Thomas "Roudy" Roudebush Ride with Roudy
By Mary Duffy
Goddamn it, Roudy. if I warned you once, I warned you a hundred times-get that goddamn horse out of the bar!” Those were the words of Everett Morrow, the 1970s gun-slinging Telluride marshal, to hippy/cowboy Thomas “Roudy” Roudebush. Even in the early days, Roudy sported western togs. “If you wore a cowboy hat, Morrow thought you were pretty cute, and he'd share his Camel straights with you.”
Arriving in Telluride in the summer of 1970-three years before the ski area opened-there wasn't a lot going on. “We drank in order to reach a higher level of consciousness, and as there were no jobs, we didn't have to feel guilty.” With a new ski area on the horizon, businesses opened; Roudy tended bar at the Sheridan where he was already a regular. In 1973, he and cowboy/lawyer Richard “Roadhawg” Unruh took on a new endeavor-opening the Telluride Unstable in the present-day Town Park. For Roudy, the stage was set: Telluride's “Irish Catholic democrat cowboy ski bum” didn't know it yet, but he had found his calling.
Roudy didn't grow up in the Wild West. Like most cowboys of lore, it was a childhood dream born of a traditional upbringing. Raised on a dairy farm in Wisconsin, he had plenty of exposure to livestock, early mornings and hard work. He was the middle child of five siblings. “My father had a job for every waking hour of the day,” Roudy says, “My teacher mom made a rule: If you were reading a book, he had to leave you be.” So Roudy read a lot: Zane Grey westerns and stories of John Paul Jones and Roudy's hero, Davy Crockett.
Following high school, Roudy (it's a family nickname; he's only one of a long line of “Roudy” Roudebushes) left the farm and headed to college in Madison. He earned degrees in English, history, journalism and marketing. Roudy says of his extended academic career, “I was in college during the war [Vietnam]. I wanted to do my part, so I stayed for seven years.”
During his college tenure, the call to go West, young man, and stories of deep snow, looming mountains and open ranges lured Roudy to Colorado. He landed in Aspen on spring break in 1965, here rumors of a new ski area in Telluride enticed him like an epic western adventure.
Those early Telluride years were as infamous as the characters who inhabited the scene. Speaking to this wildness, Roudy says, “A lucky part of our life was landing in Telluride where there were no grownups.” Bartending was a ticket to late-night camaraderie but didn't put money in the bank. “After I had been here for a few years, I took a variety of real jobs out in the real world,” Roudy says. “I had to prove to my mom that I wasn't going to be a ski bum all my life.” In 1988, he returned to Telluride to live out his childhood dream. He purchased and leased a few horses and opened Telluride Horseback Adventures. He and soon-to-be wife Joanne bought a spread in Norwood, built a barn and banked on the ride. “I think it was Davy Crockett that said, 'Make sure you're right, then go ahead.' I got the 'go ahead' part down.”
“Horses, it's all about horses,” Roudy declares abruptly mid-interview. His horses are his kids. He rode his flashy sorrel mare Cindy into bars for 18 years. When she died, he trained her colt, Golly-G, to stride through the swinging doors. “I finally started letting horses teach me instead of me trying to teach them,” he digresses. “You can't bullshit horses, so I stopped bullshitting.… Horses can teach you honesty, integrity and bravery.” He owns 25 head; each one has a story and a place chiseled in his heart.
It's the saloon gig that catches the public eye, and the ham in Roudy is always grinning for the camera. Filmmaker Louis Schwartzberg spotted the intrepid cowboy while attending a Telluride Film Festival and took a hankerin' to his character. In 2004, Disney released Schwartzberg's America's Heart and Soul, in which Roudy opens by riding one of his bar-hopping horses across the silver screen. The film, which characterizes ordinary Americans with extraordinary stories, is carried by Roudy's opening disclosure that he was once an alcoholic. “I gave it up because it starts taking away your spiritual and physical freedom…300,000 Budweisers, that was enough,” Roudy says.
Roudy now runs his riding operation at Gray Head, off Last Dollar Road. Notorious for going through wranglers like a bear through a pack string, Roudy isn't known for his barnyard manner. He starts each day roaring at his battalion of young wranglers if they arrive late or don't get the horses saddled before the first guests arrive. “Because I have to yell at 'em, doesn't mean I don't love 'em.” His penchant for verbal scudding hasn't lessoned since he quit drinking, and he hasn't mellowed with age either. “I don't scare horses-just people.” The 58-year-old is a regular whirling dervish-the only time you'll catch him sitting is in the saddle.
“I had taken the precautions early in life to keep myself unemployable, leaving myself free to ski and ride horses,” Roudy quips. “I'm still skiing. Skied 25 times this year, 20 times in deep powder,” shouts Roudy as he heads out of the barn to wrangle up some horses. “And I skied with a ski pass I got for riding my horse into the bar!”
