and worked for the State of Virginia, retiring as Executive Secretary of the Virginia Compensation Board. From 1980 to 1996, he served as council member, mayor, and vice mayor of Ashland, VA. A man of many passions, Bruce enjoyed farming, woodworking, and exploring history. He loved engaging with people, sharing stories, and organizing Model A car drives. He had a special affection for turtles and rescue dogs, and in his honor, donations can be made to the Box Turtle Sanctuary or a local animal shelter.
A gathering for family and friends will be held on Saturday, February 22, 2025, from 2 to 3 p.m., at Woody Funeral Home, Atlee Chapel, 9271 Shady Grove Rd, Mechanicsville, VA. A time for sharing memories will begin at 3:00 p.m. Casual attire is requested
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Craig Sirles
I am deeply saddened to learn about the death of my classmate and friend Bruce Haynes. On Feb 14th he posted a beautiful photo of wife Maureen on FB, and two days later he was gone. Bruce and I saw each other at the HHS 50th reunion in 2017 but really reconnected at the 70th birthday bash two years later.
There is an unmistakable fellowship that Army veterans, and probably veterans from other branches, of the Vietnam era seem to share. For those of us who grew up in Richmond, it all began on the top floor of the old post office building on E. Main St., where we were inducted and then sent off to basic training, and it didn’t matter where you did Basic–Fort Jackson, GA; Fort Polk, LA; Fort Campbell, KY; Fort Leonard Wood, MO; Fort Lewis, WA–the experiences were identical: same "white walls" haircut; same Jody marching chants; same banging on a garbage-can lid to roust you from your bunk at 4:30 am each morning; same scalding hot water if you had back sink for KP; same roach coach that came by the barracks at day’s end to sell you a Coke or candy bar, the only treats allowed in Basic; same DI’s yelling at you from two inches away while peppering their messages with words I’d never heard before but could figure out (guaran-goddamn-tee is one of the few suitable in polite company).
Bruce and I were both posted, at different times, at Fort Bragg, a sprawling Army complex near Fayetteville, NC (back then referred to as Fayettenam). Bragg had the 82nd Airborne and Special Forces. Bragg wore spit-shined Corcoran jump boots and teemed with oversexed young men strutting about in triple-starched OD fatigues and French-style brimless headgear worn at jaunty angles. Bragg had the Strac Lounge and the Chute Club. But what Bragg really had was testosterone! These were the shared experiences that first bonded Bruce and me when we reconnected at HHS reunions (though, admittedly, my testosteronic levels fell far short of those lads' who wore berets).
Bruce was a small-batch farmer, growing cukes, lettuces, maters, and maize in the rich soil of Hanover County, and during the summer months he and Maureen would set up a booth each Saturday at the Ashland Farmer’s Market to sell produce that mere hours earlier had still been on the vine.
Bruce was a jalopy guy but not just any jalopy: he had a stable of Model A Fords that dated back 95 years, and they were in better mechanical condition than the beaters many of us drive today. Bruce knew a flathead from an OHV, a sliding-gear manual from a synchronized trans, magneto-powered ignition from lossy coil and battery. One of the Model A’s Bruce owned was similar to a getaway vehicle used by John Dillinger to outrun the feds back in the early 1930s, and Bruce would regularly organize cruises with fellow vintage jalopy owners, sometimes to locales as far away as Williamsburg.
The French have an expression “Ici on mange bien” (roughly translated “You get good food here”), and the Haynes household served up down-home Virginia victuals: on this past New Year’s Day, hog jowls, black-eyed peas, collards, and stewed tomatoes were on the menu. Forget Applebee’s: this is eatin’ good in the neighborhood!
Maureen, my sincerest condolences. Bruce, we’re going to miss you. Requiescat en pace.