Ted Michael Crowder, 49, of Dripping Springs passed away January 10, 2026 with his loving family by his side. Ted was born in San Antonio, Texas on April 3, 1976 to Virginia Crawford and John Clifford Crowder. Raised primarily in San Antonio, Ted spent a great deal of his youth in Galveston County among his extended family and friends.
A graduate of Alamo Heights High School and Texas Tech University, Ted was an avid and accomplished hunter, fisherman and all out nature lover. His best days were spent with his son Cord at his cousins’ ranch outside of Uvalde. It has been said that Ted “could charm the bark off of a tree” and if you knew him, you knew that to be true. He had a personality that was larger than life; with an infectious laugh, beautiful smile and big heart, Ted touched the lives of so many people.

Ted is survived by his sons: Cord Crowder and Nathaniel Lopez of San Antonio, Texas; parents: Ginger and Steve Harrison of Gulf Shores, Alabama and John Crowder of Dickinson, Texas; his sister Ashley Crowder of Houston, Texas; the love of his life and soul mate, Stephanie Frey and her son, Wyatt of Dripping Springs, Texas; niece, Hazel Parker as well as a number of uncles, aunts, cousins and friends.

A private graveside will be held. A celebration of life will be held at a later date. Services under the direction of Crowder Funeral Home in Dickinson, Texas.

If
by
Rudyard Kipling

If you can keep your head when all about you
Are losing theirs and blaming it on you,
If you can trust yourself when all men doubt you,
But make allowance for their doubting too;
If you can wait and not be tired by waiting,
Or being lied about, don’t deal in lies,
Or being hated, don’t give way to hating,
And yet don’t look too good, nor talk too wise:

If you can dream—and not make dreams your master;
If you can think—and not make thoughts your aim;
If you can meet with Triumph and Disaster
And treat those two impostors just the same;
If you can bear to hear the truth you’ve spoken
Twisted by knaves to make a trap for fools,
Or watch the things you gave your life to, broken,
And stoop and build ’em up with worn-out tools:

If you can make one heap of all your winnings
And risk it on one turn of pitch-and-toss,
And lose, and start again at your beginnings
And never breathe a word about your loss;
If you can force your heart and nerve and sinew
To serve your turn long after they are gone,
And so hold on when there is nothing in you
Except the Will which says to them: ‘Hold on!’

If you can talk with crowds and keep your virtue,
Or walk with Kings—nor lose the common touch,
If neither foes nor loving friends can hurt you,
If all men count with you, but none too much;
If you can fill the unforgiving minute
With sixty seconds’ worth of distance run,
Yours is the Earth and everything that’s in it,
And—which is more—you’ll be a Man, my son!