“Cliche as it sounds, we will never see the likes of Don Hansen and his kind again, unfortunately.”
— EOS Editor, Matt Warshaw
The following is taken from the book “Hansen, The Adventures of a Surfer, Skydiver, Team Roper, Entrepreneur”:
According to Don’s son Josh, “A buddy and I were in Montana, hunting elk. We had all our gear brought in on horseback and hiked in behind the riders. We’d been there a week and had plans for our guide to ride in, pick up our gear and ride us out. We didn’t know that the guide had fallen off a ladder and broken his heel. It was in fall, there’s nobody around, and we’re in grizzly country. I don’t feel that comfortable being in an area like that alone. We come around the corner, and guess who’s riding up the trail at 83 years old by himself. My friend Casey turns to me and asks, “Is that your dad?” I turn to him and say, “Yeah, that’s my dad.”
While watching weak waves and sipping strong drinks on the Hansen family front porch, Don and I relive the stories of our lives, mostly his, since they are infinitely more interesting than mine, or anyone else’s for that matter.
He told of riding Waimea Bay in Hawaii and how he attempted following Greg Noll out to third reef Pipeline on an infamous day. “I tried three times to paddle out, but finally gave up,” he said.
Gave up is not a phrase I heard him use often. No matter how tough life was, he plowed through it, living by the motto of “putting one foot in front of the other.” When he surfed, he surfed hard. When he skied, he skied hard. When it came to skydiving, he didn’t quit until he had broken a world record held previously by the Russians for the 10-man speed star.
While such macho traits rarely mix with business, or virtues like honesty, loyalty and humor, Hansen excelled in all categories. His business sense is obvious whenever I drive by Hansen’s and see lines around the block. His loyalty can also be observed in that store, where some employees have worked for 50 years.
Don’s dearly departed calf roping partner Jerry Pape best described Hansen’s playful sense of humor, saying, “I once put a sign on Hansen’s property reading, “For sale cheap. Needs major repairs.” Don replied by snow-plowing my driveway so we couldn’t leave the house.”
After a few drinks Don’s wife, Shirley, enters the house through the back door, and cheerfully hollers, “Hey Donnie-o,” her pet name for her husband. As Shirley approaches, Don puts down his drink. “Drinking in the middle of the day,” Shirley inquires, half seriously.
Don points to me, like it’s all my fault. Shirley and Don, who obviously enjoy each other’s company, share a kiss and the news of the day, but Don doesn’t bust out laughing until long after she leaves the room.
A man of Hansen’s caliber deserves a statue or a bench with his name on it. Still, I have no desire to spearhead such a project. Instead, I intend to memorialize my friend differently — by attempting to appropriate one of his many admirable characteristics.
I thought I’d imitate his courage until I realized I would never ride maxed-out Waimea Bay, set a world skydiving record, or attempt calf roping in my mid-70s. His business practices also set too high a bar to clear in what remains of my lifetime.
I finally settled on loyalty. As my memorial to Don Hansen, I promise to be there for friends and family in need. That I can do.
