Mr. Frank J. Beaver died Thursday, Feb. 5, 2015 in Fort Worth.
Burial in the Fluvanna Cemetery.
Frank J. Beaver, the son of Sam and Mabel Lane Beaver, was born on Dec. 24, 1919 in Scurry County. He was the youngest of five children with two older brothers and two older sisters. The Beaver family farmed in the Fluvanna area, primarily growing cotton.
Frank left the family farm in 1936 at the age of 16 to work for Clyde Miller in Borden County, earning $15 a month. After a few short months, he heard about a wonderful opportunity breaking horses for “Ozona” Bill Miller for a whopping $30 a month. He rode his horse from Clyde Miller’s ranch to “Ozona” Bill Miller’s ranch (no relation) and talked to Bill’s son, Morris Miller. Morris confirmed that the job did pay $30 a month, but the catch — isn’t there always one — was that the job was for only one month. Frank, nonetheless still excited about this new prospect continued his ride to the west side of Borden County to meet Bill Miller. Once he arrived, he was scrutinized and evaluated by Miller to see if he passed the test. After several “broke” horses, Miller was pleased enough with Frank’s work to extend his employment into a steady job for $25 a month. Although primarily a sheep operation (with some cattle), the month of breaking horses turned out to not only be the opportunity of a lifetime, but also forged a relationship and a partnership with “Ozona” Bill Miller and his clan that spanned almost 74 years.
Frank’s favorite times growing up were spent rounding up and branding, which of course meant that he also relished camping out and eating at the chuck wagon. He can remember many nights carefully placing his rope in a circle around his suggan (a crude type of quilt made from primarily wool scraps and tied rather than quilted) and his saddle. He would carefully step inside this circle to bed down with a feeling of being secure and protected, because, as folklore was told, everyone knew rattlesnakes would not crawl over a rope.
While Frank was still a teenager on Bill Miller’s ranch, he learned the best lesson of his life, a lesson he often reflected upon. As he was riding across the pasture, he was chewing on a match. When the match was pretty well destroyed, he struck it, looked at it briefly, and then threw it on the ground. As you can imagine, this is West Texas. The weather is hot, dry and windy. A puff of wind caught the still hot match and full blown fire was raging within seconds. Frank tried putting the fire out alone and knew quickly that he needed help. He loped his horse five miles to Miller’s house. Bill was sitting on the front porch as Frank drew his horse up and told him that the Johnson Ranch was on fire. Miller’s first response was to ask how did the pasture catch on fire, a question Frank hoped would not be asked, but knew he had to answer, “I set it.” He thought surely he would be fired as soon as he and others put out the blaze. To his amazement, Miller told him that he could have lied and Miller would have believed it having no reason to think otherwise. However, Frank did the right thing and told the truth. After that incident, whenever Bill wanted to know something, he would always tell everyone that he would ask Frank because Frank would tell him the truth. Being truthful paid off in the long run as he “called it like it was.”
In 1942, with World War II escalating, Frank joined the U.S. Air Force and was stationed in Denver, Colo., though he was not to be there long. His brother, Alfred, was in the U.S. Army and stationed at the Remount Depot in Front Royal, Va. Alf told his commanding officer about his brother’s horsemanship, and the colonel wrote a letter to Frank’s commanding officer requesting a transfer for Frank. The request was granted and Frank found himself in Virginia and life was good — riding horses every day. At the Remount Depot there were approximately 5,000 horses and 10 riders, and each horse was to be ridden by two different riders and assessed. This was in preparation for selling the horses — 1,500 head of horses were sold in one day. World War II was the first truly mechanized war and the U.S. Army no longer had a need for thousands of horses.
Being stationed in Virginia was not only good from the aspect of not getting shot by the enemy, but the ever so gregarious Frank enjoyed attending the local horse shows on weekends around Middleburg, Va. These shows afforded Frank the opportunity to ride for different owners where he won ribbons and trophies, and of course, he was paid for his winning ways. The stable of Liz Whitney, one of the heirs of Eli Whitney, the inventor of the cotton gin, was the primary stable he rode for. His acquaintance with Ms. Whitney afforded him a glimpse into the lives of many wealthy people living in the Middleburg area at that time, notably Paul Mellon. How does a cowboy from Borden County know which fork to use at these opulent dinners? He keeps a watchful eye on everyone else.
