Wilburn Floyd Harmon, Sr.

Wilburn Floyd Harmon, Sr., 76, passed away on Tuesday, May 27, 2025 in Decatur, Tx.

Visitation: 10:30 a.m., Tuesday, June 3, 2025 in Springtown Cemetery, Springtown, Tx.

Graveside Service: 11:00 a.m., Tuesday, June 3, 2025 in Springtown Cemetery, Springtown, Tx.

We are gathered here today to remember and celebrate the life of Wilburn Floyd Harmon Sr.—a beloved husband, father, grandfather, brother, and friend. Floyd passed away on Tuesday, May 27, 2025, at the age of 76 years, 8 months, and 1 day. Though we grieve his loss, we also give thanks for the many years we were blessed to share with him.

Floyd was born on September 26, 1948, in McKinney, Texas, to Wilburn Costley Harmon and Ida Mae Mason Harmon. He was one of six siblings and grew up surrounded by family, hard work, and strong values—foundations that would define the rest of his life.

After graduating from Azle High, Floyd served our country in the U.S. Army from February ’69 to February ’71, workin’ in the motor pool. That meant he kept things running—which pretty much sums up his whole life. He was always the guy keepin’ stuff goin’.

He went on to serve the City of Azle for many years, eventually retiring as a Maintenance Shop Supervisor. He was the kind of man you could count on, and he had more than a few talents. If something was broken, he could fix it. If you needed a tool, he had it. And if you needed help, he’d be there. If you needed a bit of wisdom, Floyd would usually start by sayin’ “I don’t know,” but he was always ready with that quiet strength and dry humor that made him so special—even when it was 110 degrees in the shade or colder than a well digger’s toes.

Now, Floyd wasn’t just handy—he was legendary. If it was broke, he could fix it. If you needed a tool, he had three. And if you tried to fix it without askin’ him first, well… you probably ended up callin’ him anyway after you made it worse. He didn’t mind helpin’, though. He was always there when you needed him.

His hands bore the scars of a life spent workin’, givin’, and endurin’. He faced danger and injury head-on more than once—whether it was a serious accident involving a tractor trailer hauling pipe, losing his ring finger in a farm equipment mishap, or battlin’ through some rough cases of COVID. But he never let any of it stop him. He was tough. Resilient. (Or maybe just plain stubborn.) But he was rooted deep in the kind of strength that comes from love, purpose, and grit.

Now, when Floyd wasn’t workin’ or helpin’ somebody, you’d find him out in the woods or sittin’ by the pond. He loved huntin’ and fishin’—and not just for the meat, though he sure wasn’t gonna turn down some fried venison or wild hog sausage. No, for Floyd, those were sacred times. Just him, the great outdoors, and usually somebody taggin’ along to learn a thing or two—whether they asked for a lesson or not.

Floyd loved his people, and they loved him right back. He was preceded in death by his parents, his sister Linda Stump, his brother Ronnie Harmon, and his son Anthony Luke Mason.

He is survived by his devoted wife of 29 years, Jeannie Harmon of Agnes, Texas; by his children: Floyd Harmon Jr., William Harmon of Agnes, Annette Cihak and her husband Mike of Azle, and Wesley Mason and his wife Angel, also of Azle. By his siblings: Sue Key of Euless, Rick Harmon and wife Donna of Fort Worth, and Larry Harmon and wife Karrie of Azle. And by numerous grandchildren who will carry his memory and legacy forward with pride.

To know Floyd was to know someone real. He believed in gettin’ the job done, standin’ by your people, and enjoyin’ the simple things in life. His life wasn’t always easy, but it was honest, strong, and full of love. He didn’t put on airs. He didn’t sugarcoat things. If he liked you, he’d let you know. And if he didn’t… well, you’d still know. But even then, he’d still help you change a tire or hand you a socket wrench.

Today, as we lay him to rest here in Springtown, we do it with heavy hearts and thankful souls. We’ll miss him more than words can say, but we’ll remember him every time a truck won’t start, every time we drop a hook in the water, and every time we fix somethin’ someone else gave up on.

Rest easy, Floyd. You were one of a kind—and we’ll carry you with us, always.