REGIONAL: Telluride’s iconic Dick Unruh leaves a legendary legacy

John Ford’s western, “The Man Who Shot Liberty Valance,” establishes a new adage for the West through the overlapping life stories of the John Wayne and Jimmy Stewart characters.

“When the legend becomes fact, print the legend,” the local news scribe sums up.

For a real-life embodiment of the blending of myth and history, Dick Unruh’s life serves as Exhibit A. The legendary local passed away on Christmas Eve, evoking an outpouring of tributes and the kindling of memories, with Unruh’s legacy at the center of modern Telluride mythology.

Good friend Roudy Roudebush told the Daily Planet that Unruh’s passing — and his arrival in Telluride in 1972, a couple years after Roudebush arrived — reminded him of the John Denver Lyric.

“We all came home to a place we’d never been before,” Roudebush said. “We were kind of all in the same boat. A bunch of over-educated alcoholics and drug addicts with radically diverse educational and religious backgrounds who had fallen in together. Among a group of pretty crazy people, Unruh sort of stood out.”

In an on-air tribute, KOTO, where Unruh spent decades as a DJ, described him as “a hippie, a cowboy and an outlaw.”

Unruh was of the generation that largely defined Telluride as the world came to know it over the past half century, a unique character who brought Telluride’s distinctive outlaw culture and mystique to the forefront, repeatedly winning the battle against modernization and the movement to a generic middle ground.

“It was a very free place, maybe too free,” Unruh told Telluride Magazine in 2009, chuckling at the thought. “We had a lot of fun.”

Early in his career as a Kansas City lawyer, the son of an auto assembly part worker and a school secretary, Unruh focused on gaining legal rights for Indigenous people. He had a hand in legal aid programs in 11 states and the Virgin Islands, and he set up the Colorado Rural Legal Services for agricultural migrant workers.

“He believed in standing up for and defending people’s rights, and he was an advocate for those that couldn’t fight for themselves or couldn’t afford to hire an attorney,” Brian Ahern told KOTO in a tribute to Unruh. “He was a true gentleman.”

A gentleman from a wild time, Unruh was instrumental in establishing unincorporated Ophir, where his family plans to spread his ashes. He spoke at Ophir’s Founders Day celebration in October, and he remained an outspoken local voice, pointing out injustice when he saw it, as captured in a September Letter to the Editor following the elimination of the senior discount ski tickets and free senior passes for those 80 and over.

“The last four years, I skied on the senior pass,” Unruh wrote. “I was looking forward to another year on the senior pass, but to my sorrow (Telski) has canceled all such passes. I’ll get out the skinny skis and hit the trails. Will miss the Plunge and Lookout, but after 50-plus years on the hill, I’ll look back with fond memories.”

He signed the letter the way so many remember him, as “Roadhawg.”

“He was one of a kind, and he was a very kind person,” former Telluride mayor, council member, and San Miguel County commissioner Amy Levek told the Planet. “He was bigger than life.”

Big enough to have a road named after him, Levek recalled, noting the town named “Road Hawg Circle” near the cemetery after him when he traded his house in Town Park to Telluride, now a Parks and Recreation office.

“He was just where he needed to be, when he needed to be,” Levek added. “He helped people. He was ready to dig in and get something done. We’re gonna find life without him is a lot less interesting”

Unruh and Roudebush established the Unstable Riding Stables back in their early days, “before there was a 12-step program to get permission to ride a horse around town,” Roudebush said. He knew Unruh’s many facets as well as anyone, faults and all.

“Maybe that’s why he was so caring of other people’s problems,” Roudebush said. “Who’s going to defend me in court now? He had a Baptist preacher hidden there in his soul. He was a man for all these different seasons and environments that he was comfortable in.”

Searching for the perfect epitaph, Roudebush settled on one that he heard ascribed to himself.

“He wasn’t near as stupid as he acted,” Roudebush joked.

Filmmaker Geoff Hansen, who made the 1998 film “Scrapple” with his brother Chris, credits Unruh for the authentic vision of the ‘70s drugs and real estate cultures co-mingling in Telluride.

“He was the single greatest influence on the film,” Hansen posted. “Dick was the DA in Telluride in the ‘70s and got busted in a drug deal. Once he got his license back, he spent the rest of his career defending people who had gotten caught up in drug cases. He was a wealth of knowledge from that era.”

In addition to a long-standing private practice, Unruh served stints as town attorney for both Telluride and Rico, and he was the long-serving Chair of the San Miguel County Democratic Party.

“The Roadhawg was a legend when I came to town in the ‘80s,” former County Commissioner Art Goodtimes posted. “He treated me with a lot of respect, even though I was a newbie. And for all the years I served as a county commissioner, he did his darndest as Democratic chair to knock me off. He never did, and we had a good time hazing each other. We stayed friends. You had to, he was just one hell of a guy.”

In 2011, Unruh changed his cowboy hat for sprinting shorts and swimming trunks and launched a new career as an athlete, drawing on his past as a star high school football player and an avid skier on the slopes of Telluride. He dominated the track and field and swimming events at the Senior Olympics, typically taking home double-digit gold and silver medals.

“It’s no big deal,” Unruh told the Planet of his 15-medal haul in 2017. “Most of my competition predeceased me.”

He loved “learning a new art form,” as he put it, and thrived on the competition, even if he saw it as “competing against myself…running for yourself.”

He may have run for himself, but Dick Unruh never ran alone. He embraced the community when he arrived over 50 years ago, and that community is having a hard time letting go.

“Legends never die,” posted Rasta Stevie Smith. “Legends leaving us makes our spirits stronger.”

This story was originally published by the Telluride Daily Planet.

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