All good things must come to an end. In October 1944, Frank found himself assigned to the 10th Mountain Division and on a ship heading for someplace in Europe. When his ship docked, he was in Italy. Anyone who has ever been there can tell you war is indeed hell, even if it is only for 18 months, but November 1945 was a good time to be going back to Texas and “Ozona” Bill Miller’s ranch.
Back on the ranch, Frank continued to work for Bill Miller. From this time on, Frank helped neighbors do day work and in later years sent other ranch hands to “neighbor.” In the 1940s, he also did day work on the Dean Ranch and Tom Good’s ranch for $2.50 a day. He did this labor more for the experience than the wages earned. In March 1946, he leased three sections from Miller and in May 1947, Frank bought an interest in the ranch. At this time, they formed a partnership consisting of 47 sections running sheep and cattle in the beginning to cattle the past 35 years. The cattle were branded with a diamond on the left hip. “Ozona” Bill Miller died in 1953 and the partnership continued with his heirs lasting over 65 years.
Frank had known his future wife all of her life since she was from Fluvanna as well as he. He was seven years older and she was just a cute little kid when he left for the war. When he passed through Snyder on his way to Virginia with a load of livestock in 1946, she was coming out of Snyder Drug — all grown up and really pretty. As they briefly exchanged pleasantries, Frank recalled saying to himself that he was going to get a date with Doris Glynn Wills as soon as he returned. After dating for two months, they married on May 17, 1946. They eloped to Colorado City and for a romantic honeymoon, he worked livestock and she cooked lunch every day for the next two weeks for 10 men. During their 62 years of marriage, Frank continued to work and Doris cooked an untold number of delicious lunches for the cowboys.
The very worst memory of ranch life was the drought of the 1950s (along with all of the other droughts, which there have certainly been many). Other than droughts, the other fear was low cattle prices.
Frank had a lifelong interest and love of horses. At one time he would raise about 12 registered American quarter horses each year for ranch use only. The need for horses declined since there were fewer ranch hands and more day workers who rode their own horses. Out of the hundreds of horses Frank raised, trained and rode, a sorrel gelding nicknamed “Sonny” was a standout among his many favorites. His affinity for “Sonny” came from the way he would very quietly work the herd and the way he was quick and very responsive when cutting cattle.
In 2007, Frank was a recipient of the prestigious Foy Proctor Memorial Cowman’s Award. When he was asked what he thought the future of the cattle business would be, he replied that he thought ranches would continue to become larger and larger operations with more of a corporate structure for raising livestock. He added that smaller ranches would continue to flourish for people who perceive ranch land as a pride of ownership of undeveloped land. These small ranches would not only be a pride of ownership for the wealthy, but for those people operating smaller ranches to earn a living, cattle would cease to be a primary source of income. Hunting leases, energy producing windmills, oil and gas production, water rights and land resources we have now, but are not aware of either their existence or their need, would be a greater revenue generators.
He was preceded in death by his wife, Doris Wills Beaver.
Survivors include his daughter, Pamela Davenport of Fort Worth; a granddaughter and her husband, Danielle and Brent Raindl of Dallas, Tx; two great-grandsons, Whitman and Hamilton Raindl of Dallas; and a dear friend, Jeanelle Hammack of Abilene.
Burial in the Fluvanna Cemetery.
Frank J. Beaver, the son of Sam and Mabel Lane Beaver, was born on Dec. 24, 1919 in Scurry County. He was the youngest of five children with two older brothers and two older sisters. The Beaver family farmed in the Fluvanna area, primarily growing cotton.
Frank left the family farm in 1936 at the age of 16 to work for Clyde Miller in Borden County, earning $15 a month. After a few short months, he heard about a wonderful opportunity breaking horses for “Ozona” Bill Miller for a whopping $30 a month. He rode his horse from Clyde Miller’s ranch to “Ozona” Bill Miller’s ranch (no relation) and talked to Bill’s son, Morris Miller. Morris confirmed that the job did pay $30 a month, but the catch — isn’t there always one — was that the job was for only one month. Frank, nonetheless still excited about this new prospect continued his ride to the west side of Borden County to meet Bill Miller. Once he arrived, he was scrutinized and evaluated by Miller to see if he passed the test. After several “broke” horses, Miller was pleased enough with Frank’s work to extend his employment into a steady job for $25 a month. Although primarily a sheep operation (with some cattle), the month of breaking horses turned out to not only be the opportunity of a lifetime, but also forged a relationship and a partnership with “Ozona” Bill Miller and his clan that spanned almost 74 years.
