Days of the "Cowboys"...

Memoirs of a Geezer

  

Reflections and Observations -- A Bright Passage from the Fantasies of Youth to Illuminations of Advanced Maturity!

This Episode:        Days of the "Cowboys"...

A random thought, a cliche...  He thought of stuffing a plug of tobacco into the empty pouch of his left facial cheek, just to appear more natural as an authentic chaps-wearing, gun-packin' cowhand!  But, he didn't like chewin' nor did he fancy six guns, or any other bullet-firing contrivance, for that matter.  Didn't have a plug of tobacco in any case.  (Gave up the "shootin' life" when he left military service!)  

Jack was a journalist, a writer.  He sometimes looks behind himself from the heights of GeezerHood and wonders if his memory is intact, accurate, correct...   Years past, he

lived in Cheyenne, Wyoming and his labors earned $75.00...  hmmm, was it per week, or once a month? Must have been per week.  Who could possibly live on $75 a month, even in 1969 and 1970!?
 

Jack worked for a daily newspaper, and often wrote for the morning daily's evening companion paper, and its combined Sunday edition.  He was young, often foolhardy and not terribly conscious of safe behavior or the needs of self-preservation.  Who the hell is at 25 or 26, or thereabouts, in the prime years of youth or early manhood?  

There were two colleagues, or associates, maybe, at the same newspapers.  One was the Sports Editor, the other the Staff Photographer.  The former had some difficulty with strong drink, spirits, alcoholic beverages.  The latter was ancient, maybe old as the geysers at Yellowstone, and magnificently nicotine stained.  Jack thought he resembled a totem made of seasoned wood, or a carved figure standing sentry at a main street cigar store.     

The sports editor sometimes did not appear for days.  The photo chap was often taken ill

or maybe, himself, stupified or overly stimulated by an excess of refreshment --  strong spirits, booze-glutted tumblers of rye whiskey, for example.  As a consequence of the aforementioned, Irving or Edgar -- Editor in Chief and Managing Editor, respectively -- would ask Jack to step in and fill the empty roles.  Jack was delighted to accept, and so he did on several occasions. 

A Cowboy Football Player from the
University of Wyoming, in Laramie

As fill-in sports editor, Jack would feature much of the sports section with appropriate local news (e.g.  Laramie's University or Wyoming Cowboys football squad), but some with stories close to his own heart -- copy featuring Midwestern sports teams -- a bit subjective, maybe selfish or self-absorbed, but no one ever seemed to complain.   

The other fill-in role, as erstwhile photographer, was far more exciting, fun and adventurous...  like a cavalry scout or a horse-mounted cowpoke herding and driving hundreds of head of cattle to a stockyard, or a bold and brave buckskin-clad hunter slaying and bringing home fresh game for denizens of the Wagon Train! 

Hmmm...  Maybe, Possibly...  Jack might have
concealed himself, for safety sake, in that
kind of barrel...  Might could be the 
actual one, come to think....  maybe...

At Cheyenne-based rodeos, as the "man with a camera," Jack would position himself if a padded barrel, pop up as required and shoot pictures of bronc riders, or steer ropers or chuck wagon racers or even bull riders!  It was a helluva hoot was for a cub reporter, an  occasional fill-in editor and photo journalist.   

These are the tales, the adventures and memories he liked to keep in his Psychic album for posterity, to relate to family members, relatives and friends...  Materializing occasionally, like specters that appear to the unsuspecting in old houses and haunted inns or English castles or mist-shrouded city streets on moonless nights.      

Whether people, the aforementioned, wish to believe it or not believe it, the tales were mostly true, if sometimes embellished or enlarged, like a retouched photo or a poster painted by the story-teller him or herself, possibly re-touched to include and suggest something larger or bolder than the thing or event of origin.

When the sports editor and photographer were at their respective desks or at the horseshoe-shaped table near or across from "the slot" occupied by the editor, Jack would return to the more mundane tasks of writing up the days news he had gathered on his rounds, his beat.  At a relatively small newspaper, a reporter would cover everything...  Police news, the State House

(Wyoming's capitol building), crime, fires, accidents, academic news, community services, federal happenings to which the state might have been affected or economically allied...  all of it and more, everything!   

On occasions of so-called "slow news days," Jack longed for the barrel or the sports desk, not always, but on those rare, spare news days, something itched.  Those times when the excitement of the dust-choked rodeo grounds and the hoof beats and the drama of cowpunchers being thrown from bucking broncos and huge, snorting bulls...  The sights and noise of rocketing chuck

wagons, racing round barrels....  When those images came to mind, Jack fell under a spell, a kind of irresistible beckoning, and let his thoughts, his attention and daydreams be lassoed, captured by a band of shadowy cowhands!   

*******************************************

"Ahem...  Jack..."  Edgar was an excellent managing editor, always quiet and composed.  But he never lost sight of the objective, get the paper out; do it professionally, and on time.  He was always, in Jack's view, an effective leader and manager of the reporters under his supervision.  Edgar coughed lightly and cleared his throat...    "Jack, snap out of it.  We have deadlines to meet."  

Humbly Submitted 03-17-2026...   by Joel K.  

      

    

    

Fashion Backward... or, A Losing Battle with Stuff Sartorial!

Memoirs of a Geezer!

