How Do You Say Goodbye to a Living Legend?

The vast majority of you don't know me, but I was Dusty Richards's business partner in this enterprise known as Saddlebag Dispatches. He was the living legend, the face of the operation. I, on the other hand, was the guy with the laptop in the back room putting it all together. If you're into spy or superhero movies at all, you could say I was Dusty's "Guy in the Chair"—and I've had few greater privileges in my life.

Things are different now. What do you do when you’re a master of words—a publisher of them, even— but none will come to describe the hole inhabiting your heart? What do you do when your stock-in-trade can’t come close to conveying the depths of emptiness and despair at the loss of someone you looked up to more than almost anyone?

You keep going. You keep typing. You keep doing the one thing that your mentor admonished you to do above all other things—you keep writing.

They say that a child doesn’t come into his or her own unless and until the death of their father. If that’s the case, we as a company were shoved into adulthood four months ago when we learned of Dusty's passing. Our friend. Our partner. Our mentor. Our father. Keep writing. What can we say about Dusty? The real question is what can’t we say about him? To observe that he was larger than life is the grandest of understatements. He was an irresistible force and an unmovable object all rolled into one, a personality wider than the western skies he wrote about. He was an eternal optimist, a man who woke up each and every day renewed and ready for the next job, the next challenge, the next good fight. He was a father, a patriarch, a mentor of the first order. He toured the country teaching and encouraging new and experienced writers alike, challenging them to follow his lead, tell the next inspiring story, pen the next Great American Novel. He was a fighter, a lover, a joker, an entrepreneur, a canny businessman, a television and radio personality, a famous rodeo announcer, a cowboy, and, perhaps above all else, a master storyteller. He kept writing. Dusty was everything under his trademark ten-gallon hat and so much more, and we could keep writing for a year and not do him justice. He was a legend, and one that touched the lives of many, many thousands— possibly millions—of people.

But now the great man has passed on, and it's time to go to back to work. To keep writing. Since starting this business five years ago, I’ve lost several people who have meant the world to me, be it through death or simply the ever-shifting tides of life. While these loved ones are gone, I keep the memory of them close to my heart, grateful for every moment I got to spend with them, and always striving to honor the influence they had upon me. As I reluctantly take up the reins as the new Publisher of Saddlebag Dispatches, in his stead, I will do the same for Dusty.

But I’m not Dusty. I can never replace him, nor would I try. I can only follow in his footsteps and do my best to act as he would. And as he would probably say, those are some pretty damn big boots to fill... and I don't even own a pair of boots. I do, however, have a hat. A cowboy hat. Dusty's hat. A few weeks after his funeral, one of our fellow writers wrote an amazing eulogy to our dear, departed Ranch Boss talking about the old hat of Dusty’s he’d won a couple of years ago, how big it is, and how it’s a reminder to him of what he’s doing as a writer and why. As a protégé of Dusty, I knew instantly what he was talking about. So I asked Dusty’s family if I, too, could have one of his old hats to remember him by. His daughters graciously agreed, and brought me a stunning black dress hat a few days later at a conference.

I ended up carrying that hat around all day. It captured me. I’d been feeling lost since Dusty’s passing—unfocused, angry, guilty, depressed, and very, very sad. And suddenly, I was holding something in my hand that very firmly connected me back to him. It was like a clear-skied dawn after a night of storms. Instead of focusing on myself and my sense of loss, I finally remembered the man, what he was all about, and the faith he had in me. There are so many paths we can choose in this life, so many rabbit holes, obstacles, sinkholes, detours, traps... they’re simply unavoidable.

We need to keep writing.

We can either get bogged down in them feeling sorry for ourselves, or we can deal with the task at hand and keep our eyes on the prize. Dusty always, ALWAYS, did the latter, no matter how bad things got. And that may be his final, greatest lesson to us all. In life—as in writing—you never give up, never forget who you are or what you want, or that a little hard work and elbow grease will get you there, no matter what anybody thinks or says.

Dusty’s hat now lives on a shelf in my office. When I look at it, I feel like the Boss is still right here with me, looking over my shoulder as I work, pointing out corrections here and there as we created this magazine. I remember that he had faith in me and my talents, and that he had every intention of one day passing me the torch to continue his work helping and inspiring writers to become authors, and keeping the spirit of the West alive in today's collective conscience. I just sorely wish that that baton hadn't been passed quite so soon.

For obvious reasons, then, this issue of Saddlebag Dispatches is dedicated to the memory of the late, great Dusty Richards, as well as to his lovely wife Pat, and their family. It will mark a new era in the short history of our publication, but one that will carry on the traditions and ethics Dusty instilled in us over the long haul. We’ll keep writing. As mentioned above, I will be taking over Dusty's seat as Publisher, overseeing all aspects of the magazine and its business, and, for the time being, its production. I will be joined by our very able new Editor-in-Chief, Michael L. Frizell, and our new Managing Editor, Dennis Doty. They will oversee day-to-day management of submissions and the Editorial Department, aided by Associate Editors Jeremy Menefee, Gil Miller, and Gordon Bonnet, and Feature Writers George "Clay" Mitchell and Cyndy Prasse Miller. Venessa Cerasale runs our Business Department, including advertising sales, Vivian Cummings supervises Marketing, and Patricia Rustin Christen remains our Chief Photographer. We will continue to publish on a semi-annual basis for the foreseeable future—June and December—and continue bringing you the best in Western-themed fiction, poetry, history, events, and culture. This is our promise to you... and Dusty.

As for Dusty, I'm certain that he’s sitting around that big ol’ campfire in the sky right now, Pat at his side, swapping stories with the likes of Zane Grey, Louis L’Amour, and his old friends Jory Sherman and Cotton Smith. He was not one for self-pity, grief, or taking his foot off the gas for a second. He wouldn’t want to be grieved, but celebrated. He’d want us to keep his memory alive by following his lead. By chasing the sunset with all that we’ve got, pursuing our dream, living with passion, and cherishing the ones we love. And that’s what we’ll do, how we’ll honor our beloved father. Keep fighting. Keep telling stories. Keep doing what Dusty did until we can’t anymore.

Keep writing,

Casey W. Cowan

Publisher

Casey, Dusty, and fellow author Randall Dale at the Will Rogers Medallion Awards Banquet in Fort Worth, Texas in October, 2016. Dusty and Randall both walked away with medals that night.

Amy L. Cowan

A light moment during the May, 2014 Ozarks Writers League conference in Branson, Missouri.

M.G. Miller

Casey, Dusty, and Longmire creator Craig Johnson at the Western Writers of America Conference in Cheyenne, Wyoming in June, 2016

Gil Miller