Bruce Ingraham

1962 - 2023

It is with the heaviest of hearts that we announce the loss of; the dude, the lord, the Bruce almighty, The one and only Bruce Ingraham. Born on May 19th 1962, passed suddenly and unexpectedly on May 15th 2023. Predeceased by parents Beverly Ingraham, and David Ingraham. He is survived by his wife, Theresa Frey-Ingraham, his favorite daughter Gretta Ingraham spouse Richard Domschine iii, and his favorite daughter Amelia Ingraham. As well as his sister Beth Ingraham, brother David Ingraham, brother Bradford Ingraham wife Danielle Ingraham their children Alex Ingraham and Max Ingraham. He also leaves behind many other relatives and loved ones especially cousins Susan and Peter Atkinson. Bruce was a larger than life human, when he walked into any room he was the king commanding his kingdom. An artist with mediums ranging from metal sculpture to spoken word. He always had more love to share with anyone, living life without judgment. If you were lucky enough to know Bruce, you were family. He acquired his passion for arts and antiques from his mother. Together they owned an antique shop in Wethersfield Connecticut and traveled to shows throughout New England. This knowledge led him to a lifelong career creating sculpture and ultimately commanding a crowd from the podium each week at his own auction house in Coventry Connecticut. His pride and devotion and never forgetting to say "who loves you more" to his two daughters will never be forgotten, along with his unrelenting love for his wife Theresa.

Whenever you see a heart shaped rock or overuse his favorite word 'great', think of the great Bruce (almighty) Ingraham.

A Celebration of Life will take place from 4 to 9 pm on May 30, at Millbrook Place, 1267 Main Street, Coventry, CT. Memories will be shared by Family and friends at 7pm. Parking in the lot of Millbrook Place, additional parking at Ingraham Auctions, 44 Lake St Coventry, CT.

"A Glimpse at Character"

'A neighbor I know only as Bruce was telling these funny stories at a neighborhood Christmas party about these estate sales he holds and the business of setting up someone's life after they're gone.

He told us about a suitcase he once sold, as is, and the woman who brought it back just to know if he wanted the sex toys the deceased previous owner apparently kept in it. And the floor boards that held hundreds of dollars of a couple who didn't trust the bank. And about how the smallest item, like a stained favorite mug, could tell so much about a person.

I don't remember how or exactly why, but suddenly the conversation changed and he started telling this story about the day he was driving behind a speeding car that hit a deer.

Pieces of the car were all over the road, but the driver kept going, never slowing down or stopping to check on the damage to the car, let alone the damage to the animal it had just hit.

But Bruce, he stopped. And he ended up petting this deer for 15 minutes until someone came to put it out of its misery.

He talked about the look in the deer's eyes as it lay dying, and the position of its hooves, bent slightly towards its body. And how surprised he was that this animal, who had no reason to welcome human contact, seemed to welcome his touch in its last few moments of life.

He talked about how drained he felt after it was over, how he couldn't stop talking about what he had seen, even when a golfing buddy later begged him to do a little less talking and a little more putting.

The way he told the story, you could tell that it bothered him as much that night, just retelling it, as it did the day it happened.

And then as suddenly as the story began, it was over, and people started shuffling off to grab another bite to eat, another drink.

Before Bruce told that story, I only knew him as a neighbor who had long hair, drove a van, who sold antiques, and seemed perfectly content when he walked his daughters to the bus stop in front of my house.

It's not that I know anymore about him now than I did before, or even that he showed such kindness to an animal.

But there was something in those few moments, about his story, that made me realize that even if I never got to know him, even if I never did catch his last name, I knew everything I needed to know about this man, this neighbor.'

Originally published December 25th 2000 in the Hartford Courant.

Written by staff writer Helen Ubinas.