Life of a hero brings focus to Western life

Recently, I was privileged to attend the funeral of one of my earliest heroes, a woman who lived a long and impressive life. I suspect many of you know her story, or at least have heard of her, even if you never had the chance to meet her. She came from — and so beautifully represented — the culture we hold dear.

Born Oct. 15, 1936, in Cheyenne, Marilyn Scott Friemark made history as the inaugural Miss Rodeo America in 1955, after sweeping the pageant. She became the face of our cowboy sport four years before rodeo’s first National Finals was held in Las Vegas.

A widely circulated news release shared that Marilyn left this world peacefully on April 4 at age 89, noting she had “lived a memorable, full life and raised a beautiful family.” That felt like quite an understatement to me.

On April 11, I mentioned how much I hoped to attend her funeral, and I was blessed to be in Belle Fourche, South Dakota, the next day for her celebration of life.

As the large facility filled to overflowing, it was clear the release had been right about one thing in particular — Marilyn did indeed leave behind a beautiful family. Tears filled my eyes as I joined the long line of mourners and first saw that multi-generational group seated quietly in the front rows.

“What a legacy,” I thought.

They were handsome and strong, their deep tans showing long days spent feeding through winter and calving in spring. The men were tall and broad-shouldered, the women slender, each one carrying a quiet strength — physical, spiritual and emotional. Even so, there was no holding back the tears in those final, irreversible moments.

My heart felt their pain, remembering my own time in those boots, even as I rejoiced in the overwhelming show of love filling the room. I know firsthand how much that kind of support can ease a grieving heart.

I was taken back to my parents’ funerals, remembering the wide-brimmed cowboy hats that filled the church and how each one was respectfully removed as folks passed by the casket. I whispered a quiet prayer of thanks that this service did not include an open casket — that had always been especially hard for me, even though it was a family tradition.

The family’s favorite hymns — “Mom’s favorites,” they said — were beautifully sung in barbershop-style harmony by Marilyn’s children and grandchildren. Those old songs brought tears, as they always do, but also chills at the perfection of their delivery. One song had even been written by a family member especially for her. It was remarkable to see them honor her so fully, setting aside their grief to lift their voices in praise.

What touched me most were the memories shared by family members, one after another, passing the microphone down the line. Stories ranged from poignant to downright hilarious, offering comfort, laughter and reflection to everyone listening. A few were even shared as playful “confessions” — things “she might have killed me for if she had found out” — which brought some of the biggest laughs of the day.

At one point, laughter rippled through the room when a long-hidden offense between two younger family members came to light, nearly sparking a playful scuffle before someone stepped in to hold things in check. I couldn’t help but think heaven must have been smiling down on that moment.

I was honored to briefly share how much Marilyn’s life had meant to me. I first met her in 1960, when I was 14 and competing for National High School Rodeo Queen in Hot Springs, South Dakota. She was one of the judges, and from that first meeting — and every time our paths crossed afterward — she inspired me to work harder, be better, and do my part to promote and preserve our Western heritage while helping others along the way.

On the drive home that evening, I offered a quiet prayer of thanks to God for the gift of knowing such a remarkable woman. I was grateful for the inspiration she gave me and for the chance to be there to honor her life.

The drive itself felt like a blessing — a beautiful sunset, young calves kicking up their heels beside their mothers, and a doe leading her tiny fawns through the fading light. I couldn’t help but think those were the same simple joys Marilyn cherished in her years on this earth.

It was the perfect ending to a bittersweet, but truly beautiful, day.