Josephine Crosby: A life of contrasts

From Aspen ski slopes to Wyoming cattle trails

When I first started writing for the Lovell Chronicle nearly a year ago, one of my goals was to highlight some of the older people in our community whose lives deserve to be celebrated and remembered.

One of the first people I hoped to interview was Josephine Crosby. True to her humble nature, she never seemed convinced that her own story was worth telling. Like many of us, I assumed there would be more time. Sadly, her passing last month prevented the interview I had hoped for.

It was a reminder that the stories we most want to preserve are often the ones we shouldn’t put off collecting.

I think one of the most important purposes of a funeral is to remind the rest of us that someday our own life story will be told. Family and friends will gather, someone will stand at a podium and a eulogy will be given about each one of us.

Of course, many of us secretly share the same fear. Only three people will show up, and the speaker will shrug and say, “Well, I didn’t really have much nice to say anyway.”

Fortunately, that was not a problem for Josephine Crosby.

As I listened to story after story at her service on Monday, I was reminded that a meaningful life is rarely measured by wealth, titles or accomplishments. It is measured by the lives we touch, the service we render and the way we treat other people.

Josephine Crosby was one of those people.

She mixed so naturally with everyone around her that few people seemed to notice how unusual her life really was. She was an Aspen ski racer who became a Wyoming ranch wife. A Shakespeare-loving English teacher who spent countless days on horseback gathering cattle. A woman with a master’s degree who was just as comfortable carrying water to thirsty cowboys as she was discussing literature in a classroom. 

Most of us become known for one thing. Josephine seemed to collect identities.

Born in Aspen, Colorado, in 1945, she grew up helping on her family’s sheep operation and skiing every chance she got. She became a talented competitive skier and later attended Brigham Young University, where she was the first freshman ever hired as a ski instructor.

At the same time, she earned a degree in sociology and later a master’s degree in special education.

One of the funniest stories from her funeral involved her realizing that a friendly ranch kid she met at BYU was the same young man she had heard stories about for years. Apparently, he had once convinced a girlfriend to stay home and milk his cows while he went to the Billings Fair. Josephine immediately recognized him as “that jerk.”

Fortunately for Rodney Crosby, first impressions are not always permanent.

Nearly 60 years later, they were still together.

As much as Josephine loved skiing, teaching and literature, what struck me most was how often people described her love for family and community. Story after story involved helping someone, feeding someone, encouraging someone or simply showing up.

One story described her habit of making enormous pots of soup for neighbors who might need a meal. Another recalled how she quietly helped struggling students, made sure kids had Christmas presents and worried about those who felt left out. She was also determined that every junior boy and girl at Lovell High School had a prom date.

She noticed people. That is a rarer gift than we sometimes realize.

For nearly 40 years she taught high school English. Former students repeatedly described her as their favorite teacher. Not because she was easy. In fact, many remembered her as demanding. Essays every two weeks. High expectations. Lots of work. But they also remembered that she cared.

One former student recalled challenging her years later after she claimed she could still remember student essays. To his surprise, she immediately described essays he had written decades earlier. That is not normal teacher behavior. That is somebody who genuinely cared about her students.

Then there was the ranch side of Josephine.

Her sons described a woman who never wanted to be left behind if horses were being saddled. If there was cattle work to do, she wanted to be there. Long after many people would have retired to easier hobbies, Josephine was still riding with her family and helping move livestock.

Somehow, the story that struck me most was about her beloved horse, Honey. They had spent years working cattle, exploring the mountains and sharing adventures together. Honey had slowed down in recent years and had quite literally been put out to pasture.

Then, just four days after Josephine’s passing, Honey died as well.

I’m not sure how horses receive that kind of news, but it seems Honey decided that if Josephine was heading out on one more adventure, she wasn’t about to be left behind.

The older I get, the more I realize that many of the people around us contain stories far richer than we ever imagine. We see them at church, school events, basketball games or the grocery store and assume we know them. Then we learn a little more and discover lives filled with unexpected chapters.

Josephine Crosby’s life reminds me that the most interesting people rarely fit neatly into categories.

We will all miss Josephine and the countless things she did for her family, her students and her community. There is no single person who could ever fill her shoes. But perhaps the best way to honor her memory is for each of us to do a little more: notice someone who needs encouragement, lend a hand, deliver a meal, support a student or simply show up when we are needed.

If enough of us do that, a small part of Josephine’s kindness will continue to ripple through this community long after she is gone.

If we accept the old saying that we die twice, once when our physical body dies and again when the mark we leave on others begins to fade, then I believe Josephine Crosby will never truly die. Her legacy lives on in her family, her students and the countless lives she touched.

As the pallbearers loaded her beautiful coffin for one final ride, I found myself thinking about my own funeral someday. My goal is simple: I’d like at least two of my children to show up, and I’d really like one of them to have something nice to say.