Musician, Artist, Teacher & Creator of the ABC Dome in Northwest Arkansas
Blending decades of experience as a lead guitarist, digital & AI image creator, and community builder, connecting artists, small businesses, and neighbors through creativity, technology, and Human SEO.
“Part of Northwest Arkansas ABC Dome 1 – connecting art, business & community”
479.323.1650
abcdome1.davefloyd@gmail.com
The Legacy Project Your Autobiography
This is a sample of how the Legacy form works. You can even makes adjustsment to information and tone in the AI model. This was created in ChatGPT but entered into Grok to see how it would follow instructions. These can be as informational as you want. you can create one that is very personal and private that will be part of the family legacy. Another one for general informational value.
I was born Dwight David Floyd on March 18, 1952, at Fort Breckenridge, Kentucky, named after President Dwight D. Eisenhower—a choice my mother, Marjorie Ann Lemmon, championed. My father, Starling Winfield Floyd, had his heart set on naming me after Calvin Coolidge, but Mom’s insistence on Eisenhower, a hero of her time, won out. I’m grateful she saved me from that one. Since I was 13, though, I’ve gone by Dave Floyd—a name that feels like the real me. My mother was a remarkable woman, a WAC in the Army during the Korean War who later built a steady career in federal civil service. Her strength was our lifeline, especially after my father abandoned us when I was five. He didn’t just leave; he broke into our small apartment and stole everything of value, including my Santa Claus coin bank, a childish treasure that held my meager savings. That betrayal cut deep, and he vanished without a trace—no letters, no calls, no check-ins until after I’d finished high school. The few conversations we had later in life were empty; he was never a positive force, never a guide. Growing up without a father left me to figure out how to be a man, a husband, a father, even a brother, on my own. It was like reinventing the wheel, a tough and lonely process, but I found my way.
My mother, in her own way, tried to fill the void. She decided she had to be both parents, taking on a distant and hardened demeanor to project a “manly” image she thought I needed. It took me years to understand her choices, to see that her toughness was likely rooted in her own pain from my father’s betrayal and the weight of raising me alone. Her love was there, but it was wrapped in a resolve that sometimes felt cold. As an only child in Linglestown, Pennsylvania, near Harrisburg, I felt the strain of our small family’s circumstances. Money and space were tight, so being the only kid was a blessing—we didn’t have room for more. My mother’s resilience held us together, and I learned early to cherish what we had.
Our home sat in a semi-rural pocket where neighbors tended sprawling gardens, almost mini-farms. I still remember one guy’s 80-pound award-winning pumpkin, so big you could sit on it. Our house was near woods and fields, my refuge from the heaviness at home. I’d spend entire days riding bikes, hiking, or soaking in the freedom of the outdoors. Those moments gave me peace and a sense of possibility.
My dog Blackie, a pointer with a knack for finding pheasants, was my best friend from fifth grade. We’d wander the woods together, me with my bow and bird arrows—though I never hit a thing. Blackie was more than a pet; he was my confidant, my shadow. When he passed in tenth grade, I buried him in the backyard and marked his grave with a cross, a quiet goodbye that still lingers in my heart.
Friends like Denny Bender, my closest buddy through elementary and middle school, brought joy to those years. We’d play baseball, chase adventures, and live the carefree life of kids in a simpler time. Those bonds gave me a sense of belonging, even when home felt incomplete.
Moving to Texas during high school was daunting. I pictured a backwoods place with kids tying horses to hitching posts, but I was the one out of place—a Pennsylvania “hick” in a modern world. Texas introduced me to pizza, air conditioning, and highways that stretched forever. It was the best thing that happened to me. At my large high school, I tried sports but found my true calling in music, joining a rock band that set my life on a new course. Music became my rebellion, my expression, my way forward.
My first job, the summer after sophomore year, was a wake-up call. I rode in the back of a pickup, delivering circulars in 100-degree Texas heat. Chased by dogs, yelled at by homeowners, and covered in ink that stained us black—it was grueling. That experience pushed me toward college, determined to build something better.
I started at San Antonio Junior College in 1970, earning 60 transferable hours, then graduated from the University of Texas in 1974 with a degree in History and certifications in five subjects: History, Government, Geography, Economics, and Sociology. Those years gave me not just knowledge, but a foundation to stand on my own.
In 1975, I got married and started a family—a decision that forced me to grow up fast. Without a father’s example, I had to learn what it meant to be a husband and parent through instinct and effort. It wasn’t easy, always feeling like I was charting unknown territory, but I built a family rooted in love and commitment, determined to be the presence my father never was.
Professionally, I took bold steps. In 1980, I founded my own telecommunications software company, a risk that paid off. Later, I became a regional director of sales for a national telecom firm, navigating an industry that evolved from analog to digital to IP. I replaced one of Texas’s last cord boards and rode every wave of technological change. At 73, I’m still at it, launching a new AI company—a testament to my belief that reinvention never stops.
I’ve owned 10 homes over the years, each a marker of stability and change, from Pennsylvania’s quiet fields to Texas’s wide-open spaces. Through it all, I’ve carried the lessons of my father’s absence and my mother’s tough love, striving to be present for those who matter most.
Music has been a constant, from that high school rock band to playing guitar and creating music today. I’ve also embraced digital and AI generative art, blending creativity with the cutting edge. It’s a reminder that growth doesn’t stop, no matter your age.
Looking to the future, I hope the next generations have the opportunities I’ve had. I worry about the system stacking against them, with wealth consolidating in ways that feel unfair. It’s why I keep pushing, keep creating—to leave something better behind.
Reflecting on my life, it’s been a journey of resilience, from a boy navigating a father’s betrayal and a mother’s tough love to a man who built his own legacy. The woods of Pennsylvania, Blackie’s loyal companionship, the thrill of music, and the challenges I’ve overcome—they’ve all shaped me. I’m grateful for the chance to keep growing, to keep learning, and to be there for th