The clothes he wears
don’t change too much at all
straw hat in the spring
felt hat in the fall
his favorite things to do
are ropin’ calves and trippin’ steers
he can take the heat
he’s cowboy cool
– Cowboy Cool (Sonny Burgess)
The cowboy, Marty Richter’s, last professional rodeo ride was in Will Rogers Coliseum in January 1978. He came out of chute #6.
His best ride was Monday, Feb. 19, right next door in Will Rogers Auditorium: perfect score. He went out in style, on top.
Marty Richter was one cool cowboy, face as handsome as if chiseled from stone, heart and smile as hot as the sun.
And nothing cool about his love.
Love was abundant at his funeral. Somewhere around 2,000 “I love Marty” folks jammed into Will Rogers Auditorium to bid farewell.
2,000.
When I die I want my funeral billed as a memorial to Marty just so I get a few hundred to attend.
Marty exuded charm and happiness and cheer. He had manners, tipping his hat to each person he greeted. He was big and strong, enveloping folks with his hugs, cheering them with his laughter.
When he said, “I love you,” he meant it sincerely, not in the manner of “I love you, man,” which has become so overused.
Marty was a true cowboy, a former rodeo bareback bronc rider, and a working rancher. He was the real deal.
Larger than life.
Life and its travails, though, often throw a loop and catch us.
When we encounter a man or woman such as Marty, kind with a helping hand for everyone, we never suspect that inside they face the struggles we all do.
Life is hard and we should never forget it. That’s not meant as a downer. It’s just the way it is. We all have to face life on life’s terms, and no one promised it would be easy.
Those of us who loved Marty cannot help but wonder if we gave back to him the compassion and understanding he gave to us. Were we there when he needed us, like he was for us?
One of the lessons from Marty’s passing at age 64, and one of his legacies, is simple. It’s a lesson for all of us to be kind to others; don’t ever meet a stranger. I am not naturally that way but I plan to try. Spread love and laughter to one another because everyone you see and meet is being chased by demons, some imagined and some crushingly real.
His three children, Mary Margaret, Meredith and Martin, opened the ceremony with hilarious reminiscences about their dad. He was a memorable man. One of a kind. His children are remarkable, ranch-raised kids, now adults, and with his sense of humor and even comedic timing they eloquently did him and their mother, Mary Martha, proud.
That’s another legacy left by Marty. Great kids. Our children are our own tangible legacy.
They told great stories and they made the crowd laugh.
Marty was a true character of Texas. Whether every story he told was exactly accurate really didn’t matter. Sometimes, just to keep us smiling, he made it up as he went along.
Marty wanted us all to smile and he could entertain like nobody’s business. If you were not smiling, he could reach out and touch your heart and you knew he really cared. I felt the heat of that cool cowboy’s heart and his understanding more times than I care to count.
On a Facebook post his daughter, Meredith Davis, shared one of his favorite sayings, “Yatahey.” He claimed it was Navajo for hello or welcome; sometimes he used it to say goodbye. As Meredith said in her post, he used the word interchangeably.
I am stealing her lines but Marty said “Yatahey,” with great enthusiasm and everyone who knew him must have heard it 100 times or more.
It’s possible, I imagine, that you could say it to a Navajo and get a blank look in return but it’s a real word, at least according to the online resource Wiktionary
My daughter, also named Meredith, was in awe of Marty as a little girl. She saw him every year at the rodeo. He would pick her up in his arms when she was four years-old and gaze into her eyes. He had wonderful blue, blue, inviting eyes and a killer smile. She was speechless. He never was. He was her first crush, just goo-goo-eyed in love.
We have talked about him this week. More than anything she remembers his presence – strong and welcoming. We laughed about his phrases. So, now, she has decided to enter each snowboard half-pipe competition, her passion, with “Yatahey.” And when she is done with her run she will use it again, just as he would. Interchangeably.
When he hears her barreling through the half-pipe it’s easy to imagine him looking down, winking, and laughing. He will know everyone where he is now. Probably told Jesus he knew his cousin or some other kin down in Texas, or maybe it was Cheyenne.
Today I wink back to a great father, man, and cowboy who enriched so many lives. He brought his big heart, big love, sunshine and light and laughter to us.
Yatahey, cowboy.
Richard Connor is president and publisher of the Fort Worth Business Press. Contact him at rconnor@bizpress.net
