Hiram Floyd Watson II

Hiram “Floyd” Watson II —engineer, runner, rock climber, gardener, vinyl aficionado, reluctant conversationalist, Leo through and through, and all-around quietly epic human—took his final lap on April 9, 2025, at the age of 59. He departed this world with the same dignity, dry wit, and quiet tenacity with which he lived—though we suspect he’d prefer we not make a fuss. (Too late, Floyd.) An introvert with extroverted curiosity, Floyd had a knack for showing up to life’s party just long enough to rearrange the furniture, fix the wiring, and sneak out before the karaoke started. He was the kind of man who could listen to a conversation from the corner of the room, contribute a single sentence, and still somehow be the most interesting person there. A deeply rooted Watson family value Floyd carried with him every day was the belief that you should do something, create something, or solve something—daily. That ethos lived in his fingertips. Whether it was troubleshooting circuitry, building garden beds, or handcrafting furniture for his home, Floyd was a builder in every sense of the word. He quite literally built the house he lived in, and did so with precision, pride, and an iced coffee in hand. So important was this feat to him, he celebrated the day his house passed inspection every year—quietly, maybe with a smirk and a good record spinning, but with pride all the same. Floyd’s career as an engineer was marked by precision, creativity, and the occasional eye-roll when someone dared call duct tape a solution. But his life? His life was artfully engineered around exploration—whether that meant running with the Gilbert’s Gazelles (rain or Texas summer heat), photographing the quiet poetry of a desert sunrise, or climbing literal and metaphorical walls. Gardening was where Floyd's softer side bloomed. What started as a “small project” quickly turned into a source of community joy (and probably too many tomatoes). He loved the feel of soil under his nails and delighted in sharing home-cooked meals made from what was dubbed the “community garden”—which is to say, his garden, generously shared with everyone who showed up hungry or curious. His camera was his second pair of eyes. Floyd’s landscape photography revealed the soul of places most of us barely notice. Though many of his road trips were solo (as he preferred the company of silence and scenery), he often recounted The Epic Road Trip with his bestie—an adventure so great it became the stuff of legend, or at least of many repeat tellings. Even as cancer changed his pace, Floyd never fully untied his running shoes. Instead, he pivoted to indoor rock climbing —proving yet again that you’re never too old to defy gravity, or to challenge yourself with a new wall. Floyd had strong opinions about music, politics, and whether anyone should ever talk during a movie. His vinyl collection was vast, lovingly alphabetized, and included many genres that suit any mood. He believed the best music year was 19XX, unless you made a strong case otherwise—and even then, he’d just raise an eyebrow and put on a record. Despite being more comfortable with schematics than small talk, Floyd showed up for causes he believed in. Each election season, he'd man the phones—not loudly, not dramatically, but with gentle conviction. “Use your voice,” he’d say. “It matters.” Floyd is survived by those who knew him deeply, which is to say: those who listened closely, lingered long enough to earn his trust, and appreciated the beauty in the quiet corners of life where he loved to dwell. His community includes his Tribe, fellow coworkers turned life-long friends, runners, climbers, gardeners, music debaters, road trip companions, his caring neighbors on Karen Avenue, and one very dedicated group chat arguing over best albums of the '80s or current world and political events. In lieu of flowers (Floyd would’ve muttered, “Leave those for the bees”), donations may be made to Habitat for Humanity—an organization close to his heart and perfectly in line with his lifelong habit of building, repairing, and making the world a bit sturdier. To Floyd: thanks for showing us that quiet doesn’t mean small. Being introverted doesn’t mean being indifferent. And that even a fly on the wall can leave a mighty legacy. You have impacted many lives and will be missed deeply. Celebrating Floyd Details: Location: Front lawns and driveways of the Lott family (1305 Karen Ave) & Katie & Ryan (1307 Karen Ave) – parking available in front of Floyd’s house & driveway (1306 Karen Ave) Date & Time: Friday, May 9, 2025 6:30–8:30 p.m. Bring: A chair or blanket, your preferred beverage, and an appetite for pizza and good stories. (If you're inspired to bring an appetizer or side dish, go for it. Floyd never said no to snacks.) Expect: Good tunes, quiet moments, shared laughter, and a low-key community celebration—just like he’d want. RSVP by May 4 if you’re planning to attend and eat, so we can order accordingly. Reply to Victoria—yes, she’s organizing this with a spreadsheet, because that’s the Floyd way.) Email: Victoria.L.Cain@gmail.com Text: 512-740-8722 Hiram “Floyd” Watson II—may have slipped out the back quietly (classic Floyd), but we’re going to gather anyway. Not to fuss (he’d hate that), but to eat, laugh, share a memory or two, and honor the quietly epic life of a man who never needed a spotlight to leave a glow. All of Floyd’s Tribe, good friends, co-workers, neighbors, fellow climbers, runners, and gardeners are invited to a casual get-together in the spirit of those legendary Karen Avenue yard concerts that turned driveways into dance floors and neighbors into family. There will be music (Floyd-approved), pizza (gluten-free options), and—because he never turned down dessert—his favorite: Haagen-Dazs ice cream. If you’d like to raise a pint, a slice, or a story in his name, we’d be honored to have you. Let’s honor Floyd by showing up, connecting, and celebrating the life of someone who quietly built the kind of world we all want to live in. See you there. And bring your best Floyd story.

Hiram Floyd Watson II

August 3, 1965 - April 9, 2025