A Tribute To Tony Thomas

Tony Thomas, wake up, man,
You’re sleeping much too late.
No time to snooze:
Too much to lose.
You cannot hesitate.

Tony Thomas, we know you:
Athlete, farmer, livestock man
You make us laugh
You rope that calf
You’re a rodeoing man

Ride him,Tony, ride that bull
His hump can make a mess
It’s gonna hurt
And that’s for cert
Your nose now makes an “S”!

Tony Thomas, rise up, son,
There’s still so much to do.
There’s pigs to feed
And folks that need
To get a call from you.

Tony Thomas, you know that pig?
The one you sold Tom Greer?
That very one
For Jenny won
Grand Champion this year

Stock show, Tony, coming soon
The kids need tutoring:
Look at the judge
And gently nudge
The pig around the ring

Tony Thomas, sing for us,
Your whistle’s wet and wild
Mr. Seagram’s here
No need for beer
Sing Clovis loud, my child.

Hank Jr., son, would weep with pride
To hear you belt it out
So take a sip
And let er rip
For that green-eyed gal it’s about

Wake up, Tony, over there,
A ten-point shooter buck
He’s the one
Don’t pass him, son
You’ve never had such luck

Wake up, Tony, let’s get dressed
To town we go tonight
The girls are hot
With you to trot
So dance them up real tight

The Lord is calling, Tony pal,
Not Calvert, though, this round
No plastic cup,
No 7 up,
Just a slowly whispered sound:

“Little Big Man, come upstairs,”
The auction’s almost through
The bid is closed
And as I supposed
The price was high for you.

Tony Thomas, wait for us
We’ve been asleep like you
But we will wake
Your trip we’ll take
And sing Clovis ‘long with you.

A Tribute to Steve Spier on his 80th Birthday

To Steve upon his Eightieth Birthday
May 27, 2013

Here’s a toast to a guy named Steve,
He’s had a life you’ll scarce believe:
Places he’s been, and stuff he’s done;
His lifelong book would weigh a ton!
But I will try in brief to say
Some things about his life today.
In Minnesota he was born,
Perhaps it was a frosty morn.
At any rate his Preacher Dad–
A wand’ring itch he always had—
Miami south he moved his bunch;
They never even stopped for lunch!
Seattle next was home to Steve,
But soon thereafter they would leave.
To Jacksonville his family went
His Dad, he barely had a cent.
Old Ted–his Dad–he trusted God,
As cross the country they did plod.
A capsized trailer; tires blown out;
Left poor Young Stevie full of doubt.
They made it, though, to Jacksonville.
They all were healthy; not one ill.
The war years there were spare and lean
And offshore Nazi subs were seen
But vict’ry gardens got them through
And better days would come they knew.
Then to Atlanta next they moved:
A move I’m sure they all approved.
Doc Smith’s drug store did once employ
Young Stephen as delivery boy
On Cushman scooter he would fly
‘Round Little Five Points and nearby.
The days in Georgia numbered were
Their constant moving seemed a blur
Soon T. J. Spier informed the clan–
Including even newborn Dan–
Saskatchewan would be the place
The Spiers would try to find some space.
Which wasn’t difficult out there.
The western plains had lots of air,
And frost and flies and even heat;
Their nasty climate can’t be beat.
But Steve secured some part-time work:
A farm machinery warehouse clerk.
I’m running out of space and time,
And pretty soon there’ll be no rhyme.
But sadly hasten on I must;
Your patience will endure I trust.
Steve finished up his high school years
In St. Paul once again, my dears.
At Minnehaha (that’s no joke!)
A prep school year for our young bloke.
A part-time job to pay his board
Was pumping gas, but, oh, my Lord!
Some robbers beat him up real bad!
To tell the story makes me sad.
It made the young lad very tough.
The crooks were jailed, and that’s enough!
Then Spokane, Washington, became
The temporary home to claim.
Steve had jobs of various styles:
He lifted, loaded, travelled miles.
He climbed big poles and spliced some wires;
Along the way he quenched some fires
Of lovelorn maidens that he met;
Perhaps such things I should forget!
Korean War next reared its head;
Steve faced at once the draft board dread.
Selective Service you could use:
The branch of service you could choose.
So Coast Guard duty was his choice.
To “Aye, aye, Sir!” he gave his voice.
And here on this Memorial Day,
We salute his service and we say,
“Thanks from all of us to you,
We still are free, and it’s all due
To servicemen and women brave,
Who sacrificed themselves to save
The greatest nation on the earth:
The Face of Freedom from its birth.”
When Coast Guard life was finally through,
Steve had to figure what to do.
He sold some cars and boats awhile,
But those jobs didn’t fit his style.
But then a simple wedding dance
Led Stevie boy to hot romance.
Young Eleanor, a flag corps girl,
Young Stephen gave a dizzy twirl!
Then married they became, you see.
Together still live happily.
Steve worked at many jobs those years,
While making ends meet for the Spiers.
He worked at Lockheed twice ‘tis true,
He went to night school classes, too.
Insurance sales he gave a shot.
To me I think he sold a lot!
The field that gave him his best start
Was drafting, which was very smart,
For I’m an artist, but I’ll say,
His graphic drawings far outweigh
My scratchy outlines by a ton!
At any rate, his drafting skill
Allowed him access to fulfill
A dream career, and nothing less,
Full of promise and success.
Lithonia Lighting, east of town,
Was where old Stephen gained renown.
From draftsman to technician of
The R and D staff, then above,
To manager of testing lab,
And then a new deal he would grab:
A new department was his thing,
A Market Applications wing.
This worked real well, but then Steve went
To field sales—this was heaven-sent–,
For then the engineers could see
What they thought then could never be:
First-class knowledge from the man
Who know how lighting really ran.
The company sales went through the roof,
And Steve Spier’s foresight given proof.
People skills had helped old Steve
Carve out a niche to work and weave
A solid place where all could see
His value to the company.

