Fredric Smith “Fred” or “Freddie” Ballard, born July 15, 1942, died October 26, 2026, in Bolivia, NC.

A native of Pulaski, Virginia, Fred was the youngest of seven children of Smith Ballard and Thelma Elizabeth Sansom Ballard. His siblings were Nina Dee, Irene, Betty Jo, Carl, Jane Ann and Billie Ruth. Growing up the youngest, with five older sisters doting on him, Freddie didn’t have a chance for a normal life.

His father was a lumber mill inspector who later went into the moonshine business, but “learned to love the shine more than the work.” In this respect, Fred took after his dad.

His mother was head of the children’s department at Belk’s in Pulaski. Thelma worked long hours, put everyone else first and loved Jesus Christ. She was the center of the family’s world. They were poor, but Fred never doubted that they were loved.

Freddie adored his mama, although he had considerably less enthusiasm for Sunday school, especially when she made him trade his leather Lone Ranger jacket and jeans for his Sunday best, which he considered a serious downgrade. One lesson of hers stayed with him: “Son, there is good in everybody. Sometimes you have to look a little deeper.”

Childhood meant Sunday evenings gathered around the radio, cowboy movies and the Three Stooges at the Dalton Theater, and bicycle trips to Claytor Lake, fourteen miles away, to fish all day, and then, regrettably, fourteen miles back.

There was work, too. Fred painted his mother’s house so many times that he claimed the rough plaster walls were smooth by the time he left home. He earned spending money mowing lawns with a mower powered entirely by Freddie. After half a day’s work for two dollars, he promised himself that one day he would no longer cut grass. That day did come.

Fred’s lifelong love of sports began with baseball. In Little League, he played shortstop and never forgot the joy of hitting a game-winning home run.

By high school, his interests were girls, girls and football. Academics received less attention. As a freshman, he was thrilled to be moved up from junior varsity to varsity. By sophomore year, he had earned a first-team spot, his letter and the monogram jacket he had dreamed of. He went on to become team captain and Most Valuable Player, keeping the trophy for the rest of his life.

Fred graduated from Pulaski High School in 1961. He moved to Richmond, Virginia, and took a factory job. It didn’t take long to decide that college deserved a try. He enrolled at East Tennessee State College.

At ETSU, Fred joined the Sigma Alpha Epsilon fraternity. Dating was limited by money, no car and an apparent shortage of pretty girls without boyfriends. Then one day, Anna Maria Jorgensen walked past him at the student grill and smiled. After Anna broke up with her boyfriend, Fred gave her his fraternity pin.

Lack of money nearly ended Fred’s college education more than once. When he wrote home for help, his father sent three one-dollar bills. Fred sat on the post office steps and cried, knowing his dad had sent the only three dollars he had.

Another time, broke and ready to leave school, Fred asked the dean to unlock the dorm so he could pack. Instead, the dean sent him off for breakfast and a couple of beers, then found him a $200 student loan. Recently, Thelma had helped one of Fred’s friends, saying she hoped someone would do the same if her son ever needed it. “Mama knew her s***,” Fred concluded.

When money ran short again, Fred faced leaving college—and Anna. Their friend Sharon suggested they get married. With sixty dollars to his name, he considered this an excellent plan. On the way to Boone, North Carolina, their car slid into a snowbank. No damage, so they kept driving. At the courthouse, the clerk refused to issue a license without Anna’s birth certificate. Having missed fate’s hints, they returned with the birth certificate and married in 1964.

Not long after they married, Fred was drafted. Anna waited in the car while he carried a doctor’s note about existing lung problems from one examiner to the next, each declaring him fit to serve. Finally, he reached a man who told him, “Son, I have four minutes left before I retire. If you don’t want to go, I’m not going to send you.” Fred went home with Anna.

He graduated in 1968 with a Bachelor of Science in History.

In February 1971, Fred joined Butte Knit in Spartanburg, South Carolina, where he became the dyehouse manager. His daughter, Eena, was born on August 15, 1972.

Fatherhood brought beach trips to Litchfield, bicycle lessons and a Sears swing set that nearly defeated him during assembly. One year, Fred dressed as Wolfman Jack, with family and friends as his Howlers, for the Pawleys Island Fourth of July parade.

Butte Knit closed in 1981, ending Fred’s time at the mill. His marriage to Anna also ended in divorce.

Fred later moved to Davidson, North Carolina, where he took up photography and displayed large, framed prints he made of the National D-Day Memorial. His most treasured photograph, though, was a portrait he took of his daughter, Eena, sitting at his bar. He loved her more than anything and was immensely proud of her. The portrait hung in his nursing home room, where anyone who asked about it gave him a welcome opportunity to tell them how beautiful she was, inside and out.

After Davidson, Fred lived in Sunset Beach, Little River and then Myrtle Beach before moving to Bolivia, NC. Over the years, he sold fluorescent light bulbs and decorative light panels, maintained pools, parked cars and tried his hand at starting a glass-cleaning business. He especially loved his years at his Myrtle Beach apartment complex, Cobblestone, where he made many dear friends—including Frankie Crolley and Marcy Henry, who met through Fred, fell in love and married.

Fred loved golf, a good meal out—often grouper—cold beer, vodka and music played as loudly as his neighbors would tolerate, sometimes louder. He once jabbed a waiter with his fork for trying to take his plate before he was finished.

On the golf course, when an impatient player asked to play through, Fred replied, “You sure can. I’ve got the rest of my life.” The two became friends.

Vascular disease eventually cost Fred both legs, but his sense of humor survived intact. During his final hospital stay, he explained his injuries by saying he had been in a machete fight—and was the only one without a machete.

Fred adored his grandson, Murray, who is autistic. They loved talking on the phone, with Fred greeting him in his unmistakable voice: “Hey, buddy. How you been doing?” Murray does a wonderful impression of his Papa Fred.

Fred could be stubborn, irreverent and very funny. He gave the people who loved him plenty of stories to tell, and he left his daughter a journal full of his own. He was Thelma’s baby boy, Eena’s daddy and Murray’s Papa Fred.

Fred was preceded in death by his parents and all six of his siblings. He is survived by his daughter, Eena Ballard, and his grandson, Murray Taylor, both of Madison, Wisconsin.

No formal service is planned. Friends and family are invited to share their favorite story of Freddie below.

In lieu of flowers, please consider a donation to Lower Cape Fear LifeCare https://lifecare.org/get-involved/ways-to-give/donate/, or simply listen to Kris Kristofferson’s “Why Me Lord” (https://open.spotify.com/track/5ef1nE4FJKGo6SD9MlexLe?si=f900f6cc2308413d&nd=1&dlsi=cfe6cb20429b4948) —a song Fred sang in the hospital near the end of his life—and think of him.

Michael J Fulwood Funeral & Cremation Service