Cowboy Poet, Sam Webb

In Fond Memory of
Sam Webb

	written by Bob Brown

The good Lord has called for Sam to come home and we’ll miss all his stories and touching poems. As Sam shared his verse not a hanky was dry when he recited, "The Touch of Your Hand and the Love in Your Eyes." Cancer ripped through his body like the blade of a sword but Sam never gave up his faith in the Lord. While most men would cry out in pain, Sam would count his blessings and never complain. He thanked God for his kids and lovely wife and for the many friends that shared his life. He lived by the Bible which he knew verse for verse and when things got bad he said, "It could be worse." He showed his love and concern for others right up to the end and our lives have been richer because Sam was our friend. Although his physical presence on earth is gone, fond memories of Sam will live on and on.

Stillman (Sam) Webb Aug. 27, 1916 - Mar. 27, 1998

Sam Webb was a dear friend. I wish I had gotten to know him better. We'd meet at cowboy poetry events held several times during the year. His wife Erma was always there. Toward the last, Sam was sometimes in great pain, but he never complained. When he recited his poems he was always "as nervous as a long-tailed cat in a room full or rocking chairs." He'd give a selection of his poems, but they always included this one, written in 1984 for his lovely wife Erma.


For forty odd years,
You've carried my name.
Your warm lips draw me,
Like a moth to a flame.
But what makes a giant
Of a man my size,
Is the touch of your hand
And the love in your eyes.

Through the good and the bad
We stood shoulder to shoulder
That's the way we still stand,
Though we're many years older.
And what makes a giant
Of a man my size,
Is the touch of your hand
And the love in your eyes.

When death comes to take me
As it will to all men,
I want you beside me,
My lover, my friend.
And the first thing I'll look
In the hevenly skies
Is the touch of your hand
And the love in your eyes.

Here are a few more of Sam's poems.


The old man stood at the bar alone
And stared at his empty glass
Wondering why his hopes and dreams
Went down the drain so fast

His wife had passed on years ago
And left him with four kids
After that it was all down hill
His life had hit the skids

His oldest son was a shiftless bum
That started stealing steers
Now his address is the Deer Lodge Pen
And he'll be there for years

His two girls grew up fast and wild
And thought they should be paid
So they went down to the tinsel town
To ply that age old trade

His youngest son got hooked on drugs
And took to robbing banks
Till he ran into a hard nosed cop
Who wasn't shooting blanks

He packed his lower lip with snoose
And he brushed away a tear
Said , "Thank God none were lawyers
That was my greatest fear"


Mr. Cobb sat at this polished desk
His eyes were steely and his face was grim
As he surveyed the timid youth
That sought a loan from him
"I see you are a country hick,"
Said the banker with a frown,
"Do you know what we do with hicks
When they wander into town?"
"No Sir I don't," the youth replied,
"I reckon you think I'm dumb
But I know what we do with cobs
In the country where I'm from!"

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A ragged old man lay on the walk
Feebly gasping for air
While hordes of people hurried by
And left him lying there

A banker's wife paraded past
Her body draped in mink
The only comment that she made
"Oh, Lord, that man does stink

A doctor passed for just a while
His course still unresolved
He knew that he should help the man
But he didn't want to get involved

A wealthy lawyer stopped and said,
"Good Lord, this is a pity
If I could try this case in court
I could probably break the city"

The pudgy mayor plodded past
His face masked in a frown
He said, "We can't have scenes like this
It's a black mark on our town"

A well known preacher hurried by
And saw him lying there
He said, "I'll use this in my sermon
When I go on the air"

And so they came and went
Ignoring the dying man
So wrapped up in their narrow lives
They would not raise a hand

Then Jesus came and looked beyond
The rags and lips flecked with foam
Saw the beauty of his soul
And gently took him home

Sam's book is: "Older Than Dirt..... And Still Digging It"

About Sam Webb:

Sam Webb was born in Burnett, Texas, August 27, 1916, raised in Montana. Through 81 odd years Sam had been a jack-of-all trades, master of none that includes working as a sheepherder, cowboy, ranch hand, miner, bartender, Army Staff Sergeant, lumberjack, crane operator, farmer, and struggling Cowboy Poet.

Sam passed away at his home at Nine Mile Falls, Washington. His family was beside him. He is survived by his best friend and lovely wife Erma, together 47 years, and three children, Jim, Barbara and Char. Sam enjoyed fishing, gardening, and writing poetry.

He was diagnosed with cancer in 1987. He fought it bravely. In 1997 he published a book, "Older Than Dirt....And Still Digging It. (A second printing is out that contains Sam's two newest poems that were not in the first edition).

P.S. Sam's name was really Stillman Francis Webb, he suspected with a handle like that, his parents didn't like him. After he got bigger and they rented him out as a speed bump, he was almost sure of it!!

We miss you, Sam!!!!

You can contact Sam's wife, Erma at:

Erma Webb
6618 Sunshine Shores
Nine Mile Falls, Wa 99026

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