Samuel Gale Pendergrast, born on Easter Sunday, March 27, 1932, passed away on September 20, 2014, after a brief illness. His life, however, both professional and personal, far out-shadowed his death. Sam was preceded in death by his parents, Anna Eaton Pendergrast and Robert Homer Pendergrast; brothers, Eddie Brock, Charlie Pendergrast, Carl Brock, and his beloved twin brother, Tom Pendergrast. Sam is survived by his sister, Wanda Allen, and numerous nieces and nephews. Sam served 3 years in the U.S. Army at Beaumont Army Hospital during the Korean War. He went on to graduate from the University of Texas at El Paso in 1957. Fluent in Spanish, he taught Spanish, English, and journalism in numerous west Texas and New Mexico school districts, and found a practical use for his Spanish when running with the bulls in Pamplona, Spain. Sam could be called a "one-man chapter of PEN"—poet, playwright, essayist, editor, and novelist. First and foremost, he was a newspaperman and journalist. His byline appeared in some 20 newspapers, notably, The Abilene Reporter-News, the San Angelo Standard-Times, and the Midland Reporter-Telegram. His first 100 columns in San Angelo were hardbound in the critically acclaimed, "Blowing in the Wind: A West Texas Collection," which uniquely captured the spirit of west Texas, its inimitable citizens, and Sam, himself. Another still-sought-out Pendergrast publication is "Thanka You Verry Mouch: the Story of Charlie Blanks." This work immortalized an Abilene speakeasy during World War II, a part of Abilene's history not to be forgotten. Works in progress include: The Phantom of Graceland," and an adult manners book, Kama Sutra 2000." In addition, Sam was a radio and television newsman, a Hollywood "ghost writer," and author of two original screenplays, one of which was "Cross Your Heart and Hope to Lie: A Satirical Comedy in Two Acts," which was played on stage in Abilene as a fundraiser for the old Abilene Theatre. Last, but not least, among friends, he was called "the poet laureate of Texas," as he always had a sonnet at the ready for numerous celebrations. Although formally educated, he held that his writing career began in the fifth grade at Valley View Elementary School, where he won a dime's worth of candy for a fire prevention poem. He decided that fiddling with words was a good way to get good things. . Abilene Photographer and author Bill Wright said, "I had a lot of respect for Sam. He had the courage to walk to his own drum and thrive intellectually on the freedom that ensued. Some regarded him as a crank or mystic. I considered him a fine writer whose stars never quite aligned." From another Abilene friend and writer, Shay Bennett: "If ever it could be said that there's a larger-than-life man, Sam was that man. Outspoken, opinionated, controversial, even, he was also kind, generous, loyal, and all overlaid with humor. His body of work provides ample proof of his literary talent and his wide-ranging interests. As co-founder of the Almost Every Wednesday Club, he kept luncheons lively with readings of his newest sonnets or his views on the latest political outrage. Sadly, his death marks the end of our 45-year friendship. He's leaving us with a huge hole in our lives, but also with many great memories. Thanks, Sam." Family and Friends express deep gratitude to Dr. Randy Sloan and the caring staff of Concho Health and Rehabilitation Center in Eden, Texas. Graveside services will be at the City of Abilene Cemetery, 1133 Cottonwood, at 1:30 p.m., Tuesday, September23, under the direction of North's Family Funeral Home, 242 Orange Street. Memorials may be sent to Abilene Arts Alliance, 1101 N. First St. Abilene, Texas 79601 Look down the long expanse of arid wastes. Consider worlds of ever useless sod. You'll shed a tear for all your boundless tastes Unanswered by the thousand tongues of god. Lift up your eyes unto the sterile clouds. Search planets and you'll find them empty too. Step boldly through the dark religious shrouds. And show me hands enfolding me and you. Then follow me into an inner cell, Forgetting talk of heaven and of hell. I'll show you all I know of super power That vests itself in my short mortal hour. Now, look within; look not below, above. For if there be a god, his name is love. --Sam Pendergrast, Avenida Juarez, p. 205 Sam would be happy if his friends would remember him while enjoying a bowl of his famous Original Zen Chili: Ingredients: 1 pound fatty bacon 2 pounds coarse beef, extra large grind ½ cup whole cominos (cumin seed—yes, one-half cup!) ½ cup pure ground New Mexican red chile Water 1 teaspoon cayenne Salt, pepper, and garlic powder to taste Directions: Render grease from the bacon; eat a bacon sandwich while the chili cooks. (Good chili takes time.) Saute' the beef in bacon grease over medium heat. Add the cominos and then begin adding the red chile until what you are cooking smells like chili. (This is the critical point. If you add all the spices at once, there is no leeway for personal tastes.) Let the mixture cook a bit between additions and don't feel compelled to use all of the red chile. Add water in small batches to avoid sticking, and more later for a soupier chili. Slowly add the cayenne powder until smoke curls your eyelashes. Palefaces may find that the red chile alone has heat enough. Simmer the mixture until the cook can't resist ladling a bowlful for sampling. Skim the excess fat for dietetic chili, or mix the grease with a small amount of cornmeal for a thicker chili. Finish with salt, pepper, and garlic powder to individual taste, paprika to darken. Continue simmering until served; continue re-heating until gone. (As with wine, time ennobles good chili and exposes bad.) The result should be something like old-time Texas café' chili: a rich, red, heavily cominesque concoction with enough liquid to welcome crackers, some chewy chunks of meat thoroughly permeated by the distinctive spices, and an aroma calculated to lure strangers to the kitchen door. Variation: For cook-off contest chili, drink bad tequila two days before starting the chili; burn mixture frequently; sprinkle occasionally with sand and blood; serve cold to a dozen other drunks and call them "judges;" and keep telling yourself you're having a good time. "If I just had time for one more bowl of chili," alleged quote of Kit Carson. "My last vision of Sam Pendergrast was of him sitting in a lawn chair on Margarita Hill during the annual Terlingua Chili Bowl Fiesta in November, enjoying a Big Bend sunset. He was a good friend of my father as a writer and a poet and he was a humorous, mysterious positive force for all the years I knew him.—Frank X. Tolbert,II -30-