December 4th, 2025
There are those in this world who possess the rare and luminous gift of transforming the mundane into the magical, who can take a gas station pit stop on a dusty highway and turn it into an act of grace. Tex Earnhardt was such a soul, and I count it among life's finest blessings that I was permitted to witness this alchemy for more than twenty years.
On December 9th, Tex would have celebrated his 95th birthday, and though five years have passed since he rode beyond the horizon we can see, his spirit remains as vivid to me as the Arizona sunshine he loved.
I never expected to find a mentor who would insist upon being my gas valet. Picture, if you will, two motorcycles pulling into a roadside station somewhere in the vast stretches of North America. Before I could dismount, before I could so much as reach for my helmet, Tex would wave me over to the pump with the enthusiasm of a pit crew chief at Indianapolis. With hands that had built an automotive empire, he would pump my gas, pay for it himself, and then pat me on the back as though I had bestowed him some magnificent favor. The world has produced many wealthy men, but precious few who found their greatest joy in the simple act of giving to others.
This was not merely generosity, mind you, though Tex possessed that virtue in abundance. This was something deeper, something that spoke to his very understanding of what makes a life worth living. When I would beat him to the pump on those rare occasions and attempt to return his kindness, he would accept graciously enough, but I always felt as though I had somehow robbed him of his finest pleasure. And perhaps I had, for Tex's philosophy could be distilled into one simple, profound question he once shared with me: "How much can I do for how many?"
The irony of Tex's life was that a man who could afford anything drove Ford trucks and used cars from his own dealership lots, vehicles he'd take for a spin simply because they intrigued him. I remember his genuine exuberance when showing me a trade-in worth merely ten or twenty thousand dollars, marveling at what wonderful automobiles one could acquire "these days" without spending a fortune. Here was a man with seventeen dealerships and nineteen locations, yet he resided in the same conservative home for thirty years, content with simplicity while his heart expanded to embrace an ever-growing circle of friends.
His approach to dining was equally characteristic. Tex possessed the audacious charm to steal pancakes directly from your breakfast plate, only to insist with irresistible warmth upon paying the entire bill. In restaurants, he would rise from our table and introduce himself to complete strangers, his magnetic personality dissolving the natural reserve that exists between people who have never met. Within minutes, they were no longer strangers at all. This was his genius: the ability to see every human encounter as an opportunity for friendship rather than merely a transaction or a passing moment.
Yet for all his warmth and generosity, Tex never let success transform him into something he was not. His iconic television commercials made him a celebrity throughout Arizona, but fame left his character untouched. He once confided in me that what made him feel truly important was not recognition or wealth, but rather making others feel important. And he meant it with every fiber of his being. This was no hollow platitude or rehearsed line for public consumption. This was the governing principle of his existence.
Charles Darwin observed that a man's friendships are among the best measures of his worth. Ask Tex about his net worth, and he would tell you it was measured by the number of friends in his net. Here was a man who understood that wealth might be defined by money, but worth is defined by the connections we forge, the kindness we show, the difference we make in the lives of those around us.
As December arrives once more and I mark what would have been Tex's 95th birthday, I am reminded that the greatest teachers in our lives are often those who instruct not through words but through the consistent example of their daily choices. Tex taught me that success is not about what you accumulate but about how deeply you care for those around you. He showed me that making friends matters more than buying things, that giving freely brings more joy than receiving, and that a life lived in service to others is a life that transcends mortality.
The world was, and remains, a better place because Tex Earnhardt lived in it. And borrowing his signature line from those memorable television commercials: That ain't no bull.
