Irwin Boger "Bo" Price IV

Bo was fortunate to have had very good friends, most of whom spoke at his funeral. Together, they ran cross country and track, sang in church choir ensembles in which he often soloed, and participated in Cub and Boy Scouts. Bo achieved the rank of Eagle Scout and Order of the Arrow as did most of his friends. Together they hiked, camped, and adventured in the local woods as boys and later backpacked for days across many high mountains as men.

Bo instinctively sought constructive paths. He devised his own study strategies, making flash cards and microcassette recordings and following his mother around begging her to listen to him “recite the subordinating conjunctions” in junior high. Although he made straight A’s, he missed making the National Junior Honor Society because of a single “B” in conduct—a consequence of talking to a certain young lady too much, he admitted.

Spiritual and contemplative, Bo felt the call of the Holy Spirit as a shy youth. To walk down the aisle of his crowded Baptist church was a bit much for a ten-year-old, yet he did it and was baptized. Years later, he included this experience in a high school essay in which he recalled his mother telling him, “Bo, the angels are singing for you.”

Whether through a sense of his destiny or because of a stubborn sense of pride in achievement, Bo announced at age 12 that he did not want to go to a small college. His dad, a former distance athlete, told him he might could earn scholarships if he was “willing to pay the price” as a runner. Tall, slender, and long-legged, he was physically suited, so he began working out after dark at the deserted track with his father coaching.

“Run that last lap as hard as you can. When you cross the finish line, put your hands on top of your head and breathe slowly.”

His Little League baseball coach, Dr. Randy Cox, also emphasized conditioning, often sending players to run around the field for as long as they could. Bo was most always the last one standing.

Following a successful junior high running career, Bo drew the attention of the renowned coach Gordon Pynes, who led him throughout high school. Bo ran varsity as a freshman, surviving bruises and scrapes after having a barrel rolled in front of him while he was running “in the zone.” A bottle thrown at his head required medical attention. Once while running the back roads, he surprised a group of pot-smokers who chased him. He escaped by jumping a fence and outrunning them through a field.

Not every challenge came from people. One day Bo returned from a solo run bearing a stunned crow, its leg caught fast in a steel trap—a cruel contraption requiring at least three hands to open, so he had to ask for help. This action required him to realize and admit he had been running in a danger zone. His own legs—those carefully trained, college-bound legs—had passed within range of the same steel jaws. He knew the worry this would cause, but Bo could not turn away from suffering.

“Bo makes it look so easy,” many said as he sailed across finish lines into first place. It looked easy because of what was invisible: predawn runs before school, injuries, massages, Sunday afternoon long runs in August heat along a path water placed at intervals along his route, early bedtimes, and a curated playlist for nerves and motivation. His runner’s body required at least 10,000 calories per day, though he couldn’t eat it all at once. His afternoon runs took him all over town, often ending at the homes of generous friends. Greta Pynes and Gina Clements regularly had a meal or snack ready whenever he appeared like a muddy pup at their doorstep. His school lunch kit—packed with foods suggested in Runner’s World—was shared with everyone at his cafeteria table.

Hopes were high as Bo’s senior year began. Then, on September 11, 2001, the school counselor, in tears, broke the tragic news to him first. As Student Council president, Bo bore the weight of that day alongside the principal and teachers—steadying his classmates, helping set a tone of grief and resilience the school needed from its leaders. He was seventeen.

In November 2001, Atlanta’s cross country team again qualified for State. Following a highly successful season, they were ranked among the top contenders, with Bo entering as the top-seed. A hotel error placed him in a smoking room, where he slept poorly breathing the stale fumes. By mid-race, he was gray-faced and struggling. He crossed the finish line in 20th place and collapsed, requiring oxygen. Through tears, he said he had let his team down.

He had not.

His teammates, running as one, carried the day with a bronze third-place finish.

Bo learned that there is often a hard difference between the race you prepare for and the race you are given.

Bo was a self-made man. Although his family supported him with all available resources, he earned his goals with his body, his mind, and his will.

Bo received college offers from Lamar University, Stephen F. Austin, Texas Tech, University of Arkansas, University of Texas, and others. Some offered full rides; most combined athletic and academic scholarships. He chose Baylor, both for its overall reputation and generous offers. Coach Todd Harbour had signed the 2002 4A, 3A, and 2A State distance champs—the program looked promising.

Bo graduated with a Bachelor of Science in Biology, just a few hours shy of a second major in English. His abilities could have carried him into architecture, law, teaching, or many other fields. Instead, he pursued medicine. He received the prestigious Prentice Gautt Post-Graduate Scholarship which helped support his studies at the Texas College of Osteopathic Medicine. He graduated in 2011.

That same year he married the love of his life, Jaci Suzanne Clements, his best friend since seventh grade. Together they shared four children: Jaxon, Sophie, Bennett, and Hudson. It would have been his greatest joy to have been able to watch them now as they grow, learn confidence from their successes and resilience from their setbacks.

He received job offers from hospitals across the country. Because he was a hometown man at heart—and, as he liked to note, all the best babysitters were here—he chose to complete residency training in Texarkana, Arkansas. His first paying job was as a primary care physician at Ellington Memorial in Atlanta. Following completion of a course of study in 2018, he became an ER physician at Christus St. Michael in Atlanta.

The boy who once walked the aisle on shaking legs before a crowded congregation became a man who showed up at 6:00 am Bible study groups to learn and teach Scripture before his ER shift. A choir member, he was selected for the Master’s Men vocal ensemble lending his musical voice to his testimony. He was ordained as a deacon, a servant leader, in the traditional laying-on-of-hands ceremony.

One early morning in the doctor’s lounge—not fifty feet away from the C-Wing where he was born, in the space where he’d first heard his father’s joy—he left earthly life behind.

His sister Rebecca, whom he once followed through mud and snow and late car rides to school, recently reflected, “Time has no boundaries some days.” In the sacred geometric design of his 36 years, 10 months, and 20 days he circled home, as he always did after answering the call of high mountains and distant places. The angels were singing for him.