Frank’s favorite times growing up were spent rounding up and branding, which of course meant that he also relished camping out and eating at the chuck wagon. He can remember many nights carefully placing his rope in a circle around his suggan (a crude type of quilt made from primarily wool scraps and tied rather than quilted) and his saddle. He would carefully step inside this circle to bed down with a feeling of being secure and protected, because, as folklore was told, everyone knew rattlesnakes would not crawl over a rope.
While Frank was still a teenager on Bill Miller’s ranch, he learned the best lesson of his life, a lesson he often reflected upon. As he was riding across the pasture, he was chewing on a match. When the match was pretty well destroyed, he struck it, looked at it briefly, and then threw it on the ground. As you can imagine, this is West Texas. The weather is hot, dry and windy. A puff of wind caught the still hot match and full blown fire was raging within seconds. Frank tried putting the fire out alone and knew quickly that he needed help. He loped his horse five miles to Miller’s house. Bill was sitting on the front porch as Frank drew his horse up and told him that the Johnson Ranch was on fire. Miller’s first response was to ask how did the pasture catch on fire, a question Frank hoped would not be asked, but knew he had to answer, “I set it.” He thought surely he would be fired as soon as he and others put out the blaze. To his amazement, Miller told him that he could have lied and Miller would have believed it having no reason to think otherwise. However, Frank did the right thing and told the truth. After that incident, whenever Bill wanted to know something, he would always tell everyone that he would ask Frank because Frank would tell him the truth. Being truthful paid off in the long run as he “called it like it was.”
In 1942, with World War II escalating, Frank joined the U.S. Air Force and was stationed in Denver, Colo., though he was not to be there long. His brother, Alfred, was in the U.S. Army and stationed at the Remount Depot in Front Royal, Va. Alf told his commanding officer about his brother’s horsemanship, and the colonel wrote a letter to Frank’s commanding officer requesting a transfer for Frank. The request was granted and Frank found himself in Virginia and life was good — riding horses every day. At the Remount Depot there were approximately 5,000 horses and 10 riders, and each horse was to be ridden by two different riders and assessed. This was in preparation for selling the horses — 1,500 head of horses were sold in one day. World War II was the first truly mechanized war and the U.S. Army no longer had a need for thousands of horses.
Being stationed in Virginia was not only good from the aspect of not getting shot by the enemy, but the ever so gregarious Frank enjoyed attending the local horse shows on weekends around Middleburg, Va. These shows afforded Frank the opportunity to ride for different owners where he won ribbons and trophies, and of course, he was paid for his winning ways. The stable of Liz Whitney, one of the heirs of Eli Whitney, the inventor of the cotton gin, was the primary stable he rode for. His acquaintance with Ms. Whitney afforded him a glimpse into the lives of many wealthy people living in the Middleburg area at that time, notably Paul Mellon. How does a cowboy from Borden County know which fork to use at these opulent dinners? He keeps a watchful eye on everyone else.
All good things must come to an end. In October 1944, Frank found himself assigned to the 10th Mountain Division and on a ship heading for someplace in Europe. When his ship docked, he was in Italy. Anyone who has ever been there can tell you war is indeed hell, even if it is only for 18 months, but November 1945 was a good time to be going back to Texas and “Ozona” Bill Miller’s ranch.
Back on the ranch, Frank continued to work for Bill Miller. From this time on, Frank helped neighbors do day work and in later years sent other ranch hands to “neighbor.” In the 1940s, he also did day work on the Dean Ranch and Tom Good’s ranch for $2.50 a day. He did this labor more for the experience than the wages earned. In March 1946, he leased three sections from Miller and in May 1947, Frank bought an interest in the ranch. At this time, they formed a partnership consisting of 47 sections running sheep and cattle in the beginning to cattle the past 35 years. The cattle were branded with a diamond on the left hip. “Ozona” Bill Miller died in 1953 and the partnership continued with his heirs lasting over 65 years.
