Memorial Service: 2 p.m., Saturday at Shannon Rufe Snow Funeral Chapel.
Memorials: Contributions can be made to the Roanoke Food Pantry, 108 Pecan Street, Roanoke, TX 76262.
Howard (Bud, as his friends called him) had many jobs and wore many hats during his long life. He was a railroad telegraph operator, seaman, soldier, tool & die maker (manufacturing bombers and fighters for the cold war), truck driver, Mason (Past Master, Keller Lodge), and amateur political pundit. But the hat he wore most comfortably was farmer. He grew up on his father's small farm in Keller Texas, which he would often say: “was the best life he could imagine.” It was certainly not an easy life. He worked alongside his Dad from dawn to sundown and lived in a small home with a large family. Almost every Christmas, he would recount how when he was a boy he dreamed of getting an electric train - a practical impossibility in a house with no electricity.
As a young man, Bud was remarkably adventurous for a small-town Texas farm-boy. When he was 16, he scraped together a few dollars and sneaked off to Meacham Field to take flying lessons. One of his flying stories involved a dramatic engine failure (and fortunate re-start) in a J-3 Cub over Lake Worth. Later, after a nearly 50-year intermission, he went back to flying in his 70s. After graduating from Keller High in 1945 he took off for the adventure of railroading in Nevada and Utah. There he was a telegraph operator for the Southern Pacific railroad. After deciding that the railroad didn't hold the promise for him he had originally hoped, he joined the Merchant Marines in 1948, for the opportunity to “see a bit of the world.” He found out most of the world is water and didn't take to it. In 1950 he was drafted into the Army and fate sent him to Germany instead of Korea. He always spoke with pride and affection of his days in Germany, and he was taken with the beauty and friendliness of the country. In particular, a German family was kind enough to take him in at Christmas and presented him with the gift of a cigarette case that he always kept. In 1952 he met Beverly Jane Hull, the daughter of a well-known Texas politician of the time, Salty Hull. In 1954 they were married and went on to share nearly 60 years of life together. They had a son (Charles), daughter (Kathleen), and eventually three grandsons (Kevin, Ryan, and Jeffrey) that he idolized. Bud was above all devoted to his family.
Those who knew Bud will agree he was a spirited and sometimes (some would say always) contentious character, who could tell a good story - mostly true most of the time. You had the right number if the call was answered: “Harvey's Mule Barn,” or one of a dozen other colorful establishments, some unprintable. He was a life-long Democrat in a state where they might be considered an endangered species. Un-cowed, he was quick to share his opinions on the events of the day, whether you wanted them shared with you or not. Indeed he seemed to take particular pleasure in provoking heated debates (arguments really) with his many friends of mostly the opposite political persuasion. To say he was complicated is an understatement. This teetotaling, conservative farm boy, and lover of country music proudly voted for Kinky Friedman. Well he “sure as hell wasn't going to vote for that no-good Prophet” (his nickname for Governor Perry). For his last Christmas he adopted two little girls through the Roanoke Food Pantry. He could hardly contain his glee as, with the help of his daughter, he purchased a pile of gifts for those girls. He had a huge grin on his face as he delivered Christmas to their families while wearing a big red Santa hat.
Bud had a long list of likes and dislikes that he shared freely. With regard to food, his childhood on the farm left him with a powerful appetite for the traditional country breakfast of eggs and bacon, which he ate religiously every morning. But don't try to pass off some fancy dish on him. Pizza, “like eating ketchup on a piece of cardboard;” French, forget it; even Mexican food usually had a “wang” (a taste sensation known only to Bud). He hated big greedy companies, particularly drug companies like the one his son worked for, fire ants (“ I can't kill ‘em, but by God I can make ‘em move”), and anything on Fox News. He loved country music, farming/gardening, border collies, Texas, America (in that order), Chevy pickup trucks, NASCAR, and rain. Most calls to friends or family began with the question, “did y'all get any rain last night?” followed in succession first by a fictional account of the “gulley washer” he just witnessed, and then by a precise recollection of the last month of rain at his house in hundredth of an inch detail. Farmers in Texas live and die by the weather.
We miss you Bud. It will be quieter, but a lot less interesting.
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