Dallas Henry Smith, who died at age 92 on Sunday in Manassa, spent most of his life in the vicinity of the pocket-sized southern Colorado town, inspiring affection and exasperation with his contrary ways.
For decades, he amused himself in the early morning by loading his hound dogs into the bed of his old pickup truck and driving into Manassa, encouraging the dogs to howl.
As every dog within earshot retorted, lights flicked on in darkened homes. Angry human voices made the cacophony even worse.
“I always knew when Granddad was in town,” Smith’s granddaughter Lorena Peterson said affectionately. “His hounds would howl and bay like they do when he drove down Main Street. I live several blocks off Main Street, and I could still hear the dogs. He’d do that just to see who he could wake up. He had an ornery streak.”
His prank inspired a lasting Pavlovian reaction in the local dogs. For years after Smith’s hounds died, local dogs reflexively yelped and snarled when they heard Smith’s truck roll down Main Street.
Just about everyone in Manassa knew Smith. In his 10-gallon hat, Western snap-front shirt, blue suspenders, turquoise jewelry and cowboy boots, Smith’s relatively small frame was overwhelmed by his strength and charisma.
Born Jan. 19, 1914, he was nearly two decades younger than his famous Manassa neighbor, boxer Jack Dempsey. Most locals speak of Dempsey with something close to reverence.
Not Smith. He enjoyed recounting a perhaps apocryphal story about how Dempsey “cried and cried and cried” after a red ant bit him.
Smith left school as a seventh-grader to join friends on a spontaneous road trip to California. They fueled their car with gas stolen from pumps along their route. He worked there briefly but missed his home. He returned in hobo mode, hopping trains and hitchhiking.
Back in Manassa, Smith married Florence Irene Vandiver and became an accomplished sheep shearer. Even with hand clippers, he earned a reputation for shearing between 150 and 180 sheep a day. His personal best was 204 sheep in one day, a stunning pace using hand clippers.
His prowess as a shearer earned him an exemption from serving in World War II.
Decades of shearing sheep left Smith lean and muscular, with explosive reflexes. Smith took pride in his reputation as a tough guy unafraid to settle an argument with fists as well as words. Few men fought him more than once.
Everyone who knew Smith also knew his rawboned Great Dane mix, Lady, who had her own chair in Smith’s two-bedroom home. She was at his side when he died in the house where he lived for 60 years.
Survivors include his wife, Florence Smith of Manassa; daughter Donna Broyles of Manassa; sons Larry Smith of Manassa and James Smith of Sanford; 17 grandchildren; 54 great- grandchildren; and 16 great-great-grandchildren.
Staff writer Claire Martin can be reached at 303-954-1477 or cmartin@denverpost.com.