Frank had known his future wife all of her life since she was from Fluvanna as well as he. He was seven years older and she was just a cute little kid when he left for the war. When he passed through Snyder on his way to Virginia with a load of livestock in 1946, she was coming out of Snyder Drug — all grown up and really pretty. As they briefly exchanged pleasantries, Frank recalled saying to himself that he was going to get a date with Doris Glynn Wills as soon as he returned. After dating for two months, they married on May 17, 1946. They eloped to Colorado City and for a romantic honeymoon, he worked livestock and she cooked lunch every day for the next two weeks for 10 men. During their 62 years of marriage, Frank continued to work and Doris cooked an untold number of delicious lunches for the cowboys.
The very worst memory of ranch life was the drought of the 1950s (along with all of the other droughts, which there have certainly been many). Other than droughts, the other fear was low cattle prices.
Frank had a lifelong interest and love of horses. At one time he would raise about 12 registered American quarter horses each year for ranch use only. The need for horses declined since there were fewer ranch hands and more day workers who rode their own horses. Out of the hundreds of horses Frank raised, trained and rode, a sorrel gelding nicknamed “Sonny” was a standout among his many favorites. His affinity for “Sonny” came from the way he would very quietly work the herd and the way he was quick and very responsive when cutting cattle.
In 2007, Frank was a recipient of the prestigious Foy Proctor Memorial Cowman’s Award. When he was asked what he thought the future of the cattle business would be, he replied that he thought ranches would continue to become larger and larger operations with more of a corporate structure for raising livestock. He added that smaller ranches would continue to flourish for people who perceive ranch land as a pride of ownership of undeveloped land. These small ranches would not only be a pride of ownership for the wealthy, but for those people operating smaller ranches to earn a living, cattle would cease to be a primary source of income. Hunting leases, energy producing windmills, oil and gas production, water rights and land resources we have now, but are not aware of either their existence or their need, would be a greater revenue generators.
He was preceded in death by his wife, Doris Wills Beaver.
Survivors include his daughter, Pamela Davenport of Fort Worth; a granddaughter and her husband, Danielle and Brent Raindl of Dallas, Tx; two great-grandsons, Whitman and Hamilton Raindl of Dallas; and a dear friend, Jeanelle Hammack of Abilene.
Mr. Frank J. Beaver died Thursday, Feb. 5, 2015 in Fort Worth.
Burial in the Fluvanna Cemetery.
Frank J. Beaver, the son of Sam and Mabel Lane Beaver, was born on Dec. 24, 1919 in Scurry County. He was the youngest of five children with two older brothers and two older sisters. The Beaver family farmed in the Fluvanna area, primarily growing cotton.
Frank left the family farm in 1936 at the age of 16 to work for Clyde Miller in Borden County, earning $15 a month. After a few short months, he heard about a wonderful opportunity breaking horses for “Ozona” Bill Miller for a whopping $30 a month. He rode his horse from Clyde Miller’s ranch to “Ozona” Bill Miller’s ranch (no relation) and talked to Bill’s son, Morris Miller. Morris confirmed that the job did pay $30 a month, but the catch — isn’t there always one — was that the job was for only one month. Frank, nonetheless still excited about this new prospect continued his ride to the west side of Borden County to meet Bill Miller. Once he arrived, he was scrutinized and evaluated by Miller to see if he passed the test. After several “broke” horses, Miller was pleased enough with Frank’s work to extend his employment into a steady job for $25 a month. Although primarily a sheep operation (with some cattle), the month of breaking horses turned out to not only be the opportunity of a lifetime, but also forged a relationship and a partnership with “Ozona” Bill Miller and his clan that spanned almost 74 years.
Frank’s favorite times growing up were spent rounding up and branding, which of course meant that he also relished camping out and eating at the chuck wagon. He can remember many nights carefully placing his rope in a circle around his suggan (a crude type of quilt made from primarily wool scraps and tied rather than quilted) and his saddle. He would carefully step inside this circle to bed down with a feeling of being secure and protected, because, as folklore was told, everyone knew rattlesnakes would not crawl over a rope.
