When Myron Loomis died, he held the hand of his wife and whispered in her ear, "I think I have to go now." He had asked beforehand to be buried on the same day as his death, so a quick service was held at the grave site. From all over the county, his cowboy friends gathered as they said the final prayer. The rig that normally lowers the casket into the ground broke, so a few young wranglers took out their lariats, placed them through the loops of the casket, and slowly lowered it down. A more formal service was held at a later date, at which I and my family had the honor of singing for the congregation. Over 200 people showed up at his memorial service. The population of the town he had lived in was only 138.
When Donnelly, Idaho, loses a cowboy, the world loses a great man.
R.I.P. Myron Loomis (1934 - 2013)