Finding joy as life’s greatest reward

Editor’s note: This story is a continuation of the Proud of their dairy roots story on Richard Beardsley in the June 27 issue of Dairy Star.

BEMIDJI, Minn. — Life has thrown Dick Beardsley curveballs — from competitive disappointments, to accidents that led him down a path of opioid addiction, to the loss of his son to suicide. Through it all, Beardsley has managed to navigate life with purpose and optimism, facing each challenge focused on the promise of the next day.

Growing up, Beardsley had two passions: milking cows and fishing. Over his career he has fulfilled the first through multiple stints as a dairy farmer, and he has been fulfilling the second as a fishing guide since the age of 12.

However, it was his third passion, which he found in high school, that made him famous: running. Through marathoning, he placed second in the 1982 Boston Marathon, finishing a mere 1.6 seconds behind Alberto Salazar, in a race still talked about more than four decades later.

With his running success, Beardsley set his sights on the 1984 Olympics but suffered an Achilles tendon injury just before the trials to represent the U.S.

Back at home in Minnesota, Beardsley worked on his healing while dairy farming.

“It took a couple of years before I could even run again,” Beardsley said. “I didn’t want to someday look back and say, ‘Why didn’t you try?’ So, in 1986, I sold the farm and cows and went back to training full time for the 1988 Olympics, but I didn’t do well. I decided that was enough and I needed to move on with my life. I could still run, just not at that level.”

Beardsley connected with a dairy farmer looking for someone to eventually transition into ownership of his farm. Along with his first wife, Mary, Beardsley returned to dairy farming.

However, Beardsley hit another hurdle when he had a grievous farm accident, becoming entangled in a power take-off unit.

“I was probably burning too many candles, trying to do too much,” Beardsley said. “Here I was, the one always preaching farm safety, particularly to any high school kids out helping me bale hay or whatever — and then I go and almost die in a farm accident.”

To this day, Beardsley is uncertain how he was able to turn the PTO off, or how he survived the incident.

“I don’t know how I got myself unwrapped; I remember realizing I was basically naked and thinking I had forgotten to put my clothes on that morning,” Beardsley said. “Obviously, I was in shock. My neighbor was supposed to help me finish combining that day, and I thought before he got there, I better get some clothes on. I tried to take a step, and I just face-planted into the ground.”

The reality of his predicament soon began to set in.

“I could hardly see; every time the PTO had whipped me around, it had slammed my head into the ground,” Beardsley said. “My left leg just basically hung. My right arm and all the ribs on the right side were broken. I had a punctured lung — there was a piece of steel in my chest.”

Pulling himself along with his left arm, Beardsley crawled nearly 100 yards from the tractor, where his wife found him lying in the driveway.

“Lying in that hospital bed, I would have such terrible nightmares,” Beardsley said. “For about a month, I did not want to go back to the farm.”

The recovery from the accident was arduous, including a serious infection that made doctors question if they would need to amputate Beardsley’s left leg.

“I got through it and got back to functioning pretty normally again,” Beardsley said. “I even returned to dairy farming.”

In 1992, Beardsley was driving when another driver ran a stop sign and hit his car broadside. That accident landed Beardsley in the hospital again, suffering from multiple broken vertebrae in his lower back. That accident ultimately ended his dairy farming career in 1993.

Despite his injuries, Beardsley returned to running. While running near Fargo, fate once again attempted to thwart Beardsley.

“I got hit from behind by a truck and they found me lying in a snowbank,” Beardsley said. “They think it was a cargo van or something and they never did find out who hit me. I shouldn’t have been running where I was, in a blizzard. He might not have even seen me; who knows.”

Soon, Beardsley found himself addicted to narcotic painkillers prescribed for his injury.

“Growing up, I never drank, and I’d never done any illicit drugs,” Beardsley said. “But I got addicted to those painkillers. The farm accident and all those other accidents were bad enough but fighting that addiction — that was the worst. I didn’t need them anymore, but I liked how they made me feel, so I just kept taking them.”

Beardsley learned to work the system to obtain the narcotics he craved.

“Thank God I finally got questioned about it and got help,” Beardsley said. “Feb. 12 marked 30 years of sobriety from the narcotics.”

For at least the fifth time in his life, Beardsley thought he had faced and conquered his fiercest battle. 2015 proved him wrong when his only son, Andy, committed suicide at the age of 31. An Iraqi war veteran, Andy suffered from post-traumatic stress disorder.

“That was the worst thing I have ever faced; no parent should bury a child,” Beardsley said. “Andy dealt with some wicked stuff over there — he wasn’t physically injured, but the mental stuff can be worse. I think it’s getting better than it was back then, but we don’t give our veterans enough support.”

The days following Andy’s death tested Beardsley’s resolve.

“The first few weeks after he died, I wanted to crawl in a corner and never come out,” Beardsley said. “I knew that was the last thing Andy would want. It gives me peace of mind, knowing he's in a better place, that someday I’ll hug him again. I think of him every day; that faith is what keeps me going.”

Beardsley said his tenacity was born in his upbringing on the farm and in the outdoors.

“Everything I learned at a young age taught me not to be afraid of hard work,” Beardsley said. “It taught me how to face disappointments and turmoil but keep moving forward. It also taught me that the greatest rewards in life aren’t necessarily monetary. It’s about loving what you do. I’m never going to be a millionaire, but as long as I can pay my bills and greet each new day, that is the measure of success I chose to live by.”