While Frank was still a teenager on Bill Miller’s ranch, he learned the best lesson of his life, a lesson he often reflected upon. As he was riding across the pasture, he was chewing on a match. When the match was pretty well destroyed, he struck it, looked at it briefly, and then threw it on the ground. As you can imagine, this is West Texas. The weather is hot, dry and windy. A puff of wind caught the still hot match and full blown fire was raging within seconds. Frank tried putting the fire out alone and knew quickly that he needed help. He loped his horse five miles to Miller’s house. Bill was sitting on the front porch as Frank drew his horse up and told him that the Johnson Ranch was on fire. Miller’s first response was to ask how did the pasture catch on fire, a question Frank hoped would not be asked, but knew he had to answer, “I set it.” He thought surely he would be fired as soon as he and others put out the blaze. To his amazement, Miller told him that he could have lied and Miller would have believed it having no reason to think otherwise. However, Frank did the right thing and told the truth. After that incident, whenever Bill wanted to know something, he would always tell everyone that he would ask Frank because Frank would tell him the truth. Being truthful paid off in the long run as he “called it like it was.”
In 1942, with World War II escalating, Frank joined the U.S. Air Force and was stationed in Denver, Colo., though he was not to be there long. His brother, Alfred, was in the U.S. Army and stationed at the Remount Depot in Front Royal, Va. Alf told his commanding officer about his brother’s horsemanship, and the colonel wrote a letter to Frank’s commanding officer requesting a transfer for Frank. The request was granted and Frank found himself in Virginia and life was good — riding horses every day. At the Remount Depot there were approximately 5,000 horses and 10 riders, and each horse was to be ridden by two different riders and assessed. This was in preparation for selling the horses — 1,500 head of horses were sold in one day. World War II was the first truly mechanized war and the U.S. Army no longer had a need for thousands of horses.
Being stationed in Virginia was not only good from the aspect of not getting shot by the enemy, but the ever so gregarious Frank enjoyed attending the local horse shows on weekends around Middleburg, Va. These shows afforded Frank the opportunity to ride for different owners where he won ribbons and trophies, and of course, he was paid for his winning ways. The stable of Liz Whitney, one of the heirs of Eli Whitney, the inventor of the cotton gin, was the primary stable he rode for. His acquaintance with Ms. Whitney afforded him a glimpse into the lives of many wealthy people living in the Middleburg area at that time, notably Paul Mellon. How does a cowboy from Borden County know which fork to use at these opulent dinners? He keeps a watchful eye on everyone else.
All good things must come to an end. In October 1944, Frank found himself assigned to the 10th Mountain Division and on a ship heading for someplace in Europe. When his ship docked, he was in Italy. Anyone who has ever been there can tell you war is indeed hell, even if it is only for 18 months, but November 1945 was a good time to be going back to Texas and “Ozona” Bill Miller’s ranch.
Back on the ranch, Frank continued to work for Bill Miller. From this time on, Frank helped neighbors do day work and in later years sent other ranch hands to “neighbor.” In the 1940s, he also did day work on the Dean Ranch and Tom Good’s ranch for $2.50 a day. He did this labor more for the experience than the wages earned. In March 1946, he leased three sections from Miller and in May 1947, Frank bought an interest in the ranch. At this time, they formed a partnership consisting of 47 sections running sheep and cattle in the beginning to cattle the past 35 years. The cattle were branded with a diamond on the left hip. “Ozona” Bill Miller died in 1953 and the partnership continued with his heirs lasting over 65 years.
Frank had known his future wife all of her life since she was from Fluvanna as well as he. He was seven years older and she was just a cute little kid when he left for the war. When he passed through Snyder on his way to Virginia with a load of livestock in 1946, she was coming out of Snyder Drug — all grown up and really pretty. As they briefly exchanged pleasantries, Frank recalled saying to himself that he was going to get a date with Doris Glynn Wills as soon as he returned. After dating for two months, they married on May 17, 1946. They eloped to Colorado City and for a romantic honeymoon, he worked livestock and she cooked lunch every day for the next two weeks for 10 men. During their 62 years of marriage, Frank continued to work and Doris cooked an untold number of delicious lunches for the cowboys.
The very worst memory of ranch life was the drought of the 1950s (along with all of the other droughts, which there have certainly been many). Other than droughts, the other fear was low cattle prices.
Frank had a lifelong interest and love of horses. At one time he would raise about 12 registered American quarter horses each year for ranch use only. The need for horses declined since there were fewer ranch hands and more day workers who rode their own horses. Out of the hundreds of horses Frank raised, trained and rode, a sorrel gelding nicknamed “Sonny” was a standout among his many favorites. His affinity for “Sonny” came from the way he would very quietly work the herd and the way he was quick and very responsive when cutting cattle.
