To most who knew Bruce Thompson, he was more than a conservative Republican who served in the Georgia Senate before he was elected two years ago as the statewide labor commissioner.
The friends and family who gathered Saturday in Thompson’s hometown of Cartersville, where he died this week at 59 of complications of pancreatic cancer, celebrated the legacy of a leader known for his devout Christian faith and pugnacious political style.
Thompson’s wife Becky liked to call him the human version of a bulldozer, someone who didn’t take “no” for an answer when he asked her on a date after a Bible study class and, after years of marriage, couldn’t turn down a chance to open their house to those in need.
To his kids, Thompson was both a doting father and a devoted teacher who pushed his daughter Faith to stand up for herself and left his son Max with one of his most valuable lessons after he took his final breath.
And to Gov. Brian Kemp and other friends, Thompson was a “fighter” who battled for conservative causes in the Legislature and later took on a devastating form of cancer, determined to stay in office and work to meet his pledge to overhaul a troubled agency.
“Saying ‘you can’t’ was not an option for Bruce,” said John Mroczko, a longtime Thompson friend. “It was always, ‘find a way.’”
Credit: Miguel Martinez for The Atlanta Journal-Constitution
Credit: Miguel Martinez for The Atlanta Journal-Constitution
Thompson wasn’t a household name in Georgia. But he was driven like few others in public service. As his pastor David Franklin said, it was hard to believe that someone with such humble roots would one day be feted at his funeral by the state’s elite.
Raised in Big Sandy, Montana, Thompson moved often with his mother and siblings. His rough-and-tumble upbringing forced him to seek refuge where he could find it, even if that meant regularly biking 35 miles to a neighboring town to court a girlfriend.
His childhood also set the stage for his deep-held political beliefs. In his eulogy, Franklin shared with mourners what Thompson would tell voters about his firm opposition to abortion: His mother was a sexual assault victim who became pregnant after the attack. Thompson would not have been born had his mother sought an abortion.
In high school, Thompson excelled so much as a wrestler that he earned a scholarship at Montana State University-Northern. An early defeat taught him an invaluable lesson that became a personal coda.
“He got beat surprisingly in a high school match in wrestling and committed to not quitting until the final bell rang,” said Franklin.
He later served in the Montana Army National Guard, where he was assigned to a tank unit. Later, he prided himself as a serial entrepreneur who founded two automatic swimming pool businesses, a few insurance firms and a business development company.
As he plunged deeper into local politics, an opportunity sprang up. Barry Loudermilk stepped down early from the state Senate to focus on his U.S. House bid, and Thompson won a 2013 special election for the Cartersville-based seat.
Over four terms in the Senate, he was a key ally of Kemp and other GOP leaders as he backed anti-abortion legislation and supported measures that expanded services for adoption and foster care.
In 2021, he made a gutsy decision to challenge Labor Commissioner Mark Butler, a fellow Republican who faced criticism during the pandemic as staffers struggled to process an unprecedented crush of claims for jobless benefits and manage new federal initiatives.
Butler later announced he wouldn’t seek a fourth term, leaving Thompson with a clearer path to the GOP nomination. He easily defeated Democrat William Boddie and Libertarian Emily Anderson in 2022 to capture the statewide office.
In office, Thompson made waves when he announced in 2023 that an audit found more than $105 million in Georgia Department of Labor accounts that he said had been withheld from the state treasury by his predecessor.
Back home, Thompson cultivated a vast network of evangelical leaders and was known for annual Christmas parties that drew scores of pastors to his house. He also became a de facto mentor to dozens of people in need.
“Dad was a teacher not just to me but to a lot of people around me,” his son Max said. “I thank everyone for giving my dad a chance to pour himself into their lives.”
Thompson disclosed his growing illness in May as the advanced-stage pancreatic cancer spread to his liver. But the commissioner added that he wouldn’t step down from office, saying his life has been full of “what seem like insurmountable challenges.”
His close friends said Thompson was at peace as the cancer spread, forcing him into hospice care. A few days ago, Max made a last visit to his father’s bedside and tearfully asked for a final lesson.
By then, Thompson was too sick to talk. But shortly after he died, Max scanned his text messages and saw that he missed one from his father. It said, simply: “I love you.”
“That’s the final lesson,” Max said. “He always made time for his family.”
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