Wolf's Howl Newsletter March 9, 2005 The passing of a friend and great musician.....
Chris LeDoux
Howdy to all friends of the lore of the West, in the form of books, music, history, or even Western memorabilia and collectible action figures.
I'm writing to you today for several reasons. One, to tell you that if you're waiting for anything I was supposed to send you I got thrown into a tailspin today with the receipt of this bad news. Two, because while different people turn to things like alcohol or cigarettes or what-have-you during times of sorrow, I turn to "pen and paper"--or in this case the keyboard and monitor. I guess that's what writers do.
It's funny how it's always the same--you go along through life thinking the ones you love will always be there, then you turn around and they're gone. It was that way today with Chris LeDoux.
When I was fourteen years old I was sitting in my upstairs bedroom at our 1890's house in Shelley, Idaho when my mother called me downstairs with urgency in her voice. I went down to find her listening to the radio, to a song I learned was named "Caballo Diablo," written by Charlie Daniels. But it was being sung by a young man named Chris LeDoux. Until that evening I had never heard the song, and I had never heard of this singer. At the time, I also was not a musician yet myself, although I enjoyed Western music very much. I had taken a few guitar lessons, but nothing worth speaking of had come of it.
Then came Chris LeDoux. Within the next four years I collected every one of his albums I could get my hands on. He sang in a Texas drawl the songs of the working man, the rodeo and working cowboy, and the Old West. He sang from the heart. I will always aver that Chris LeDoux taught me how to sing and write music, and during one period in my life I had this incredible southern twang I had picked up by listening for probably hundreds of hours to Chris LeDoux lull me and fire my imagination and tell me all about the rodeo trail.
In 1976 Chris fulfilled his lifelong dream of becoming the World Champion Bareback Bronc rider. He was my singing hero. In 1987, at 21 years of age, I was traveling through Wyoming--traveling just to be on that open road about which Chris always sang. I had belonged to Chris's fan club a few years before, knew all about him and his wife Peggy and their children. I knew he lived in Kaycee, Wyoming. I was doing research on a novel in Buffalo, Wyoming, and I happened to look on a map and see that Kaycee was less than an hour away. I couldn't come that far and then not go try to meet him.
So I drove into Kaycee, pulled up at the local cafe, and ordered dinner. I asked about Chris and learned that he had performed for many a barn dance right there in town, and that his father in law, Peggy's dad, owned a store right across the street. Trying not to act like an addlebrained kid, I finished my dinner and went across the street, where I met this father in law whose name I can't recall. I left there with a pair of spur straps made by Chris himself and exact directions to Chris's house on the Powder River.
With my heart in my throat I drove out there, and I was greeted by a humble place not far off the river bank, and by two of Chris's kids, Ned and Beau. Chris was out riding with his oldest son, Clay, and Peggy was in town picking up groceries. So what happened? Heck, I went down in the basement with these two early teenage boys and played foosball, what else? Turns out those two boys were just like their dad and mom--open to anyone, friendly, with winning grins and the hearts of cowboys.
Peggy came home with Cindy and Will, their daughter and last son. She was a little surprised to find me down in the basement playing with the boys, but she took it all in stride. I sat in the kitchen visiting with her, and then along came Chris and Clay. Chris was riding his old buckskin gelding, who has since died, and alongside them came his little black and white border collie. I was to put them all together on a painting later that I hope to reproduce prints of now.
To try to make a long story short, in came Chris with that incredible friendly smile I will always remember. We sat at the kitchen table and shared a diet Pepsi and talked about rodeo and music, and inside I was just like a little kid. We went out and leaned on his old red truck, Rodeo Rose, which he made famous in a song by that name, and Chris tuned up my dad's old Harmony Master guitar and played a few songs with me. Clay came out and took a photo of the three of us there--me, Chris, and Rodeo Rose.
Chris became a fan of my novels later, and I had one chance to perform with him on the stage. That dream fell through because of logistics, but I came close, and I'll have to be satisfied with that. I recently heard a song by Chris on a newer album, "Horsepower." I believe it's called "Enjoy the Ride." It's about a boy who goes to the county fair, sits on a pony, and his entire life is changed by the time he gets down. The old man handling the ponies has given him this advice:
"Sit tall in the saddle. Hold your head up high. Keep your eyes fixed where the trail meets the sky. And live like you ain't afraid to die. Don't be scared. Just enjoy the ride. Nah, don't be scared--just enjoy your ride."
At the end of the song he speaks of the time coming where he comes to the end of the trail, and there stands a black horse, riderless. He is a bit nervous, but he gets on and tips his hat, and rides away. To me, that song personifies Chris's life. Like in the song, he has mounted that black horse, tipped his hat to the world, and he is gone. But he will never be truly gone. He rides on in all of us who listen to his music, and those songs of the rodeo trail that shaped my life.
Chris LeDoux, 1948-2005