In 2007, Frank was a recipient of the prestigious Foy Proctor Memorial Cowman’s Award. When he was asked what he thought the future of the cattle business would be, he replied that he thought ranches would continue to become larger and larger operations with more of a corporate structure for raising livestock. He added that smaller ranches would continue to flourish for people who perceive ranch land as a pride of ownership of undeveloped land. These small ranches would not only be a pride of ownership for the wealthy, but for those people operating smaller ranches to earn a living, cattle would cease to be a primary source of income. Hunting leases, energy producing windmills, oil and gas production, water rights and land resources we have now, but are not aware of either their existence or their need, would be a greater revenue generators.
He was preceded in death by his wife, Doris Wills Beaver.
Survivors include his daughter, Pamela Davenport of Fort Worth; a granddaughter and her husband, Danielle and Brent Raindl of Dallas, Tx; two great-grandsons, Whitman and Hamilton Raindl of Dallas; and a dear friend, Jeanelle Hammack of Abilene.
Burial in the Fluvanna Cemetery.
Frank J. Beaver, the son of Sam and Mabel Lane Beaver, was born on Dec. 24, 1919 in Scurry County. He was the youngest of five children with two older brothers and two older sisters. The Beaver family farmed in the Fluvanna area, primarily growing cotton.
Frank left the family farm in 1936 at the age of 16 to work for Clyde Miller in Borden County, earning $15 a month. After a few short months, he heard about a wonderful opportunity breaking horses for “Ozona” Bill Miller for a whopping $30 a month. He rode his horse from Clyde Miller’s ranch to “Ozona” Bill Miller’s ranch (no relation) and talked to Bill’s son, Morris Miller. Morris confirmed that the job did pay $30 a month, but the catch — isn’t there always one — was that the job was for only one month. Frank, nonetheless still excited about this new prospect continued his ride to the west side of Borden County to meet Bill Miller. Once he arrived, he was scrutinized and evaluated by Miller to see if he passed the test. After several “broke” horses, Miller was pleased enough with Frank’s work to extend his employment into a steady job for $25 a month. Although primarily a sheep operation (with some cattle), the month of breaking horses turned out to not only be the opportunity of a lifetime, but also forged a relationship and a partnership with “Ozona” Bill Miller and his clan that spanned almost 74 years.
Frank’s favorite times growing up were spent rounding up and branding, which of course meant that he also relished camping out and eating at the chuck wagon. He can remember many nights carefully placing his rope in a circle around his suggan (a crude type of quilt made from primarily wool scraps and tied rather than quilted) and his saddle. He would carefully step inside this circle to bed down with a feeling of being secure and protected, because, as folklore was told, everyone knew rattlesnakes would not crawl over a rope.
While Frank was still a teenager on Bill Miller’s ranch, he learned the best lesson of his life, a lesson he often reflected upon. As he was riding across the pasture, he was chewing on a match. When the match was pretty well destroyed, he struck it, looked at it briefly, and then threw it on the ground. As you can imagine, this is West Texas. The weather is hot, dry and windy. A puff of wind caught the still hot match and full blown fire was raging within seconds. Frank tried putting the fire out alone and knew quickly that he needed help. He loped his horse five miles to Miller’s house. Bill was sitting on the front porch as Frank drew his horse up and told him that the Johnson Ranch was on fire. Miller’s first response was to ask how did the pasture catch on fire, a question Frank hoped would not be asked, but knew he had to answer, “I set it.” He thought surely he would be fired as soon as he and others put out the blaze. To his amazement, Miller told him that he could have lied and Miller would have believed it having no reason to think otherwise. However, Frank did the right thing and told the truth. After that incident, whenever Bill wanted to know something, he would always tell everyone that he would ask Frank because Frank would tell him the truth. Being truthful paid off in the long run as he “called it like it was.”
