The Cowboy Way

Bill Beadle became my uncle when he married my Aunt Virginia Byer. Uncle Bill was the youngest of eight children of William and Bertha (née Foster) Beadle. He was born in Worland, Wyoming, and most of his family lived there all their lives. When Uncle Bill passed away, on January 17, 2018, he was the last of the Beadle siblings. Growing up in the Worland area, which is pretty much rural Wyoming, Uncle Bill learned to love the outdoors. He loved hunting, fishing, and while hiking wasn’t as much “in style” as it is these days, I’m sure his brothers and sisters loved their outdoor adventures as much as any hiker these days.

Another aspect of growing up in Worland, Wyoming is that most of the folks that lived there were, if not farmers and ranchers, then at the very least, cowboys. Uncle Bill was a cowboy all the way. He loved everything about the cowboy lifestyle, and especially the “Old West” which was his favorite era. I think that he could imagine himself living in that era all his life…especially in his childhood, but then, what little boy doesn’t want to be a cowboy. I know that all the little boys I know love cowboy boots, horses, and guns. It’s the simply the cowboy way of doing things, and he loved it.

Along with his cowboy values, came a desire to make sure that the nephews stayed on the right track, and if they had problems, or it looked like they were heading in the wrong direction, he would sit down with them and after talking to them a while, he could have them turned around and back in line. It was this aspect of Uncle Bill’s personality that endeared him to my cousin, Elmer. He was a successful businessman, and it was the same values that he taught the nephews that made him good at what he did. Uncle Bill spent much of his working life in the pipe yards. Then he decided to start his own rathole drilling business with his sons, Forrest and Steve by his side. While Uncle Bill was a great machinist and general all-around mechanic, his really felt alive when he was fishing and bird hunting in the Worland area with his son, Steve. I can imagine he and Steve spent a lot of time talking about their fishing trips and the times they had walked the fields hunting for Pheasant and Chukars. He loved those treks into the woods waiting for that unexpected bird to fly up out of nowhere. The hunter had just seconds to respond, and would be successful, only if he was a great hunter…and Uncle Bill was a great hunter. Today would have been Uncle Bill’s 95th birthday. I’m sure he’s out hunting (minus the gun) or riding a horse somewhere, having the time of his life. Happy birthday in Heaven, Uncle Bill. We love and miss you very much.