Quiet Pages of a Famous Book: Frank Dixon Lademan

Updated on: August 11, 2025

Basic Information

A Quiet Ledger: life, lineage, and the small facts that remain

I start with what the records hand me like a simple index card: Frank Dixon Lademan was born March 12, 1958, and he died June 11, 2010, at the age of 52. That single arc—52 years—feels brief against the long shadow of a grandfather whose name appears in movie credits; still, family trees are funny things: the branches sometimes reach into the bright lights, sometimes fold back into the soil.

I picture Frank’s life as a quieter film—grainy Super 8 moments rather than red-carpet premieres. The footnotes tell a recognizable Hollywood lineage: Frank was the son of Ruth Caroline Brennan and Dixon McCully Lademan, and the grandson of Walter Brennan, the character actor who collected three Academy Awards across his career. That association supplies a cinematic echo, but it doesn’t write the whole script. For Frank, the public trail is dominated by obituary and cemetery records, a probate file or two—documents that mark passage and paperwork rather than performance.

Family Table — names, dates, and relationships

When you map it out this way, the family looks like a stacked vignette—generations layered in a single frame. I find myself thinking in frames: a wedding photo here, a name etched on a headstone there, an official probate docket that hints at the less romantic business of life.

Public footprint — obituary, memorials, and the record of absence

If biography is sometimes the story of what we can’t find, then Frank’s life leans heavily into that paradox. The public documents that exist are straightforward: obituary notices, cemetery memorial pages, and a probate matter filed after his death. There are dates—exact ones: March 12, 1958, and June 11, 2010—and there is the burial location, Conejo Mountain Memorial Park, which anchors the geography of his final chapter.

But when I look for a résumé, a public career, or interviews—those scenes that would let me hear his voice—I find nothing of substantial length. No marquee credits, no professional biographies, no recurring headlines. That absence is telling, too: some people lead lives of meaningful privacy, and the public record simply respects that boundary. In Frank’s case, the documents we do have emphasize family lineage and closing formalities rather than a public-facing occupation.

The Brennan connection — legacy, public memory, and how fame ripples

To say Frank was “the grandson of Walter Brennan” is not to reduce him to a footnote; it’s to acknowledge a family story that had a public chapter. Walter Brennan’s career gave the family a recognizable cultural touchstone, and that recognition shapes how later generations appear in public databases. If fame is a stone dropped in a pond, the ripples reach many shores—some lands are submerged in attention, others only get a gentle lap of recognition.

Frank’s presence in genealogy pages, memorial sites, and funeral listings often appears in the context of that larger family narrative: parentage, relation, dates. It’s the kind of mention that keeps a name in collective memory without making it celebrity property.

The paperwork of passing — probate and memorial traces

Practicalities follow every human life. In Frank’s case there is a probate matter recorded after his death—a formal step in settling an estate. Those filings are seldom glamorous, but they are honest: they confirm dates, they sometimes provide addresses, and they remind us that ordinary administration follows loss. The public paperwork joins the quieter memorial pages kept by family and cemetery staff—digital echoes of a funeral service, a gravesite, an obituary blurb.

If you’ve ever leafed through a family archive, you know the feeling: the legal documents are the spine, the memorial pages the cover art, and the photographs that might exist privately are the illustrations we don’t get to scan for the public web.

The gaps — what I couldn’t find and what that means

Here’s a candid aside: I searched for any notable career details, social-media presence, or press coverage that might illuminate Frank’s day-to-day life, and the trail ran cold. No public career listings, no celebrity gossip, no interviews—only the family-oriented records. That lack is not a failure of research as much as a portrait of different priorities: some people live fully without leaving a public footprint, and in those cases the archive of grief and remembrance is what’s left for us to read.

There’s dignity in that too. Not every life is meant to be a headline; some are steady, private, essential in smaller circles.

FAQ

Who was Frank Dixon Lademan?

Frank Dixon Lademan (March 12, 1958 – June 11, 2010) was a member of the Brennan–Lademan family, recorded in public memorials as the son of Ruth Caroline (Brennan) Lademan and Dixon McCully Lademan.

What is Frank’s notable family connection?

He was the grandson of actor Walter Brennan, a well-known character actor who won three Academy Awards.

When did Frank die and where is he buried?

Frank died June 11, 2010, at age 52 and is interred at Conejo Mountain Memorial Park in Ventura County, California.

Are there public records about his career?

There are no substantial public records of a professional entertainment or public-facing career for Frank; the public traces are mainly obituary and probate documents.

Did Frank have a public social media presence or controversies?

No public social-media profiles or controversies were found; his public footprint is limited and primarily family-record oriented.

What official documents are available about Frank?

Available public documents include obituary and funeral-home listings, cemetery memorial entries, and a probate filing after his death.