Stanley Raymond Ogden

A Name That Stands for Something

October 6, 1936 - September 21, 2026

Stanley Raymond Ogden answered to a lot of names, and every one of them tells part of his story.

His siblings called him Stanley. Across Memphis, his customers, crews, and friends called him Mr. O or SR. His son Glen called him Pop. His daughter Phyllis called him Daddy. When his first grandchild tried to say “Granddaddy,” it came out “Giddle Daddy,” and that stuck. The great-grandchildren shortened it to Gilga or Gaga. And to Carolyn, the love of his life, he was simply Honey.

A born Memphian, Stanley was the son of R.G. and Zeta Ogden. His father was a self-made man and a brick mason who taught him to work hard, find a way, and cut his own path. Stanley did exactly that his entire life. “Can’t ain’t a word,” was a phrase he often said—and one he lived by.

He met Nell Carolyn Childers in high school, and on April 6, 1956, they were married on the courthouse steps. He loved the same woman for seventy years – sixty-eight of them as her husband, and every day after. She stood a foot shorter than him, but she was the only person on earth who could stop him in his tracks with four words: “Stanley, look at me.”

Their marriage was the foundation of everything he built.

Stanley served his country in the United States Army and was selected for the Army Honor Guard, an honor he carried with quiet pride throughout his life. A Christmas spent far from home in Korea left a lasting mark on him and a determination that, if he could help it, no one around him would ever spend a holiday alone.

Back stateside, he laid brick alongside his father until someone asked whether they could build a swimming pool. Stanley rose to the challenge. That first pool became a craft, that craft became a career for decades, and then in 1980, he founded Ogden Pools. Over the decades that followed, he forged a legacy shoulder to shoulder with his son Glen and, eventually, his grandson Josh.

Stanley Raymond Ogden worked from handshakes. When he gave you his word, that was the contract. He asked for your best – whatever your best was – and he gave his best every single day.

If you ask his family, they’ll tell you the pools he built were simply how he made a living.

His faith and his family were his life.

Stanley’s faith was deep, real, and mostly quiet. He wasn’t one for the stage or the spotlight. He was the man who met a need before anyone knew there was a need – a light bill paid, a roof repaired, a job finished, a widow looked after for years, a heart touched.

“Never let your left hand know what your right hand is doing,” he’d say.

But when it came time to share his faith, he did it boldly, anywhere – with both his words and his actions.

Christmas at Stanley and Carolyn’s house had room for everyone. Alongside the children, grandchildren, and great-grandchildren sat neighbors, widows, friends, and anyone who simply had nowhere else to go and needed a place to feel the love of Jesus. Many stayed all day, drinking coffee and laughing until guests simply became family.

Before anyone ate, Stanley read the Christmas story and prayed.

“Anybody who walks into my house is going to see Jesus,” he said.

And they did.

Stanley bought a family farm so there would always be a place for his family to be together, and that’s exactly what it became. With his favorite farm hat on, he was never happier than when he was watching his entire family share in his love for the outdoors – riding four-wheelers, running and playing in the woods, hunting, fishing, growing crops, with kids, grandkids and, later, great-grandkids underfoot.

He gave cookies for breakfast and Oreo milkshakes for dessert.

No one in the family can remember ever seeing him sit still. Why? Because sitting still meant you weren’t serving somebody.

Stanley was tough as nails yet as tender as they come – a lion and a lamb – and he always seemed to know which one his friends and family needed. When someone needed him, he didn’t wait to be asked.

He just showed up.

Stanley never wanted credit or accolades. However, if you asked what he was proudest of, his answer had nothing to do with pools, a company, a farm, or anything else he had built with his hands.

It was that his children, grandchildren, and great-grandchildren love Jesus.

“That,” he said, “was a success.”

In his final days, Stanley said it simply: “I want to see Jesus. I want to see Mama.”

Carolyn had gone ahead of him in May 2024. On Monday, September 21, 2026, just two weeks shy of his ninetieth birthday, he went home to both.

His legacy isn’t the company he started.

His legacy is the family he built.

His legacy is the love he showed.

It began with Carolyn, and it lives on in Phyllis and Doug, and Glen and Robin, who learned from him what it means to keep your word and take care of your people. It lives on in his grandchildren – Ashley and Imran, Courtney and Daniel, Stacy and Chris, and Josh and Desireé.

And it lives on in his great-grandchildren – Taylor, Caleb, Daniel, Sawyer, Caroline, Haleigh, Savannah, and Alyssa – and in all those who became family along the way, who will know the man who read the Christmas story, made the milkshakes, loved Jesus, and made sure everyone had a seat at the table.

Enjoy your seat at the table in Glory.
We love you.