I’m not sure how old I was the first time I thought my dad was immortal.
Maybe it was one of the many times I saw him rope a mustang on a ridge throwing an impossible loop that would have resulted in a missed catch by anyone else. Or when he would rope and drag a cow or bull of any size just as if it were a 300-pound calf. Maybe it was how he was a champion in everything he did, including being a world champion team brander. Or how even into his 70s, he could rope and ride with the best of them, a prolific cowboy whose legend and reputation preceded him everywhere he went.
So no, I’m not sure how old I was or what specific event in life that made my sisters and I believe it, but we thought dad would live forever.
Sadly, it turns out he wasn’t immortal after all.
Stanley Eugene Ceresola passed away unexpectedly on February 21, 2021. He leaves behind a legacy of cattle ranching and cowboying, and is greatly missed by both his family and his friends, most of whom considered him family. His are the kind of boots that can never be filled; his saddle one that will forever be empty.
Dad’s life and legacy really centered around being a cowboy; it’s what defined him over everything else. Born about a century too late, he was more comfortable on a horse than on the ground, always eager to be “off in a cloud of heifer dust”. He was perfectly at home at cow camp – no electricity, the only warmth coming from a camp fire, and a bedroll laid out on the ground. To him, this was a greater luxury than a five-star resort.
Dad was born to Bill and Dorothy Ceresola of Wadsworth in 1946, and his brother Steve and sister Linda later joined the family. The Ceresola Brothers were a large family of ranchers who ran cattle in the Nevada high desert, and who provided a life for dad that he was made for. Ranching and cowboying permeated every part of his life. Even when he moved on from ranching himself, dad never hung up his cowboy hat and remained a top hand for many ranchers both friends and family, as well as for Cattoor Livestock wild horse gathers. They say you’re only as young as you feel, and if that’s true, dad was still a 25 year-old cowboy who could rope and ride with the best of them any day of the week.
But dad had other talents as well, and basketball was one of them. He was an All-American basketball player in high school, and went on to be a starting player for the University of Nevada Reno basketball team. The cowboy life, however, always called to him, and he left college and basketball behind to follow his true passion.
Aside from cowboying, family was his life. In 1965, he married the love of his life, Judith Lyon. From that December day began five decades of a loving marriage that resulted in four daughters – me and my sisters Sheila, Sandy and Jaci – six grandchildren, and enough laughter and memories to last a hundred years or more.
If you knew my dad, you knew he was the life of the party, and that his stories were legendary. Holidays, family gatherings, or friends coming together weren’t complete until he started story telling. Whether he was sharing his escapades of outsmarting the nuns in Catechism, telling one of many tales about a mustang or rangy cow that just about killed him or one of his hands, or him and mom living through near-death experiences in New Orleans, Barbados, and other vacation destinations, each story was uniquely Stan and left the lucky listener crying with laughter.
Dad was loved by a wide circle of friends. One of his best friends for many years, and a man who my sisters and I consider family, was Dave Stix.
“I knew Stan since I was 13 or 14 years old, and thought he was probably the best cowman I ever worked with. I’ve never known anyone who could handle cattle outside on the open range like he could,” Dave recently told me. “But above that, he was just a great person. He was always so thoughtful and would give you the shirt off his back, and for all the years I knew him, he paid special care and attention to the older generations. I always admired that about him.”
The last weekend of February, on a bone-chilling, frigid day, we gathered to remember and honor the man we called dad and grandpa, who many others called a hero and friend. It was “Stan’s Last Branding.” Ranchers and cattlemen and women from Nevada and beyond gathered with us to celebrate the life of one of the west’s last great cowboys.
As dad’s casket was lowered into the ground that cold, sad day, it was marked with nearly 100 brands of fellow ranchers, both family and friends. Those brands now rest easy with him, forever.
Two weeks after he was laid to rest, the Fernley High School rodeo honored dad with a tribute.
His longtime friend and top hand Sid Kochamp led his horse, Buck, around the arena, riderless forever. Dad helped bring high school rodeo to Fernley, and paved the way for cowboys and cowgirls to continue competing in the venue today. I hope many of us think of him when we’re on those rodeo grounds. I know I will.
Stan Ceresola was one of too many other heroes in the cattle industry and cowboy (and cowgirl) world who have passed in recent years. We know we are not alone in our grief, because too many other friends throughout Nevada have also experienced it recently. I think what brings us all comfort is that we know there’s a hell of a branding or roping going on in heaven.
Dad, you were one of a kind and your loss will be felt by all of us for the rest of our lives. I hope you’ve felt the love for you that has been shared these last several weeks as we’ve mourned. You were larger than life, leaving a hole too big to fill.
It was a good ride, cowboy.
by Jill Ceresola Scofield