But family duty was not shirked;
The frugal couple scrimped and worked.
Their offspring grew by bounds and leaps,
Their grocery bills piled up in heaps!
First Lori, Dirk and Tanya came,
Then Dena, “Peewee” was her name.
Poor Eleanor toiled hard at life,
As teacher, mom, and cook and wife.
And Steve coached youth league football teams,
And helped Red Runners reach their dreams.
With grandkids then they both were blest.
Four fine young birds to crowd the nest.
Trevor, Cody, then Garrett came,
The last one Kinsey was by name.
Grandpa Steve is their best friend,
Their love for him—it knows no end.

Steve’s own dream then would soon come true;
One for which he sure was due:
By Steve’s name engineers marked “Yes”
For president of IES.
Worldwide travel far and wide,
Banquets lush for Steve and bride.
China, Russia, other places:
Lots of sights and different faces.
Steve had made it to the top
Of his profession near non-stop.
Great career, you must agree;
He did it all with no degree.

This story has gone on too long;
I probably got some details wrong.
In closing I would like to say
To Stephen Spier on his great day:
You’ve been a rock to those around;
A steady voice with logic sound.
A helpful hand for others’ needs;
A thoughtful eye for future deeds.
A tender heart, no matter what;
A big right foot for kicking butt!

Happy 80th Birthday, Big Brother.

A Tribute to James Horace Thomas

When Heaven called for Mr. Punk,
He'd had a fruitful life,
One daughter and four sons he'd raised,
With Doris, his dear wife.

Like many Other South plains men,
He'd tilled the soil for bread,
And battled wind, and weeds, and drought,
To keep his family fed.

He did things well and right on time,
And honestly as well,
And no one ever doubted him,
As well as I can tell.

He'd had his little run-ins,
And I can name a few;
But I'll just tell you one I know,
And that will have to do:

There was the time an angry cow—
To guard her newborn calf—
Charged and butted Punk so hard,
It near cut him plum in half!

He'd suffered pains and sicknesses,
And troubles by the score,
But every time we thought "He's done,"
He'd recuperate once more.

There is a vision Punk would see
As he looked outside each day:
Three mounted braves on ponies wild
Appeared across the way.

Upon the caprock canyon's rim,
They rode up from the east,
And looked down on the red brick house,
Not threatened in the least.

Old Punk would wave and wish them well,
And off then they would ride;
The morning Sun would brush with gold
Bronze skin and horse's hide.

On Wednesday last they came again,
To greet as in the past,
But Punk was walking up the hill,
To meet with them at last.

His OshKosh overalls were new,
His sparkling hair was white,
They helped him up and off they rode,
Till they were out of sight.

The Western Channel doesn't reach
To Heaven's TV set,
But Punk won't have to worry,
He's got it better yet:

He gets to talk to Randolph Scott,
And Gary Cooper slim,
And Rex, the Duke, and Dale and Roy
Will gladly welcome him.

And now we've come to lay to rest,
Our Dad and loyal friend,
And we must thank the Lord above
For his peaceful, restful end.