Neola Celebration - What's More American Than 4th of July in Neola - Legndary Rancher:Howard Horrocks

By Jerilyn Hyder

    Howard R Horrocks, lovingly known to me as "dad", was born on June 25, 1934, in Hayden, Utah, to Royal and Viola Horrocks.

    Dad was destined to become a legend. His father and Grandfather Horrocks were outstanding horsemen, and they taught him to ride at a very young age. Howard was an excellent rider and broke many horses while he was still young. He was also well known among the locals as an "arm-wrestling fool" and "strong as an ox." His father in law, my grandpa, stated often that he had never seen a man with such strong forearms, and, as far as we have been told, he never lost an arm-wrestling match.

    My dad rode bucking broncos in the rodeos, and, as a friend of his recalled, "Howard would entertain the crowd at the rodeos by riding the steers out, holding on with both hands. He was only thirteen years old!"

    My father enjoyed life and loved his family. He married Fay Goodrich of Vernal in 1953, and they have four children. Dad taught his boys (my older brothers Chad, Jeff, and Greg) to hunt, fish, work hard and play hard.

    He enjoyed writing and performing cowboy poetry. He liked to travel around to the cowboy poetry events where he often participated. He also loved to tell a good story and had a memory like an elephant. He could recall pieces of property and tell who had owned it and what years it had changed hands and what was given for it.

    Dad was also an in inventor of sorts. If he needed a certain tool and couldn't find it, he would invent something to make the job easier than the original one would have.

    Howard worked for Chevron Oil for 27 years before retiring to run his ranch in Neola full time. In 1988 he purchased a ranch in Manti. He worked hard for many years making that a productive ranch as well as the one in Neola. He loved the Manti area and made many friends there.

    Dad never met a stranger. He loved to travel, not necessarily for the sights but for the opportunity to meet new people. He always made friends wherever he went.

    My father was a man of his word: if he said he was going to do something, you could count on it. A contract held no more clout than his word. He was fair to a fault and very generous, helping many in need. He respected those who worked hard and didn't expect any more than he was willing to give.

    Dad was diagnosed with pancreatic cancer in September of 2010. Although in excruciating pain and knowing what the outcome would be, he never shed a tear or asked, "Why did this happen to me?" The night before he died he was still hard at work. He felt he had fences to build cows to feed and responsibilities to fulfill. He died the same way he lived: working hard.