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Read more about the life story of Max and share your memory.
On Sunday, August 6th, 2023, as the clock approached noon, time momentarily paused as Max Pollitt’s bright shining soul shed the body that had become an earthly limitation, slipped the bonds of this world, and with his wife of 31 years at his side, crossed the ethereal finish line of this life. The hands that had slowly become idle in this world gently brushed aside the sawdust from a workbench in the next, a smile once again graced his face, bright eyes scanned a toolbox, and he began his work again.
Max was a son, a dad, a brother, a husband, a Pappaw, and a friend. He loved classic cars, auto racing, motorcycles, turning wrenches, greasy hands, guns, westerns, animals, big hugs, and especially his grandkids. He took incredible joy from being with his family, a family that he helped mold and shape over the decades. He touched the lives of far too many to mention, but those who knew him will never forget him. He will live forever in their memories and in their hearts. Max was a veteran, serving his country with honor, and with an unmatched pride, and he was a giving person, willing to help anyone or anything in need.
He is preceded in death by his mother (Doris E. Pollitt), father (Robert A. Pollitt Jr.), and the mom and dad that later became his own (Meredith & Judith Nugent). He is survived by his wife of 31 years (Margie Pollitt), his brother-in-law (Bud Nugent), his kids and their spouses (Sam & Jen Nugent, Roxie & Gene Striecker), and his 7 grandkids (Lexie, Teagan, Auggie, Addie, Channing, Evvy, and Ellie).
He will be dearly missed by all, but the memories of time shared, the love of life lived, and the impression stamped upon those left behind will be a comfort.
He has gone to a place, not all that far from here, and closer by the day. A place where distance is measured in time, not space. Where the glow of a workshop window lights up the backyard, where every tool has its place and black labs run free. A place where chrome shines brighter and a Henry rifle never misses, where flags that never fade fly high and proud and lush gardens grow, where the roar of 6,000 RPM’s is familiar and comforting, where a Harley Davidson motorcycle sits idle, perfectly shined and awaiting its rider…down a short gravel driveway from a white farmhouse, where his seat at the table has been claimed and his infectious laughter radiates…the place where we will all meet again.
If they didn’t have dirt track racing in heaven, they do now.