My Cowboy Daddy

Editor’s Note: Both Carol and her mother, Wanda Coffey, are fabulous artists. In this heartfelt memoir, Carol pays tribute to her Cowboy Daddy and to her Artist Mama with Wanda Coffey’s paintings “American Cowboy: Made in the USA” and “Cowboy Contentment”. Wanda Coffey, age 98, is still painting today.

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I always was a “Daddy’s Girl.” As the oldest, I guess I held a special place in our family. I never was the cowgirl my Daddy may have wished I was, like my sister, or the specialness of the only son, like my brother, but Daddy and I always had an unspoken closeness.

In the stories I have written for my memoir, there are a lot of references to Daddy and our family. Daddy was always bigger than life, our patriarch. Looking back now, we all went through some unique experiences and sometimes tough times while he was in pursuit of his dreams. But I wouldn’t trade any of it for something different. It gave us toughness, a can-do attitude, and an incredible work ethic.

Daddy passed away on January 8, 2008. I made several trips back to Farmington, as he was failing due to multiple small strokes. It was hard to see him age and become dependent for most things.

On one of my last visits as I sat by Daddy’s bedside holding his hand while he slept, I thought of the stories that could be told with those old gnarled, scarred hands. Those hands could follow the back of a horse just brushed, take a rope and guide it around a calf’s neck from the back of that same horse. Those hands and their stocky fingers could easily go up and down the neck of a mandolin, guitar, or fiddle that would make Bill Monroe proud. Those same skills were used as he sat in the cab of a grader or bulldozer and lightly moved levers back and forth to bring several acres into perfect grade. Those big hands would pat the top of his little girls’ heads and tell them they were the prettiest little girls in the world, or lift up that little boy of his into the saddle. Those hands would often and tenderly reach to take our Mama into his arms. Those hands could tell a story all right.

Daddy, Edd Coffey, was born December 22, 1922 to Edd and Leora Stephenson Coffey in Eola, Texas, a little west Texas town on the Concho River. The Coffeys were horsemen and ranchers. Daddy had one brother. Daddy always called him “William.” We’ve all grown up listening to Daddy and Uncle Bill tell stories of growing up in Texas in the ’20s and ’30s.  “Lonesome Dove” couldn’t hold a candle to those Coffeys.

 In 1941 he moved with his family to California where he worked at Lockheed building P38 fighter planes, worked for a time in the film industry with small parts and as an extra in Western movies (we have one of those movies!), managed stockyards, trained horses, was a mule skinner, a sheep rancher, and rodeoed in between. 

In 1943, at age 21, he was drafted and served in the U. S. Army Air Force as a bombardier in Southern Italy doing bombing runs over Munich, Nuremberg, and Frankfort, Germany.

Upon returning from World War II, he met and married Mama — Wanda May Hinds, on December 4, 1945 and began rodeoing fulltime. That is all he ever wanted to do. He was a calf roper and bulldogger. He was most proud of being a charter member of the Turtles Association which later became the Professional Rodeo Cowboys Association. 

Rodeoing was a family affair and Mama, Susie, and I traveled with him all the years that he rodeoed. It’s a life that doesn’t exist today and I cherish those memories.

In about 1956 Daddy retired from rodeo and began a horse training and construction business in Farmington, and later formed Coffey Construction Company in 1963. He was a tough businessman, but a man of highest integrity. 

Even though I was the oldest, Daddy always called me “Baby.” I think he called all of us “Baby” most of the time. 

Susie made Daddy laugh – and cry sometimes.  She was quite a horsewoman herself and I know Daddy was glad he got a cowgirl out of one of us.  Daddy always said Susie and I were the only boys he had, but in 1962, Mark was born and he finally had the real thing.  Mark and Daddy rode together, roped together, worked together. In fact, we all worked together, and hard! Weekends were just another two days to work. Mark, a successful contractor himself, says that everything he learned he learned from Daddy. Daddy often said Mark was the finest man he knew – and the feeling went both ways.

Daddy had a funny way of saying things.  We used to have a dish towel instead of napkins and Daddy called it the “head wiper.” He’d say, “Mama, pass the head wiper.” Then the next one that needed something to wipe their face or hands on got to use it.

He would reach out and pinch Mama’s butt or snap our legs with the dish towel as we walked by – or rope us!  He called gravy “levi.”  His favorite dessert was Mama’s banana cake with “calf slobbers.”  That’s what he called her seven-minute frosting. 

Everything was compared to a horse. People’s anatomy was the same as a horse’s anatomy.  “Got a pain in my withers.”  Home remedies were horse remedies first. Daddy was not a complainer. No matter how tough things got he’d say things were “just wonderful.” 

He was generous. He was the first to grab the check no matter how broke he was. One year he gave away our Thanksgiving turkey! He came in at the end of the day and some hand working for him didn’t have a turkey for his kids so he got ours and gave it to him and we ate sandwiches. 

When we lived down on Star Lane in that little trailer, Mama had bought a new little throw rug.  One of her friends came by and admired it and he picked it up and gave it to her.  When Mama came home she asked, “Where’s my new rug.”  Daddy said, “Oh I gave it to Joyce.  She has always been so good to us and she really liked it.” 

I feel a little sorry for kids who spend every night watching TV. We didn’t have TV most of the time and the only thing on then was “Gunsmoke.” Every night after supper Daddy would pick up the guitar or fiddle, Mama the guitar, me the mandolin, and Susie the guitar and play music. All of us have had our knuckles rapped with the bow for making the wrong chord. 

Daddy was ordained as a deacon in First Baptist Church, Grants and served as a deacon in Farmington for over 40 years. He was committed to his men’s Sunday School class and served as its teacher for over 35 years. I know that even when he became ill and couldn’t wear shoes on his swollen feet, he insisted on coming to meet with those men.  

 It is impossible to talk of Daddy and his accomplishments without speaking of Mama. Mama was his helpmate, his partner, his companion in all things, and his absolute love. We’ve always said she was the “glue” in our family. She endured a lot being married to a cowboy.

Soon after Daddy went up to Cedar Ridge Nursing Home, he told Susie, “I always thought I would die in the arena, but I wasn’t so lucky.”  He died with Mama by his side. We will all be telling his story for years to come.

Copyright © 2025 Carol Carryer