368th District Court 2013-2022 • SENIOR JUDGE 2023-2026
There are people whose titles become synonymous with their names. For many across Williamson County and beyond, he was simply Judge Kennon — fair, prepared, dependable, and deeply committed to work and service.
But titles, while meaningful, rarely tell the whole story. Rick Kennon left behind a legacy measured not only in years of service or legal accomplishments, but in something more enduring: the way he treated people and the impact he had on the lives around him.
Throughout his career, Rick earned a reputation for honesty and integrity. His law partners knew him to be practical, athletic, and a fun-loving family man; and those who later appeared in his courtroom knew they would receive careful attention, thoughtful consideration, and efficient dispensation. Those at the courthouse knew him as diligent and exceptionally hardworking—answering warrant calls in the middle of the night, arriving early and leaving late, and making it a personal point of pride to keep his docket on schedule.
Everyone fortunate enough to know him personally understood that beneath the title and responsibilities was a man of great generosity, deep faith, and quiet humor.
On the bench, Rick carried a steady presence and a high standard. He believed in preparation, responsibility, and doing things the right way, even when it required more effort. He was blessed with wisdom and intelligence that could even be a little intimidating—because he approached his responsibilities with seriousness and clarity. He understood the weight of decisions in the courtroom and recognized that responsibility didn’t end when he left the bench.
Still, outside the courtroom, another side of Rick emerged.
Beyond the Bench
Friends and family knew a man who laughed wholeheartedly. Not politely. Not quietly. And, sometimes, not easily. Many people in Caldwell (his home after retiring) considered it a great accomplishment to get a “Rick Kennon giggle.” But he relished the kind of laughter that overtook him with shoulders shaking, face reddening, and tears forming in his eyes. He especially loved the private jokes and everyday moments that become the language of shared universes.
He found joy and comfort in life’s restful routines and, at his core, was a hammock-nap kind of guy. Through familiar phrases, constant attempts to improve his golf swing via millimeter-sized adjustments, carrying his six grandchildren on his shoulders, and simple rituals repeated over years, he built a life rooted not in grand gestures but in consistency.
Rick was also a man of strong faith. He loved God, loved his family, and had a strong desire to serve well. His faith shaped not only what he believed but how he treated people. And, in lighter moments, he was eager for heaven because he wanted to know what it would feel like to fly.
A MOVING FAREWELL
Since his sudden passing, one theme has surfaced repeatedly from nearly everyone who knew him: respect.
Thanks to the generosity of County Judge Steve Snell and the District and County Court judges, more than 200 friends, family, and elected officials gathered at the historic courthouse May 8 to pay final respects in a very memorable celebration of life. Several speakers mentioned that Rick himself would have hated it because he was too humble to think he deserved that much praise and attention. But court staff, colleagues, law enforcement, attorneys, friends, and members of the community shared stories and memories reflecting the same qualities—honest, generous, hardworking, faithful, and kind. And perhaps most tellingly, many spoke not only of the judge they admired, but of the father or friend they loved.
And while his absence leaves a bottomless space in the lives of those who loved him, the impact of who he was continues forward through every person who knew him.
Some lives are counted in years. Others are measured by the people they leave changed. Rick leaves behind both.
And for what it’s worth, if he were somehow able to read this article, he would probably respond in a very Rick-like way:
Roll his eyes at my latest attempt to put him on a pedestal. Grumble that everyone made too much fuss over him. Then secretly read it twice. And later, when nobody was looking, quietly say: “Thank you for writing it, Honey Bunny.”