Growing up on a farm in the Hill Country, George Riba learned three things: English may have been his second language; the value of hard work; and he didn’t want to spend the rest of his life growing peaches on the family spread in Stonewall.

Riba took his first baby step away from the farm while still a student at Fredericksburg High School. He got a weekend disc jockey gig at a local radio station. When he wasn’t playing country, western or polka music, he read the news and voiced commercials.

Soon after graduation, he followed an older brother north to the campus of the University of Texas-Arlington. While his brother studied engineering, Riba went to school in the morning, worked in the afternoon at a succession of radio stations and then at night, he manned an assembly line at an electronics giant.

One of the radio stopovers was at a station that happened to be in the same building as KTVT-TV (Channel 11). The scuttlebutt in the halls was that television paid better than radio. So Riba, weary of working two jobs, “beat down the door” at the station until he was hired as a weekend news reporter.

Since he knew nothing about reporting, the station graciously sent him to a workshop at the University of Oklahoma to learn how to shoot tape and talk into a microphone.

He made his Dallas-Fort Worth television debut in 1973. Riba lasted almost two years at Channel 11 before he moved to KXAS-TV (Channel 5) where he expanded his horizons to include sports.

He was out covering a Rangers game at Arlington Stadium when he ran into Verne Lundquist, who mentioned there was a sports opening at his station, WFAA-TV (Channel 8).

Sports had captured Riba’s heart. It skipped a beat when he heard Lundquist’s news. Sports certainly were more fun than covering county commissioners’ hearings and standing outside the yellow tape at crime scenes.

On Sept. 12, 1977, Riba began in the sports department at Channel 8. His hop-scotching from station to station was over.

Almost 37 1/2 years later, Riba’s run ends Feb. 20. He’s retiring.

“I don’t think there has ever been a day I didn’t go to work at Channel 8 not looking forward to it,” he said in a breakfast interview this week. Maybe that’s why he hung on nine months past his 65th birthday.

“But I would never want to be known as an old clown who stayed too long,” he said.

Riba has worked some as a weekend anchor and a fill-in on weeknights. But mostly he has been out in the field reporting stories.

The other day, he and anchor Dale Hansen, his longtime boss in Channel 8’s sports department, buried their noses in the archives before putting pencil to paper. They computed that, including the old days when sports got more time on local news, Riba has reported 8,000 stories for the station.

It’s a record that may last forever.

Riba never had an itch to move permanently into an anchor chair. He never wanted to be tethered to the studio. He has had feelers over the years, asking about his interest in moving to other markets. Always, he turned them down.

If you have seen only a sliver of Riba’s reports or every one of his 8,000, you know one thing: He never has gotten in the way of a story. He never conjured a catch phrase or screamed, “Hey, look at me,” into a camera lens.

Hansen said he has had to force Riba into stepping in front of the camera to add a face to his voice in an effort to solidify his brand.

“The man just wants to tell a story,” said Hansen, who has worked with Riba for three decades.

Riba’s work ethic also always has been above and beyond.

“To have worked as hard as he has in a secondary role and produce the quality work he has over the years is a wonderful tribute to him,” said Lundquist, who worked with Riba for six years before moving on from Channel 8 to CBS.

And one more tribute:

“I have never seen George angry,” Lundquist said. “And you can’t say that about too many people who work in a television newsroom.”

Lundquist obviously missed the day when Riba sweated hard to produce a breaking UT-Arlington football story. He hustled back to Channel 8’s downtown Dallas studios convinced he had an exclusive interview. It was 5:30 p.m. He tried to convince anchor Hansen that his story belonged on the 6 o’clock news. Hansen said it would have to simmer until the 10 o’clock.

But what if Cowboys tight end Doug Cosbie had just sprained his ankle? Riba demanded. Surely Hansen would re-work his sportscast at 6 p.m.

Of course he would, responded Hansen, who has never met a Cowboys story he didn’t like.

Riba reacted by kicking a trashcan the entire length of the newsroom. Had he been wearing a Cowboy uniform, Hansen might have found a way to get it on the air.

“It was the only time I’ve seen him angry,” said Hansen, who calls Riba “the nicest man I have ever worked with in television.”

Hansen then volunteered a story that may put Riba on the Mount Olympus of television newsrooms from coast to coast.

It seems that Marty Haag, the iconic longtime news director at Channel 8 once told Hansen: “If I was ever going to build a news department at another station, I would start with George Riba.”

Hansen dutifully relayed the story to Riba.

Riba, in our interview over breakfast, neglected to relay that piece of history to me. As an interviewee, Riba, the consummate interviewer, desperately lacks ego.

In his final days at Channel 8, Riba has been revisiting some of the folks he has covered through the decades.

Among his favorites from the thousands he has met along the way, is George W. Bush, who owned a piece of the Rangers before advancing to higher callings. For whatever reason, President Bush has a pet name for Riba. He always kiddingly refers to him as “Hor-Hey.”

Riba, in fact, comes from German and Czech stock. At home, his parents often spoke German. Riba says he has been told he spoke that language with a Texas twang before he learned to communicate in English.

On Thursday night, Channel 8 plans to air a tribute to Riba. Tony Martinez, a master producer who worked alongside Riba for years, has put together a retrospective. Lots of surprises are planned.

In retirement, Riba plans to maintain his running regimen around White Rock Lake, trying to keep pace with his wife of 28 years, Maggie, a personal trainer. He’ll also try to keep his familiar voice active in the commercial voiceover game.

“A lot of people won’t appreciate what George did here until he is gone,” Hansen said. “Trust me, they all will be sorry.”