A friend once introduced him, saying, “This is Smokey. He’s a cowboy, a poet, and a musician.”

When Charles “Smokey” Culver was a young boy, his grandfather hoped he’d become a rancher; he nicknamed him “Smokey,” because it sounded like a respectable cowboy name. The moniker must have worked its magic, because Smokey, who grew up in Pasadena, spent lots of time working cattle at his grandfather’s ranch in Georgetown. He took to the cowboy lifestyle so well, his grandfather asked him to take over the ranch one day. Unfortunately, that day never came. The family went through hard times and the ranch was lost, but Smokey never forgot the lessons learned.

As it turned out, “Smokey” was also a good railroad name. Smokey joined the Missouri Pacific Railroad (later Union Pacific Railroad) in 1970 as a track worker. He began training to become an engineer in 1971 and was promoted to engineer in 1973. He ran freight and passenger trains until his retirement in 1995. Over the years, he became quite knowledgeable, and he was known for his expertise in interpreting “black boxes,” which trains—like planes—have on board. He is still called upon to testify as an expert witness at court proceedings. Smokey notes that every 90 minutes, there is a railroad accident in this country that causes a person to be injured. Most of the time, a lawsuit follows. Smokey travels throughout the country, providing assistance when needed.

Even during his years on trains, the cowboy lifestyle kept tugging at Smokey. He has entered many local rodeos as a calf roper and a team roper, and has earned a reputation for throwing loops accurately. “I don’t miss that often,” he says, “but I’m not that fast getting there.” Even today, his usual attire includes a cowboy hat and cowboy boots, and some of his favorite days are spent in the company of cows and horses. “I’m still roping cows and riding horses at 74,” he says.

Cowboy, poet, musician

When Smokey was a teenager, he learned that he had a way with words. “In high school, I started throwing rhymes out there,” he says. “I started writing poems about one thing and then another.” Poetry writing eventually led to songwriting. Smokey has played the guitar since he was 14 years old, and he has been writing songs since the early 1970s. Although he doesn’t read music, he writes both lyrics and music, playing by ear. “I get the melody down in my head,” he says. He estimates he has written 100 songs, including the western song “One More Star,” which was recorded in 1974 by vocalist Pat LaSalle. “It never went anywhere,” he says, “and that was the end. I published a lot of poetry, but not any other song.”

Smokey isn’t a fan of the way country music has drifted during the past decades, so he writes only western music that evokes the cowboy state of mind. For example, in one of his favorite musical compositions, “Arizona Sky,” he sings: “Riding through the canyon on my old paint horse, the Arizona sun is sinking low.” He likes to perform his own songs, especially at retirement centers in and around League City, where he lives today. When he packs up his gear to go home, he hears comments like, “Thank you so much for coming,” and “You just made our day. We really enjoy your music.” It pleases Smokey to make his audiences so happy.

Over the years, Smokey has become a prolific poet, composing an estimated 500 poems. Like his songs, many are about the cowboy way of life, but others were written at the request of friends to pay tribute to family members who have passed away. His latest work is a book of poems called True and Faithful Friends, which is about connections with dogs and horses. Some of his poems are happy, and some are sad.  “If I make you laugh, I have done my job. If I make you cry, I have done my job,” he says.

The inspiration for poems can come from just about anything. Consider, for example, “A Walmart Rodeo,” which Smokey wrote after getting tangled up in a clothes rack at Walmart. “When something bad happens, you can make something good out of it,” he says.

Smokey never writes alone. “When I sit down to write a poem, I say a prayer asking for the words. I don’t do it on my own,” he says. “I ask for some assistance from above.” He does not have a secret formula for writing poetry, but once he has an idea for a poem, he can compose it pretty quickly. He sometimes writes a poem a day on his trusty computer. “Whenever I see anything that needs a poem written about it, I write one,” he says.

Smokey has published many of his poems. At first, he went through a publisher; today, he has a cowboy friend in Canada who makes the self-publishing process easy. “It’s a very simple operation, and it doesn’t cost me a lot,” Smokey says. “I send him the transcript, and the next thing I know I’ve got books out there.” Although Smokey sells his books on Amazon, he gets more satisfaction from giving them to people who will enjoy them. “If I had sold as many books as I’ve given away, I would be driving a Cadillac Escalade right now,” he says with a chuckle.

Smokey, along with a tightly-knit group of writers from throughout the U.S. and Canada, is a frequent participant at cowboy poetry competitions. He sometimes serves as a judge and is quick to credit his fellow poets for their abilities. “They know their poetry,” he says. Participants perform their own compositions from memory and are judged on rhyme, meter, delivery, stage presence, and other variables. Cowboy poetry competitions, like rodeos, often award belt buckles to winners, and Smokey has won a few. He humbly says, “It’s kind of like a rodeo. If you stay on the bull for eight seconds, you might win.”

Smokey is also a family man. He and his wife Susan have four children between them and have been blessed with 10 grandchildren and two great-grands. Smokey hopes he inherited his mother’s longevity. “She is 95 years old and going strong,” he says. “She drives a Mercury Marquis like A.J. Foyt.”

As the saying goes, Smokey has a lot of irons in the fire. While he doesn’t have a daily routine, during a typical week he might write poetry, participate on a conference call to discuss an upcoming trial about a railroad accident, perform at a retirement center, and work at the George Ranch and Historical Park near Richmond. The 23,000-acre ranch is 200 years old this year, and people come from all over the world to see what its cattle operation was like in years gone by. Smokey often demonstrates calf roping, branding, and dipping at the George Ranch 1930s Cattle Complex. He tells visitors that the ranch sprawls for 36 square miles and quips, “When I mow the grass here, it takes me a week and a half.”

Although his resume is long, Smokey likes the short version. A friend once introduced him, saying, “This is Smokey. He’s a cowboy, a poet, and a musician.”

Perhaps Smokey said it best himself in “Coffee with the Lord,” his favorite of his own poems:

I guess a hand reached down to me from up above somewhere

And pointed me toward the western sky

Because I was destined to become exactly what I am:

Guess I’ll be a cowboy ‘til I die.