Cowboy and Poet: Howard Parker Is Gone
He left us some verse that deserves to live
By ED HOWARD
August 28, 2004
There ain't enough people like Howard Parker in this world.
He was one of those men whose passing brought feelings that I've not often known.
A tremendous, extraordinary human being is gone. The world truly is a poorer place because Howard Parker has passed away.Those who loved him will not know his like again.
Howard first shook my hand some many years ago at something that was then called – as best I can recall – The Tri-State Old Time Cowboys Association breakfast. Something like that.
A bunch of the best old boys who ever rode ornery horses to earn bow legs and measly wages were there. Howard was there, too. He sang and played the guitar. Later he let fly a poem or two.
Days later, he read a story I had written about the old timers' gathering. The lead went approximately like this:
'Much of the hair is gray, and some of the muscle is gone from those broad shoulders, but their eyes are still as clear as the blue sky that covers the land where they grew up as honest-to-God cowboys.'
Howard read that piece, smiled the smile you couldn't mistake for any other, pushed that high-crowned Stetson back on his head and said: "Why, heck Ed'erd! You shoulda' been a writer!"
To get even, I eventually wrote a story about Howard, himself. The story was as flattering as it deserved to be, but I made him plenty antsy before its publication. This was accomplished by threatening to report on all manner of things he had said (over a libation or 12) about bankers, politicians, wannabe cowboys who wore cardboard boots, gals he'd knowed and horses he'd rode (don't even think it), and how a Sand Hills sunset could still choke him up. "I ain't ashamed of it, either ... I've seen sunsets that would bring tears to a glass eye!"
You had to hear it from other folks, but Howard had been one steely-eyed, leather-hide rodeo cowboy, having won enough buckles to put a sag in the bed of a half-ton pickup. Darn near.
Howard knew some famous people and lots of ordinary people and he often said that a lot of famous people were pretty ordinary, once you spent a little time with them. He numbered among them his friend, legendary folksinger Ramblin' Jack Elliot. Parker said Elliot was walking, singing proof that "not all New Yorkers are calf slobber!"
Parker's handshake came with a smile and you automatically had confidence in the honesty of both.
Horse Tradin' was one of the first poems I heard Howard recite. Later he sent me one of his cassettes, but naturally it didn't have Horse Tradin' on it. I called him and said I wanted that particular poem. He made a separate recording for me and sent it along. It opened with a message from Howard, saying he had just been given "a fancy new recording machine with all kinds of lights and buttons and whaddya' call 'ems on it," and saying he hoped it would work out. It did.
When we next talked on the phone, I told him I had made copies of that tape for several friends, and Howard said something like 'Any unauthorized reproduction of my work is greatly appreciated!'
Howard Parker is gone at the age of 68. The reality of it is gnawing at my guts and there is no other way to put it.
Damn! Howard, why'd you go? After all the times you opened the gate and made the eight, you were just too tough to cash out that way. But you died with your boots on. That much was fair. And it happened while you were checking on windmills. I remember, so distinctly, when you told me so many years ago about checking on windmills, after I asked why it was that windmills needed checking, anyway. You said somethng like: 'That's a good question, now that you mention it. I don't know of none that has eloped, or missed a curfew.' You pondered a little more, and added `You gotta' watch 'em because they're bigger than steer wrestlers, and have less conscience than a banker. And they can cause almost as much grief as either one!'
Reprinted below is that great poem, Horse Tradin. I talked with Howard's ghost early this morning and received specific assurance that I still had permission to publish it here. Not only is it a good poem, it contains a mighty good and practical life lesson for anyone who has to do with horses, or plans to have to do with horses.
By the way, it was July 20th when Howard passed on.
Horse Tradin'
Well, a horse trader he showed up one day,
And he sure would wheel and deal,
For horses, saddles, bridle bits--
Anything he could buy or steal.
And I started thinking about Ol' Pal
And wonderin' what he'd bring.
He was cow-hocked and parrot-mouthed
And he just turned twelve this spring.
And anything that he could do,
He couldn't do too well.
I just happened to have him handy,
Out in the round corral.
Well the trader takes a look at him,
And Lordy, don't ya know,
He found some other things that's wrong,
That I didn't think would show.
Well, he'd make me an offer,
Then he'd take another chew,
And I'd talk about how dry it was,
And wondered what the hay would do.
Then finally we struck a deal,
Some later in the day.
And I've got the money in my hand
As I watch him pull away.
Then I got to thinkin'
About that ol' horse, ya see;
Wonderin' where he'd end up,
And who his new owner'd be.
'Cuz if ya didn't want to rope him,
You better have some oats or corn.
And that ol' devil would still bog his head
On a cold December morn.
Well, they were gonna have an auction,
And it wasn't far away.
And I thought that I'd drive over,
Not doin' much that day.
Well, the trader gave his testimony,
With Ol' Pal a-standin' there,
How, "he was plumb safe for anybody,
And you could catch him anywhere."
Then there was a lot of other things
I didn't know that he could do,
Like, "rope calves or steers off him,
Pick up buckin' horses, too!"
So when the biddin' started,
I just got right in the game.
And I guess I didn't know when to stop,
'Cuz the ringman called my name!
Well, I lost two hundred dollars,
And Ol' Pal is mine once more.
But at least he's four years younger
Than he was the time before!
©1987, Howard Parker, reprinted with permission
from Poetry and Prose from Horsethief Crossing
