The Last Cowboy Song

This is the last cowboy song,

the end of a hundred-year waltz.

I was four years old when I discovered professional wrestling. My grandfather would sit me on his lap in his rocking chair, and we would watch the local wrestling from Amarillo. And every Thursday night, my mom and dad would take us all down to the fairgrounds arena and we would get to watch it live and in person. I became enamored with it right away. Something about the physicality and the drama caught my attention, even at a young age. 

One of the first names I became acquainted with at the time, was Terry Funk. Back then he was the brash younger brother of local hero and former world heavyweight champion, Dory Funk Jr. And his father, Dory Sr. had promoted wrestling in Amarillo in the surrounding area for decades until his death in 1973. Terry himself would become world champion in 1975. And that's when his legend really began to take hold. 

Growing up in Amarillo, everyone knew who the Funk family was. They had become local legends for not only their success in wrestling, but their philanthropy as well. Dory Sr was one of the founders of the local Boys Ranch and was well known for his many contributions to the area. And it seemed like you couldn't meet in anyone in town that didn't "know" the Funks. Of course, that wasn't always the case, but it felt good to think you could be part of the story of knowing the town superstars. 

The voices sound sad as they're singing along,

Another piece of America's gone. 

I actually had never had the chance to run into the Funks, until one fateful Saturday in October of 1988. My mom and dad had plans to go do something that I am sure I thought would be terribly boring, so I asked if I could go to the gym that day instead. I was by this time a dedicated trainee, and spending a couple of hours in the gym was obviously a much better idea than whatever my parents had in mind. As a matter of fact, my sister was even so desperate to get out of whatever my parents were doing that she asked if she could tag along. Even though she had never even been in the gym before. 

We pretty much had Fitness World II all to ourselves that day, except for one lone lifter lying on a bench wearing a Denver Broncos hat. It was while he was doing a set lying on his bench that his hat fell off into the floor. And my sister, being raised to have manners in a situation like that, simply walked over to pick the hat up and hand it back to its owner. When he sat up and cracked that big friendly smile, my sister and I both gasped as we took a look at that familiar face. After all these years, we were actually face to face with the local hero himself. And we could barely muster a "hi". 

Over the next several months, I would grow to know Mr. Funk better and better. And yes, I never called him anything other than Mr. Funk. Years of watching him on tv did not give me permission to call a grown up by his first name, so "Mister" it was. That was made clear to me by my mother the first time I referred to him as Terry in her presence. 

I wasn't what is now referred to as "smart" to the wrestling business back then. Which means I didn't really know that it was scripted drama. I had my suspicions but didn't really want to know it wasn't 100% authentic. And I bugged the crap out of that man almost every time I saw him, hoping to impress him with my knowledge of the both the business and his own career. I was literally a wrestling scholar at 16. And it says a lot about his kindness that he never chased me away, never had an unkind word, or even let on that I was bothering him. It was always a smile, a nod, and a pat on the back. Even agreeing to discuss the idea of training me to be a wrestler myself one day. But only after I had graduated high school. A promise I never got to test as my folks moved me to Arizona a short time later. But I will never forget the kindness he showed me in that short time I was lucky enough to know him. 

This is the last cowboy song....

There's an old saying that goes, "they don't make them like that anymore". And no one was truer to that statement than Terry Funk. He was from a generation of men that inspired me on an almost daily basis. As strange as it sounds, I have found an almost poetry to the battles those old cowboys had in those smokey old arenas of my childhood. Good guys vs bad guys in a packed arena, fighting it out for the thrill of the crowd. Those men were such a huge influence on me, I almost consider them to be like surrogate fathers to a kid desperately searching for role models. Whether it was the Funks, the Von Erichs, Dusty Rhodes and Dick Murdoch, or Stan "The Man" Hansen and Bruiser Brody, those old cowboys taught me the value of toughness, hard work, and always staying true to your word. Not to mention to remember that toughness and kindness were not mutually exclusive traits in a man. And without every one of them, I don't know if I would be the person that I am. Today Terry Funk passed away, and even though it's been 35 years since I got to know him, I am filled with profound sadness. Even though it was one of those things you were anticipating happening, I find myself still heartbroken. Thank you, Mr. Funk. Thank you for your kindness and generosity, for all the years of excitement and action, and for making a little kid believe in heroes. Rest well, cowboy. 

The voices sound sad as they're singing along, 

another piece of America is lost....