Don Lee Friemel

Don Lee Friemel, 81, of Amarillo, TX passed away March 11, 2026.

Visitation with be from 3:30-5:30 PM, Saturday, March 14, 2026 at Boxwell Brothers Funeral Home, 2800 Paramount. Arrangements are by Boxwell Brothers Funeral Directors.

Don Lee Friemel was born September 16, 1944 in Amarillo, Texas and raised in Groom, Texas. His dad nicknamed him “Whipper” early on because of his unique ways, and most folks knew him by that name long before they ever heard “Don.” He was the son of Ted and Mary Lee Nelson Friemel of Groom, Texas, and later the son-in-law of Alvin and Fran Lewis of Panhandle and Claude, Texas.

Whipper met Anne Lewis while she was working at the swimming pool in Groom, in 1968. He married Anne on December 20, 1969, and they were married for 56 years, during which he helped with many projects including Panhandle Assessment Center and Foster Care organization for over 21 years.

At Anne’s urging, Don finally decided to get serious about school. He graduated from Texas Tech University in 1973 with a B.S. in Agricultural Education. He was proud of that education, and until his last breath he wore two things that meant the most to him: his Texas Tech ring and his wedding ring.

He taught agriculture at Claude High School and spent some years as a welding instructor at TSTI in Highland Park before returning to the life that had always called him home. Don went back to the land and farmed roughly 13,630 acres of hard red winter wheat across Armstrong, Carson, and Randall counties.

Don and Anne raised three children: Casey, Landi, and Evan. He was known as PawPaw to Casey and Bart Mizer’s family including Dr. Adin and Jaycee Mizer and their daughter Sloane of Fort Worth; Jaxon and Alyssa Mizer and their children Hudson and Saige of Amarillo; Zadee and Jaxon McAden of Fort Worth; and Jett and Karissa Mizer of Amarillo. Landi Friemel’s family includes Laney and Grayson Davis of Panhandle and Maizey Whitefield of Granbury. Evan Friemel and his fiancée, Jamie Craig reside in Claude, TX.

He is preceded in death by too many of his school chums, his nephew, and loving parents and parent-in-laws. He leaves behind siblings Shirley Bayless, Kenneth and Judy Friemel, Tom and Dianna Weller, and sister-in-law Judy Jennings. He lovingly leaves behind his many nieces and nephews, great nieces and nephews, and likely even a few great-great ones. Whipper always enjoyed hearing from his friends and relatives.

Don’s greatest joy was helping people. Former students still stopped by the barn years later just to visit, and more than once they showed up with their own machinery to help him get crops out of the field after his semi-retirement from farming. All of his family members and his friends held respect for him and often relied on him to give them instructions on how to fix anything they owned. He was revered as having the ability to fix or repair anything.

He was happiest in the Colorado mountains, dropping line into cold water and waiting on a rainbow trout to take the bait. His children remember skiing miles beside him down slopes in Colorado and New Mexico, snowmobiling across winter wheat pastures, attending every sporting event they could manage, or driving miles just to help mow a yard that didn’t really need mowing or “borrowing their car” if he thought they needed a new set of tires put on it to be

safe. He believed in working hard and doing things right (which usually meant HIS way but it always worked). He told us “I taught you to work”, and that along with not quitting, were expected of his family members. “Guard your reputation and make sure your word is always good” were his primary words of wisdom. He frequently reminded his children there are no do-overs when raising your kids, so they come first.

As he aged, the thin mountain air didn’t come as easy, and that pained him more than he let on. He missed those mountains deeply. He was proud of his wife and her accomplishments and spent many years helping her raise other people’s children through her emergency shelter and foster care non-profit. He was equally proud of his children and grandchildren, whether they became a mechanic, a photographer, a teacher, a landman, a nutritionist, a nurse, a doctor, a title man, an all around repairman, or worked anywhere in the medical field. Each and every one of them made him proud.

Don was the last of the Winston Regular men. Early on he favored Lucky Strike filterless back when whitewalls were still plentiful and the world moved a little slower. School never interested him much as a boy. He would have rather been welding, fixing tractors, riding on the hood of an international cub farming alongside his father. Yet, pushed along by Anne, he learned to “Wreck ’Em” until the bitter end.

His pride and joy sat in the garage as often as it roared down the road: a 1955 Ford Thunderbird. He also kept company with antique tractors and cars, including his beloved John Deere Willis. Around Amarillo, he could often be spotted at a benefit wearing clown cowboy boots, Wrangler jeans, an overcoat, and a black top hat that made more than a few people do a double take.

He was a man of few words but a tall tale of many. Quiet most days, ornery when the mood struck, and always entertaining in ways only Whipper could manage.

He taught his children something simple. If someone needs help, it isn’t your job to ask why. They don’t need your lip, they need your hands. Help them, and move on. One of his grandchildren said it best that, “I didn’t need Google, I had my PawPaw.”

His wife Anne likely put up with more of his ornery ways than anyone. Anne likely knew Whipper better than anyone, and loved him long enough to prove it. He drove her a little crazy over the years, a stubborn loner who would not always go to church or anywhere else if he had decided he would rather stay put. But in his own quiet way he took care of her every day of their life together. Her oil was always changed, her car washed, the lawn mowed, and anything broken around the house fixed before she could worry about it too long. More than once he nearly gave her a heart attack gambling on a new combine, but every long day and late night he spent in those wheat fields was for one reason in the end. He was making sure Anne was taken care of, just like he promised the day he married her. His children will miss hearing him tell them, “You’re doing it wrong.” And anyone who ever crossed paths with Whipper would probably say the same thing now.

The truth is, if you knew Whipper even a little, you knew you were looking at a kind of man that does not come along often anymore. The kind who worked the land until it worked him back, who showed up when neighbors needed help, who loved his family quietly but fiercely, and who carried the dust of the Panhandle in his boots no matter where he went.

The wheat will still grow in those fields, the wind will still blow across the plains, and somewhere up in the mountains there is a trout on Monument Lake jumping on the line of a man who always had a little more patience than he let on.

And if you listen close on a cold Panhandle morning, you might just hear the faint rasp of a Winston lighting somewhere out beyond the fence line.

Because men like Don “Whipper” Friemel do not really leave this land, they just drive a little further out past the fence line where only our Heavenly Father can see. We love you dad, “love ya.”

Authored - Landi Friemel (proofed to soften it by Anne Friemel & Casey Friemel)