This picture is from 1958. In honor of the Colorado Centennial, a lot of men grew beards.
My father passed March 21, 1985 from heart failure. In hindsight, undiagnosed sleep apnea was the underlying cause. Age 64.
He was a good and honest man. Given to outbursts of temper, he seemingly didn’t hold grudges on a personal level. He grew up in the Great Depression in a “Grapes of Wrath” level of poverty. His own father died when he was 16.
For many years he supplemented the family income by shoeing horses and was highly regarded as a fairer. As a horseman, he had few peers. He had a gift for languages and came back from the China India Burma theater speaking several variations of Hindustani (which was his favorite for cussing). Later he acquired peon Spanish and a working vocabulary of Navajo.
As a hunter he had few equals. Best shot I’ve ever seen. We would go to the range and I would kill paper way better than him. A bunch of elk running through aspen? I killed trees and he dropped meat.
The night he died I was sleeping in a motel in Yakima, WA and had a strange dream I never had before or since. I seem to be immune to any kind of paranormal experiences so it sticks in my mind.
Like most folks who has lost a parent I miss him and wish we had more time together.