August 18, 2004
Cowboy

“Live Strong”.  Those two words are imprinted on a yellow band encircling my left wrist.  More than 10 million folks now wear these yellow bands that cost a buck and are a fundraiser for the Lance Armstrong Foundation’s fight against cancer. 

Three weeks ago the “bicycling geezers” made one last ride across Iowa.   Before heading into the rolling hills of the Hawkeye State, Jim Eisenhauer gave each of us a yellow band.  At the time Lance, who battled back from cancer to become the greatest athlete in the word today, was in the process of winning his record sixth Tour de France and we wanted to demonstrate our support both for him and his cause. 

A couple of days later while pedaling I glanced down at my wrist, read again  “Live Strong” and realized every person I know who has faced the challenge of cancer has indeed “Lived Strong”.  But no one lived stronger than Dick Smith whose wide circle of friends bid him a final good-bye last week. 

Dick, JoAnn and youngsters Julie, Janet, Rick and Jill came to Grand Junction about the same time the Maynard’s arrived in the summer of ’68.  We met at a Newcomers mixer.  After almost a decade in Chicago, clan Smith had moved to Colorado as Dick had fallen in love with the West.    

He was quickly nicknamed “The Cowboy” and truly was a western “Renaissance” man. 

Besides family, the Cowboy’s passions were horses, hoops, the outdoors and golf.  Wherever you found city league basketball, a jackpot team roping or a golf tournament chances are you also ran into Cowboy Dick Smith. 

He was a friend I always looked up to because the Cowboy handled with ease things that caused me to struggle.  He was a really good marksman, whether hunting antelope or putting up the outside jumper.  The Cowboy was also a terrific dancer.  It took no more than three bars of a polka for him to glance at Jo, say “C’mon, Grandma” and immediately be spinning around the floor in perfect time to the music.  And when it came to cards he could play, and win, any game from cribbage to Texas Hold ‘Em. 

But what really set the Cowboy apart was how comfortable he was in his own skin.  He was about “doing” rather than “talking” and always let results do his speaking.  Dick had deep convictions about right and wrong and didn’t pretend to understand anyone who didn’t. We used to smile and say

The Cowboy might occasionally be wrong but he was never in doubt. 

But even his best friends never realized the mental toughness of the Cowboy until cancer became his constant companion three and a half years ago.  We are told in this age of Al Qaeda to just “live our life” because if we change our lifestyle the terrorists win.  The Cowboy refused to let the “terrorist” in his life keep him from doing the things he held dear. Once, in the middle of his many “chemo” sessions, he had the pump re-located on his body so it didn’t hamper his golf swing and then continued playing almost daily during the oh so tiring treatments. He refused to let two major surgeries and countless chemo and radiation sessions keep him from living.  He fulfilled a dream playing Pebble Beach. Last summer saw him journey with JoAnn to the places of their youth in Iowa. 

Just three weeks ago on an out of town golf trip when it was quite apparent the Cowboy was hurting, we never heard a complaint.  Not once was there an excuse, and at no time did we ever hear “Why me?” 

Did the Cowboy know what the odds were against him?  He   was too good a poker play not too.  But he played the cards that were dealt.  Dick Smith “Lived Strong”.  

Willie Nelson said it best for all of us who knew and loved Dick Smith. 

       “My heroes have always been cowboys and it seems they still are today.”