Farewell to a Friend
If you’ve shopped with Harrison’s at any of the many J.R.’s Pro Rodeo events we’ve sponsored in North Carolina, there’s a good chance you heard Terry Putman long before you put a face with the name.
“BOOTS! FIFTY DOLLARS!” boomed through the vendor area as Terry tried to draw a crowd to our space, and it usually worked. At one of the events in Morganton back in the Spring, we hustled back and forth from a boot truck as fast as we could go, replenishing stock while Terry shouted, trying to entice people to buy so we’d have to work even harder.
He made such an impression at the rodeo that folks got a little disappointed when he wasn’t around. That’s how I came to find myself talking to Mark Flynt, owner of Pulliam’s Hot Dogs in Winston-Salem (one of, if not THE, best hot dogs in the world) at a rodeo in October. I’d met Mr. Flynt back in April, but didn’t place him until he asked about Terry.
“Where’s Put?,” he asked. “I’ve heard he draws a crowd out at these things.”
Now, I’d come to know a couple things about Pulliam’s. One, Terry loved those hot dogs. Two, he never missed a chance to market, so when he noticed a bunch of race memorabilia on display at the hot dog shack, he loaded them down with Harrison’s diecasts and racing gear in an effort to get a little better name recognition in the area.
But Mr. Flynt didn’t want to talk racing, or hot dogs, or boots and outerwear, for that matter. He was asking about his friend, because he missed him.
And now we all miss him.
Terry Putman died on Monday. He leaves our business without a valued team member. He leaves our hearts with a little bit less light and joy, two things that always seemed to follow him.
The first time I met Terry, I didn’t yet work at Harrison’s. I was helping put together Ariat clothing fixtures because they needed to go up, and there was nobody else to do it. Terry worked for a different vendor and was waiting for a meeting, and we struck up a conversation. We talked about high school football, and the fact that I was a sportswriter, and a buddy of mine that he knew who was once a highway patrolman, like Terry had been. Before I knew it, not only had he gone to grab me a Pepsi, he’d grabbed an Allen wrench, working as he talked.
That was my first indication that he’d never met a stranger.
I saw him occasionally as he continued his work as a territory rep. I missed seeing him when that ended. I was thrilled when he came on board with us.
I didn’t get to work alongside Terry a whole lot, other than at one of those rodeos and on a couple of trips to our Winston-Salem store. And on one of those visits, he was - you guessed it - building fixtures with an Allen wrench. Many of my co-workers knew him better, worked with him more closely, and I can’t imagine the void his loss is going to leave.
It’s funny the things you can learn about people when they’re gone. I don’t think any of us knew Terry was an Eagle Scout. I’m positive I didn’t realize his former patrol mates referred to him as “Animal”. It never dawned on me to ask him his team of choice, or his favorite race car driver, or what he loved to eat the most (besides those hot dogs).
I know Terry loved his career as a Highway Patrolman. I know he loved his work with us, talking with people and meeting new folks. I know he loved his family. He was a devoted son, and was clearly proud of his own son as well. I know he loved selling those rodeo boots, and his poker chip business cards.
And I know that we loved his booming, country voice, and outgoing nature, and the genuine goodness with which he went about his daily life.
And I know we’ll miss him.