Reflections and Observations -- A Bright Passage from the Fantasies of Youth 

to Illuminations of Advanced Maturity!

This Episode:    Fashion Backward...  (or) A Losing Battle with Stuff Sartorial!

Over the seas of time, my beloved lifelong partner, best friend, wisest constructive critic and dearest companion -- my wife, "Sweetheart" -- has tried her best to "garanimalize" me.  That is, to change me into someone (whom she tries valiantly to make...) aware of conflicting patterns and inoffensive color combinations (with apologies to the people whose apparel matching system helped children dress themselves!). 

High Fashion and Color
Coordination at
its Zenith!  A Salute to
"Dressing for Success"!  

In the beginning was the worst, and the worst was made flash(y)... (apologies, this time, to biblical scholars and purists).  When I began to court my wife -- that was sometime in the early 70's when fashion had all but disappeared from the planet -- I had little or no imagination regarding apparel choices.  For work, I wore the same suit of clothing every Monday, every Tuesday, etc.  Sweetheart regarded as somewhat inoffensive only my "Friday ensemble." It consisted of a sort of herring bone light colored jacket, brown trousers, a white shirt and a "nubby" brown tie, all of it reasonably well color matched by me (for reasons I cannot fathom!!).

When the time came to meet her family, the entire family, she scheduled a dinner event for a Friday evening, perhaps believing, or hoping, that I would be suitably attired!  When I arrived at her front door, she exclaimed, "What happened to your Friday suit?!"  (You see, my white shirt and nubby brown tie were soiled.)

The "Lions" Tie
must have been
inadvertently
discarded, but
illustrations are
always desirable!
And Sweetheart
is fond of froggies!

"Is there something wrong with this ensemble?" I asked, innocently.  I was wearing the standard, Friday jacket and slacks, but my shirt was a collision of off-white, apricot and powder blue.  The tie was brown with gold lions stalking up and down its length.  Poor Sweetheart!  She groaned aloud.  (I think the tie actually snarled at her!) 

After a long moment during which she eyed me up and down with a certain degree of disdain...  "Oh well," she finally said, punctuated by a heavy sigh, "You may as well come in and meet my sisters-in-law and some of my cousins."  As our courtship continued and our relationship grew stronger, more committed, on the very first of my birthdays during that era, she bought me a most attractive suit of clothes, an entire outfit -- jacket, slacks, shirt and tie -- all of it magnificently matched and coordinated!  From that point onward, I was transformed!   

I think it's only right to add some historical perspective.  My father wore shirts of plaid and trousers of stripes.  He

Above is a fairly accurate
depiction of the plaid
and striped patterns my
father often chose!

dressed for practicality and comfort.  My mother often turned him around, insisting she and he return to his closet to re-dress her grievances!  When my father entered my sister's home, and her care, much later in his life, his apparel choices were similarly overruled, and his daily ensembles nicely put together by a caring daughter.   save.

One of my own daughters and her husband prefer a burn barrel for designer clothing.  Their apparel choices are eclectic, with a predilection for thrift shops.  On balance, though, I must say they are both always nicely turned out.  Our other daughter and her husband will even run half-marathons in designer labels and name-brand ensembles!  We're all individuals, with individualized tastes, styles and budgetary concerns ...or lack thereof... 

The above is an illustration of
a "Sergeant / General" in full
military regalia!  ...um...  just in
case the concept of military
"uniform" is unfamiliar to some!

In terms of what to wear, I look back with some nostalgic longing to my days in the military.  One could hardly mismatch a uniform; that is, unless one wished to court trouble via an "Article 15" or worse.  ( I knew a GI who walked around the base wearing nothing but his service tie and cap.  He wanted out of the military in the worst way.  He succeeded, receiving the worst kind of discharge for his effort!)  As for "mufti," I would merely look at the clothing choices of my fellow GI's and try to emulate their examples, sometimes with effective results, more often failing to comprehend fashion, choosing motley instead!  One of my pals in the military, Dennis V., was always magnificently attired during off-duty time.  I marveled at how he did it on military pay!  I concluded he was either a thief or independently wealthy.  

Suddenly, It Was Now Again!

An illustrative
effort to capture one's
intense dislike of the flood
of fashion catalogs that
arrive, unwanted, in one's mail.
(See para. at right please!)

Today, happily, nicely ensconced in GeezerHood, I have Sweetheart, my personal fashion consultant.  Most often, therefore, I leave the confines of my own home in outfits that will embarrass neither she nor me, nor my children.  At this point in their lives, I don't think the grandchildren would care one way or the other.  It won't be long, however...  Hmmm...  Will they ultimately choose the fashion plate or Melmac?  

I applaud those who seem to possess a natural flair for dressing themselves stylishly, whether from the best shops or from the bin.  As for me, I'll never "have a clue," and will thus follow the lead of "She with the Good Eye."  Fortunately, I haven't had to shop for and select my own clothing choices for more than 40 years, so I seem to be on a safe sartorial pathway!

I often wonder if those of us who despise malls and retail fashion stores and "cute little shoppes" come to our positions genetically.  Or is it a learned aversion?  But look here...  If you want me, I'll be in the backyard burning fashion clothing catalogs that arrive unwanted in the mails.  Gee, could it be that the burn barrel is my fashion statement of choice!?  

Humbly Submitted 03-18-15 -- Joel K.