Martin Dodson was born to Milton M Dodson and Mary Susan Burris Dodson in 1872 on the Dodson ranch in Live Oak County. He was raised on the ranch and was the personification of a wangling cowboy. He never married. He moved to Arizona, although in his later years, he would often spend time with his sister, Ruth, in Texas. He died in Globe, Arizona in 1944. J. Frank Dobie had this to say about him in a newspaper article in the Ft Worth Telegram 10/7/62.
"Martin Dodson was of the old rock - and of shadows, too. While I was still a boy, he rode away from the Dodson ranch, about 15 miles from ours, to be a cowboy in Arizona. I know him only through his sister, Ruth, now living in Corpus Christi and from copies of his letters from Ross Santee, artist and writer. Ross Santee, after going to art school for four years went to Arizona and lived and learned to be a horse wrangler under Martin Dodson. Here is a passage from one of his letters."
" He was the loneliest man and the man of the most contradictions t have ever known. He was gentle with horses, children, his courage was never questioned; he had a biting humor; often misunderstood by the men he worked with; he didn't have many friends; he didn't want any, but anyone who came in contact with him damn well respected him. I can hear him now when he'd say "Sir?" to someone he didn't like. What he meant was, - now, Damn you, say Sir to me. He was so good at his job and knew it so well he was frequently out of patience with men who, supposedly, should know and did not. He was always the artist. If it wasn't perfection, it wasn't right.
"I'll never forget waking up in the middle of the night while we were camping alone and seeing Martin sitting there like an old Indian staring into the fire. I was always sleepy-headed and he had to wake me up. I usually wrangled the horses while he cooked breakfast. Incidentally, he was the only man I'd ever known who was a worse cook than myself. I've seen him sit around a fire in the evening with the outfit, very much a part of the group; then instead of shaking his bed down with the rest of the men, he'd get on his night horse and ride off into the night, and he was three sitting by the fire alone, drinking coffee, when we got up in the morning. When I first knew him he carried a prayer book and six-shooter."
"Martin Dodson was of the old rock - and of shadows, too. While I was still a boy, he rode away from the Dodson ranch, about 15 miles from ours, to be a cowboy in Arizona. I know him only through his sister, Ruth, now living in Corpus Christi and from copies of his letters from Ross Santee, artist and writer. Ross Santee, after going to art school for four years went to Arizona and lived and learned to be a horse wrangler under Martin Dodson. Here is a passage from one of his letters."
" He was the loneliest man and the man of the most contradictions t have ever known. He was gentle with horses, children, his courage was never questioned; he had a biting humor; often misunderstood by the men he worked with; he didn't have many friends; he didn't want any, but anyone who came in contact with him damn well respected him. I can hear him now when he'd say "Sir?" to someone he didn't like. What he meant was, - now, Damn you, say Sir to me. He was so good at his job and knew it so well he was frequently out of patience with men who, supposedly, should know and did not. He was always the artist. If it wasn't perfection, it wasn't right.
"I'll never forget waking up in the middle of the night while we were camping alone and seeing Martin sitting there like an old Indian staring into the fire. I was always sleepy-headed and he had to wake me up. I usually wrangled the horses while he cooked breakfast. Incidentally, he was the only man I'd ever known who was a worse cook than myself. I've seen him sit around a fire in the evening with the outfit, very much a part of the group; then instead of shaking his bed down with the rest of the men, he'd get on his night horse and ride off into the night, and he was three sitting by the fire alone, drinking coffee, when we got up in the morning. When I first knew him he carried a prayer book and six-shooter."
Martin Dodson was born to Milton M Dodson and Mary Susan Burris Dodson in 1872 on the Dodson ranch in Live Oak County. He was raised on the ranch and was the personification of a wangling cowboy. He never married. He moved to Arizona, although in his later years, he would often spend time with his sister, Ruth, in Texas. He died in Globe, Arizona in 1944. J. Frank Dobie had this to say about him in a newspaper article in the Ft Worth Telegram 10/7/62.
"Martin Dodson was of the old rock - and of shadows, too. While I was still a boy, he rode away from the Dodson ranch, about 15 miles from ours, to be a cowboy in Arizona. I know him only through his sister, Ruth, now living in Corpus Christi and from copies of his letters from Ross Santee, artist and writer. Ross Santee, after going to art school for four years went to Arizona and lived and learned to be a horse wrangler under Martin Dodson. Here is a passage from one of his letters."
" He was the loneliest man and the man of the most contradictions t have ever known. He was gentle with horses, children, his courage was never questioned; he had a biting humor; often misunderstood by the men he worked with; he didn't have many friends; he didn't want any, but anyone who came in contact with him damn well respected him. I can hear him now when he'd say "Sir?" to someone he didn't like. What he meant was, - now, Damn you, say Sir to me. He was so good at his job and knew it so well he was frequently out of patience with men who, supposedly, should know and did not. He was always the artist. If it wasn't perfection, it wasn't right.
"I'll never forget waking up in the middle of the night while we were camping alone and seeing Martin sitting there like an old Indian staring into the fire. I was always sleepy-headed and he had to wake me up. I usually wrangled the horses while he cooked breakfast. Incidentally, he was the only man I'd ever known who was a worse cook than myself. I've seen him sit around a fire in the evening with the outfit, very much a part of the group; then instead of shaking his bed down with the rest of the men, he'd get on his night horse and ride off into the night, and he was three sitting by the fire alone, drinking coffee, when we got up in the morning. When I first knew him he carried a prayer book and six-shooter."
"Martin Dodson was of the old rock - and of shadows, too. While I was still a boy, he rode away from the Dodson ranch, about 15 miles from ours, to be a cowboy in Arizona. I know him only through his sister, Ruth, now living in Corpus Christi and from copies of his letters from Ross Santee, artist and writer. Ross Santee, after going to art school for four years went to Arizona and lived and learned to be a horse wrangler under Martin Dodson. Here is a passage from one of his letters."
" He was the loneliest man and the man of the most contradictions t have ever known. He was gentle with horses, children, his courage was never questioned; he had a biting humor; often misunderstood by the men he worked with; he didn't have many friends; he didn't want any, but anyone who came in contact with him damn well respected him. I can hear him now when he'd say "Sir?" to someone he didn't like. What he meant was, - now, Damn you, say Sir to me. He was so good at his job and knew it so well he was frequently out of patience with men who, supposedly, should know and did not. He was always the artist. If it wasn't perfection, it wasn't right.
"I'll never forget waking up in the middle of the night while we were camping alone and seeing Martin sitting there like an old Indian staring into the fire. I was always sleepy-headed and he had to wake me up. I usually wrangled the horses while he cooked breakfast. Incidentally, he was the only man I'd ever known who was a worse cook than myself. I've seen him sit around a fire in the evening with the outfit, very much a part of the group; then instead of shaking his bed down with the rest of the men, he'd get on his night horse and ride off into the night, and he was three sitting by the fire alone, drinking coffee, when we got up in the morning. When I first knew him he carried a prayer book and six-shooter."
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