Gregory Conrad Kendall

February 20, 1947 – October 17, 2025

“The end starts a new beginning of exploration.”

Gregory Conrad Kendall was born on February 20, 1947, in the Bronx, New York, to Agnes Kendall and Leonard Kendall. On October 17, 2025, under the light and watchful care of the Creator, Gregory transitioned peacefully at the age of 78 at the Veterans Hospice facility near the VA Hospital in Cincinnati, Ohio.

Honoring his wishes, Gregory was cremated at Advantage Cremation Care of Greater Cincinnati. Though his physical journey has ended, his spirit now lives freely—unbound, joyful, and reunited with loved ones who preceded him.

Those He Loved and Leaves to Cherish His Memory

Gregory is survived by his third wife, Gwen Kendall, to whom he shared his final wishes.

He is lovingly remembered by his ninety-seven-year-old godmother, Mrs. Sylvia Brady, and her sons, Michael and Chuck. He is also survived by his first wife, Jackie Kendall, with whom he shared a lasting friendship, and their son, Dustin Kendall.

He leaves behind his daughter, Chanel Kendall, and her mother, Maxine Cooper whom he shared a profound love with, as well as numerous grandchildren, including Nia Kendall and Halima Kendall, daughters of Dustin and Mary M. Anyansi Kendall.

Gregory is also survived by his grandchildren Promise Kendall and her brother, children of his daughter Tuwanda Kendall, whose mother, Ava Kendall, was Gregory’s second wife.

He is further remembered by his nephew Ashante L. Kendall and niece-in-law Wanda Kendall, children of his brother, Glenn P. Kendall, and sister-in-law Concilie Syori-Kendall, along with their children Ivan, Monia, Orsella, and Live.

Gregory also cherished his love with Nora Carter, whom he often referred to as the starlight of his life. While living briefly in Fresno, California, he was surrounded by her grace and by friends who loved him deeply.

A Testimony of His Grit

Gregory was a man of extraordinary resilience. He courageously battled cancer for nearly 21 years, facing each challenge with determination, strength, and faith. Refusing to be defined by illness, he fought with the heart of a Vietnam Veteran—steadfast and unyielding.

In honor of his service, an Honor Walk was held from the VA Hospice to his transport vehicle, a moving tribute captured on video. Draped in respect and the colors of his service as a United States Navy Vietnam Veteran, Gregory was honored by those who cared for him until the very end.

Though his body has rested, his spirit soars—surely playing bid whist, dancing, laughing, and perhaps even coaching a children’s baseball team, a passion he dearly loved during his years in Fresno.

Gregory’s Life and Passions

From a young age, Gregory excelled academically, consistently placed in advanced classes throughout elementary and middle school. As a teenager in the Bronx, he was a gifted athlete—serving as quarterback for a local sandlot football team near Bruckner Boulevard. He was also skilled at stickball, known for his strong throwing arm as a third baseman and pitcher.

Gregory attended James Monroe High School, where he became a standout track star in the 1960s, following in the footsteps of his father, Leonard Kendall, who passed away in 1952. Gregory broke the half-mile track record and competed on a two-mile relay team that earned an invitation to the prestigious Penn Relays.

In 1964, Gregory enlisted in the United States Navy, proudly serving seven years, including four tours in Vietnam. Many years later, his cancer was linked by the VA to Agent Orange exposure, leading to disability status. Despite this, Gregory maintained a deep appreciation and pride for his military service.

During the 1970s, Gregory attended Bronx Community College, where he played basketball and enjoyed card games such as bid whist and spades. His competitive spirit never faded. He was a passionate fan of the Washington Commanders, New York Mets, and New York Knicks, cheering with both heart and soul.

The Benediction

1. Then answered the Creator to the songs of praise that rose from His hundreds of thousands of millions, to the sum of the Creator’s mighty creations.

