Memories

I felt honored to attend Gene Baldwin’s funeral on Jan. 3. It was held at First United Methodist Church, a beautiful service shared by Methodist Rev. Calvin Hill and retired Lutheran pastor Ron Sample. The crowd overflowed the sanctuary into the fellowship hall.

Following interment — with cool Wyoming breezes but sunny skies — at Greenwood Cemetery, and after visiting, reminiscing and enjoying refreshments back at the church, I felt like writing this.

It was a beautiful day in Newcastle — a fitting day to pay tribute to the long, well-lived life of Gene Baldwin.

Gene was one of the true pioneers and lifetime ranchers of our area. I felt comfortable in faded jeans and a cotton turtleneck, with a wool hoodie to break the wind and cold, confident Gene would not have expected me to dress up. I arrived at the church a bit ahead of the 1 p.m. funeral, believing the sanctuary would be full or overflowing into the back section. It was, long before people stopped coming in.

Organist Marcia Romano, a Baldwin relative, played beautifully as people arrived.

Ron Sample stood behind the pulpit and painted an accurate picture of the Gene I have known for as long as I can remember. His words about Gene’s life, personality and activities created a true portrait of the man. They were echoed by Rev. Hill, who had not known Gene long but had spoken with people who had known him for decades.

During the service, members of two additional generations of the Baldwin family were invited to speak. Many did, emotionally struggling to share some of their fondest memories of time spent with Gene. Despite the pain of saying goodbye, they recalled and shared funny stories — typical of Gene and surprising no one in the crowded sanctuary.

Those humorous recollections rang true to Gene’s own words, printed in the memorial folder:

The snow got deep

And the calves wouldn’t suck,

This is just a part

Of a rancher’s luck.

Then the cold wind blew

And some cows prolapsed.

This ranchin’ game

Is worse than craps.

The price of feed

Shot up sky high.

The banker thought

He was going to die.

We brought some pills,

We about went broke.

And after 50 bucks

The calf would croak.

But stock folks are

A hardy bunch.

They know damn well

There’s no free lunch.

So they work right on,

They have no fear.

It’s going to get better —

Probably next year.

— Gene Baldwin —

Gene Baldwin was a true Wyoming rancher. He grew up working hard on the MW Ranch south of Newcastle. I believe it was founded by Gene’s father, Bob Baldwin, but I am a “newcomer” compared to the Baldwins and cannot state that as fact. In my heart, though, I know they have always been fine citizens and neighbors, and Gene was the one who always saw the humor in everything.

Their multigenerational roots were evident in the list of pallbearers and honorary pallbearers, each either born into or married into the Baldwin family.

Attending the funeral, following interment at Greenwood Cemetery, and then enjoying coffee and refreshments at the church afterward was a true privilege. I knew many people in the large crowd . . . several generations in many families. I saw longtime friends who had traveled some distance to pay their respects.

The greatest privilege was having known these good Weston County and rural Newcastle residents for as long as I can remember, and recalling the friendships my parents shared with them. That was where my own friendships grew, not only in the community but at local and area rodeos over the decades. Praise to God for the gift of memory.

In cowboy lingo, Gene was “a sleeper.” Translated to plain English, that meant his quiet manner and few words led competitors to believe he would not excel in speed events. Yet he consistently turned in faster times and won their money with no apparent effort.

After the funeral, interment and refreshments back at the church — where I visited with many dear, longtime friends my age whom I had hoped to see — I felt compelled to share this.

Always humble, Gene shrugged off compliments with a mumbled, “Lady luck sure smiled on me . . . ha ha ha.” I think he truly believed that, never acknowledging the level of real skill he possessed as a roper.

I will always cherish my memories of the man who often asked me to partner with him, even though I was just an unskilled kid and there was not much chance of winning. Somehow, his confidence boosted my own, and every once in a while we won some money together — much to my youthful delight.

I miss you, Gene. Thank you for the good times you helped me enjoy so long ago. I figure you have been getting in some dandy roping practice since you arrived in heaven. I know plenty of good cowboy angels were waiting for you, and I do not reckon you would waste much time sitting around playing a harp!