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THE LEGEND OF
COWBOY BILL

Every legend starts with a spark. Some are born on battlefields, others in rodeo arenas, but this one began in Fort Worth, Texas — with a boy, his grandfather, and a name that refused to be forgotten. This is the tale of Cowboy Bill, a story passed down like campfire smoke and Texas dust, part truth, part myth, and all heart.

The Legend of Cowboy Bill

The legend of Cowboy Bill began the day a baby boy took his first breath in Texas.

His grandfather, William Lee Kempe, wasn’t about to let folks call the boy Little Bill.
“No sir,” he declared, “this here’s Cowboy Bill.”

They say Pappaw Bill was a fan of old-school rasslin’, especially a big fella from the 1960s named Cowboy Bill Watts. So when his grandson came along, he gave him a name fit for an outlaw, a wrestler, and a hero rolled into one. From then on, little Cowboy Bill didn’t just live a childhood—he lived a story.

Each week, Pappaw Bill would promise the family he was takin’ the boy to the park. Instead, they’d sneak into beer joints on Fort Worth’s Northside. The smoky bars would hush when the door swung open. Pappaw Bill slapped two stools at the counter and hollered:

“Sit down there, Cowboy Bill. Bartender—two beers. Make mine a root beer.”

And the boy laughed every time.

But legends have a way of takin’ sharp turns. When Cowboy Bill was near six, his Pappaw passed away, and with him, the name faded. Through school he was just William. At seventeen, a shoe store manager “accidentally” renamed him Bill—and the boy went on about life.

Then fate came callin’ in the strangest of places: a urinal.
Bill pitched a radio idea to DJ JD Ryan midstream, and before long, he was calling into KSCS as Cowboy Bill from Cowboys Dancehall. A slip of the tongue resurrected the name that had once lived in smoky bars with his Pappaw.

From there, the legend rode hard. Cowboy Bill toured with George Strait, Loretta Lynn, Brad Paisley, Rascal Flatts, and even the late great George Jones. He stood alongside Jeff Foxworthy, Ron White, Larry the Cable Guy, and Bill Engvall. He carried Texas laughter to the Middle East for the troops and even wrangled himself a CMT special in 2015.

But out in his yard in 2016, while mowing the grass, Cowboy Bill asked the heavens:
“Lord, why not me? Why not let me grab the brass ring?”

The answer thundered back in his heart:
“I made you William Lee Martin. Want to try bein’ that man?”

And so, he did. Cowboy Bill rode into legend, while William Lee Martin carried the torch forward.

Even now, folks call him William, Bill, Cowboy Bill, or WL. He smiles at every one of ’em. But when someone hollers “Cowboy Bill!”, his mind drifts back to that Fort Worth bar, two stools slapped down, and a root beer in hand.

The only name he won’t answer to?

The one Skeeter gave him as a boy when he couldn’t say “William Lee”: Wee Wee.

And that, friends, is the legend—told true as Texas and twice as tall.