In 1942, with World War II escalating, Frank joined the U.S. Air Force and was stationed in Denver, Colo., though he was not to be there long. His brother, Alfred, was in the U.S. Army and stationed at the Remount Depot in Front Royal, Va. Alf told his commanding officer about his brother’s horsemanship, and the colonel wrote a letter to Frank’s commanding officer requesting a transfer for Frank. The request was granted and Frank found himself in Virginia and life was good — riding horses every day. At the Remount Depot there were approximately 5,000 horses and 10 riders, and each horse was to be ridden by two different riders and assessed. This was in preparation for selling the horses — 1,500 head of horses were sold in one day. World War II was the first truly mechanized war and the U.S. Army no longer had a need for thousands of horses.
Being stationed in Virginia was not only good from the aspect of not getting shot by the enemy, but the ever so gregarious Frank enjoyed attending the local horse shows on weekends around Middleburg, Va. These shows afforded Frank the opportunity to ride for different owners where he won ribbons and trophies, and of course, he was paid for his winning ways. The stable of Liz Whitney, one of the heirs of Eli Whitney, the inventor of the cotton gin, was the primary stable he rode for. His acquaintance with Ms. Whitney afforded him a glimpse into the lives of many wealthy people living in the Middleburg area at that time, notably Paul Mellon. How does a cowboy from Borden County know which fork to use at these opulent dinners? He keeps a watchful eye on everyone else.
All good things must come to an end. In October 1944, Frank found himself assigned to the 10th Mountain Division and on a ship heading for someplace in Europe. When his ship docked, he was in Italy. Anyone who has ever been there can tell you war is indeed hell, even if it is only for 18 months, but November 1945 was a good time to be going back to Texas and “Ozona” Bill Miller’s ranch.
Back on the ranch, Frank continued to work for Bill Miller. From this time on, Frank helped neighbors do day work and in later years sent other ranch hands to “neighbor.” In the 1940s, he also did day work on the Dean Ranch and Tom Good’s ranch for $2.50 a day. He did this labor more for the experience than the wages earned. In March 1946, he leased three sections from Miller and in May 1947, Frank bought an interest in the ranch. At this time, they formed a partnership consisting of 47 sections running sheep and cattle in the beginning to cattle the past 35 years. The cattle were branded with a diamond on the left hip. “Ozona” Bill Miller died in 1953 and the partnership continued with his heirs lasting over 65 years.
Frank had known his future wife all of her life since she was from Fluvanna as well as he. He was seven years older and she was just a cute little kid when he left for the war. When he passed through Snyder on his way to Virginia with a load of livestock in 1946, she was coming out of Snyder Drug — all grown up and really pretty. As they briefly exchanged pleasantries, Frank recalled saying to himself that he was going to get a date with Doris Glynn Wills as soon as he returned. After dating for two months, they married on May 17, 1946. They eloped to Colorado City and for a romantic honeymoon, he worked livestock and she cooked lunch every day for the next two weeks for 10 men. During their 62 years of marriage, Frank continued to work and Doris cooked an untold number of delicious lunches for the cowboys.
The very worst memory of ranch life was the drought of the 1950s (along with all of the other droughts, which there have certainly been many). Other than droughts, the other fear was low cattle prices.
Frank had a lifelong interest and love of horses. At one time he would raise about 12 registered American quarter horses each year for ranch use only. The need for horses declined since there were fewer ranch hands and more day workers who rode their own horses. Out of the hundreds of horses Frank raised, trained and rode, a sorrel gelding nicknamed “Sonny” was a standout among his many favorites. His affinity for “Sonny” came from the way he would very quietly work the herd and the way he was quick and very responsive when cutting cattle.
In 2007, Frank was a recipient of the prestigious Foy Proctor Memorial Cowman’s Award. When he was asked what he thought the future of the cattle business would be, he replied that he thought ranches would continue to become larger and larger operations with more of a corporate structure for raising livestock. He added that smaller ranches would continue to flourish for people who perceive ranch land as a pride of ownership of undeveloped land. These small ranches would not only be a pride of ownership for the wealthy, but for those people operating smaller ranches to earn a living, cattle would cease to be a primary source of income. Hunting leases, energy producing windmills, oil and gas production, water rights and land resources we have now, but are not aware of either their existence or their need, would be a greater revenue generators.
He was preceded in death by his wife, Doris Wills Beaver.
Survivors include his daughter, Pamela Davenport of Fort Worth; a granddaughter and her husband, Danielle and Brent Raindl of Dallas, Tx; two great-grandsons, Whitman and Hamilton Raindl of Dallas; and a dear friend, Jeanelle Hammack of Abilene.
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