Happy Trails Joe

I went to a funeral on Saturday. Joe Pace had died.

As I stood in the entryway of the stately old church in downtown Fort Worth I watched family members, and several hundred friends and business associates arrive. Most were dressed in black though there were a few from the ranch in their neatly pressed jeans and plaid shirts, polished boots and western hat in-hand. From the Mayor and his wife to the flea market receptionist they had come to say goodbye to Joe.

Mourners took a seat as the bell in the tower began to toll marking the start of the service. The main room with its beautiful stained glass windows quickly filled and it was obvious that the balcony would be needed. Spiritually soothing tunes poured from the pipe organ, and soon thereafter the family was escorted into the sanctuary and seated in the first three rows.

To the rear on either side of the organ sat a impressive backdrop of brightly colored floral arrangements and standing sprays. But, everyone's attention was drawn to the small table, front and center at the altar. Sitting side-by-side were a old disheveled rancher's hat and a small wooden box. The sweat-stained hat - Joe wore proudly in life. The box - a temporary resting place for Joe's ashes that would soon to be spread across the family ranch lands that he so loved.

We all stood as an honor guard of uniformed Boy Scouts presented the colors, then led the gathering in the Scout Oath and the Pledge of Allegiance. Even in his later years Joe was still a big Boy Scout.

Music and memories filled the church in the following hour. Prayers were said. We heard stories about Joe's love for flying, a love that he got from his dad, "Big J.C.", and a love that he has now passed on to his own son, "Little J.C.". There were tales of business ventures and endless philanthropy by the man from Sweetwater, Texas. Tales of his kindness and love for his family.

But, the one thing that touched me most was the story told by the minister near the end of the service. He said that as Joe laid in Intensive Care in those final hours, his surgeon stopped by and asked, "Joe, is there anything that I can do for you?"

Unable to speak because of the respirator, Joe wrote his response on a small tablet then handed it to the doctor. The note said, "Go save someone else. Thanks, Joe". The sanctuary was silent. That simple request was so Joe.

From the day we met ten years ago at Joe Poole Lake right up until the end, it was a joy to work with Joe and share a bit of his time. He was a good man. Happy Trails Joe...