2. Peace, My beloved! And great joy! I have heard your voice of praise! I answer you with millions of new creations! Farther than the farthest, boundless! Thousands of millions of years are the works of My hand! I go not about turning water into wine, like a magician, or professing to raise the dead!

3. But yet I raise the dead, the souls of the dead, into worlds shining, brilliant, full of loveliness! I take them not backward to toil and sorrow, but upward, onward, to heavens of delight that perish not, forever.

4. Mine is the Tree of Life, forever growing and rich in blossoms and sweet perfumes. The dead are Mine, the spirits of the dead My young blossoms full of promise, speaking soul-words for the glory of My heavens.

5. Whom I quickened into life are Mine, and I watch over them Fatherly and motherly and in great wisdom. Nor suffer I them to go out of being forever. And I provide My heavenly places broad, boundless, so that the soul of man and woman can never reach the boundary thereof.

6. Though they stray away for a season, yet have I provided them to return to Me in the end. And I make them a banquet, and provide unto them a feast, a home of love, with music and dancing even on the threshold of wisdom.

7. Weep not for the dead, O My beloved! I have places of delight for the righteous, full of rejoicing and wonderful! And the souls of the dead entereth therein, as one that emergeth from a veil, to shout with great joy for the provisions I created, plentiful and brilliant.

8. Heaven after heaven have I created as a new surprise of great happiness to My Sons and Daughters, in the way of My resurrections. Rejoice and be merry in holiness! Open your eyes, My beloved, and behold the works of My hands which I provided to be yours forever.

This reading is from OAHSPE, Book of Praise, chapter E-O

Eulogy from Dustin Kendall

My father was a fighter. Not just in the obvious ways—serving in the Navy, surviving war, battling cancer—but in the everyday ways. He fought to live on his own terms. He fought to stay himself.

He was proud of where he came from. The Bronx shaped him. Sports shaped him. The Navy shaped him. And all of it made him the man I knew—strong-willed, passionate, and unapologetically real.

My father didn’t pretend to be perfect. He was honest about life, about struggle, about disappointment. And in that honesty, he taught me something powerful: resilience isn’t about winning every battle—it’s about standing back up every time life knocks you down.

He loved fiercely. He loved his family. He loved his teams. He loved a good card game. And if you ever played against him, you know—he hated losing.

But even in competition, he valued connection. He valued showing up. And he showed up—in his own way, in his own time.

One of the greatest lessons my father gave me was endurance. He showed me that no matter what comes your way, you keep moving forward. You keep believing. You keep loving.

Dad, your watch is complete. Your duty is done.

May your spirit now be free—laughing, playing cards, coaching ball, and finally resting without pain.

Thank you for everything.

I love you.

Eulogy from Chanel Kendall

My father was a man of layers—strong, stubborn at times, deeply loving, competitive, funny, and spiritual in a way that didn’t always need words. He lived a life that wasn’t always easy, but it was meaningful, full, and courageous.

My father taught me strength not by talking about it, but by living it. He faced illness for more than two decades and never allowed it to steal his identity. Cancer never defined him. Service never hardened him. And pain never broke his spirit.

He loved deeply, even if he didn’t always say it the way others expected. His love showed up in protection, in loyalty, and in his unwavering pride for his children and grandchildren. He watched. He noticed. He remembered.

My father loved competition—sports, cards, debates—and yet, he also loved togetherness. He loved family gatherings, laughter, and storytelling. And if you ever sat with him long enough, you knew he would tell you about the Bronx, about his time in the Navy, or about a game he swore his team should have won.

There was a gentleness in him that people didn’t always see at first glance. But once you did, you never forgot it.

Today, I choose not to say goodbye. I choose to say thank you.

Thank you for your sacrifices.

Thank you for your endurance.

Thank you for your lessons—spoken and unspoken.

Father, your journey here may be complete, but your presence lives on in all of us. In our laughter. In our resilience. In our refusal to quit when life gets hard.

Rest now. You earned that peace.

I love you.

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