Chuck Hassler

The first memory I have of Tom Churchill is that of a 12-year-old kid. My family had just moved to Powell, and we were guests at their house for dinner. Tom was a few years younger than I, but I’m pretty sure I remember him driving us down the road to see the hog barn he was in charge of. I remember the barn was kind of pungent. I was mightily impressed that he had all the responsibilities he had.

Several years later my dad led a youth church group on a week-long backpack trip, on which Tom and kids from around Wyoming went. I had a saddle horse and a packhorse and was supposed to pack the kitchen and help with river crossings. During this week in the wilderness, I became enamored of a young gal from Cheyenne, and she liked me too. Tom and the other kids watched this blossoming romance and were richly entertained. My dad less so.

The week went by quickly and after our last night, I was in a big hurry to load camp and get to the trailhead so I could hang out with this gal. I hurriedly threw a pack on the packhorse, who blew up and masterfully emptied both panniers all over a couple acre park. I was mad, but I remember Tom laughing like it was yesterday. He helped me gather up the mess.

Flash forward 50 years to last winter. Tom had been given a hog to butcher in exchange for some work he had done. When another friend told him I had an empty freezer, he generously invited me to help with the butchering and gave me a bunch of meat. That’s who he was.

He was also just about the best farmer I ever knew. Before Tom and his brother said we’re not doing this anymore, Churchill Farms raised cabbage and broccoli and fed a lot of local people. It was hugely labor intensive and not that remunerative. When they quit, I remember hearing people moaning about it, as if it were their civic duty. It was not.

Through the ensuing decades I would see Tom mostly when we were working cows. He and Lyle would show up, and we’d start in. But I also saw him working small animals at the clinic, including my dogs, with the same kind demeanor.

He helped a lot of people with their beloved pets when Lyle was not available.

Like most Wyoming boys, he loved the mountains, and he loved hunting and fishing. His Crandall cabin was his refuge. Like Tom, his cabin was a humble place, built in the waning days of WW II, complete with outhouse. He had no interest in tearing it down and building a new uber cabin to keep up with all the beautiful people. He was old school. Computers, cellphones, all that stuff was looked at with a suspicious eye.

And now he’s gone.

I believe in part he died of a broken heart. When young Hoyt (Wells) died in that tragic accident last month, it broke him. Everybody in Powell and Cody felt the loss of that wonderful young guy, and a lot of tears were shed. But Tom really loved him and saw something special in him. He loved that boy fully, just like he loved his friends and family.

He was an all or nothing guy and he was full bore until his last moment.

He was a Churchill.