Art Eatman was a friend. In person, he was not a bit like the man online;
He was EXACTLY like the persona you saw online.
I hunted with Art on his place in Terlingua a couple of times, sleeping on the futon in his living room. I met his son and daughter in-law. I had a few beers and a few meals with him.
I bought an old pre-‘64 M70 featherweight .243 from Art once in the early Aughts, when he offered to sell it on payments. (I was a poor rural cop.) After the last payment was sent out, I got home and found a box marked “auto parts” left on my front doorstep by USPS. It was the rifle. He sent me an email asking if it looked okay and I missed it, and I guess that he worried. A week later, an old period-correct ranging Reddield scope and a few boxes of handloads for that rifle and five hundred fired cases from it arrived. They were marked as having been loaded in the sixties, but turned in an honest inch.
I found the email about the same time, and hastened to let Art know that we were put-paid.
Art loved to show people his kingdom, around Terlingua. He loved to talk travel, hunting, politics (politely), and he could and would tell a dirty joke. He could right fist, think fast, shoot fast (accurately), and turn a fast buck. In the high desert, at almost seventy, he also could walk a 29 year-old low-lander right into the ground.
Art never turned off his mind.
We are diminished, and I am saddened that be has passed.