Today was my first day at The Ranch.
I got up at 6 as usual, went into the house, washed up, and fed the dog. Then I sat down at the table and had a bowl of cereal. While I was reading the back of the cereal box, I remembered that first job I had. It was last summer ― pulling up weeds in the neighbor’s yard. It was awful: The ground was as hard as a rock. Since I got paid for doing it, I thought I’d like it. I didn’t.
As I got ready to leave to get my new glasses, I thought a bit about what I would be doing at The Ranch. Tim said they needed me ― I didn’t know what for. I wanted to … to be a cowboy. It was stupid, but I hoped they would give me a job that had something to do with the cattle ― and maybe give me a horse to ride, too.
I always wanted to be a cowboy.
I was five when I first knew. We were living at my grandma and grandpa’s, on their small farm. In the mornings I’d play in the big room off the kitchen. Grandma had a couple of records she knew I liked, so she played them for me. One was about Pecos Bill riding a tornado and all that stuff he did. The other was, “Cool Water.” I liked that one the best. I would stretch out on the floor when she put it on and imagine everything that was happening in the song. Like, I was the cowboy singing it:
Keep a-movin’, Dan, don’t you listen to him, Dan,
He’s a devil not a man
And he spreads the burning sand with water,
Cool water.
Dan, can you see that big green tree
Where the water’s running free, and it’s waiting
there for me and you.
I didn’t know then that Dan was a mule.
When I was six, I got to listen to the radio after dinner. That big old wooden one that sat on the kitchen counter by the jams and jellies and the outside light switches. Grandma would clean up the kitchen while I settled in at the kitchen table, leaned up against the counter and got ready. At just the right time, she’d come over, dry her hands on her apron and then turn on the radio. She’d get it tuned in to one of the stations that broadcast The Lone Ranger, Hopalong Cassidy, Red Rider, or The Cisco Kid.
It took no time at all. As soon as the program began with the sound of the fierce winds of the Yukon, I was in the Northwest Territory with:
Sergeant Preston of The Yukon … as howling winds echo across the snow-covered reaches of the wild Northwest ... Woof-Woof! It’s Yukon King, the swiftest and strongest lead dog of the Northwest … On King! On, you huskies!
I didn’t care that Sergeant Preston wasn’t a cowboy, ‘cause he was just like one.
The next evening, as soon as I heard the sound of a galloping horse and gunshots, I was somewhere on the dusty, wind-blown plains of the Wild West with:
The Lone Ranger! … A fiery horse with the speed of light, a cloud of dust and a hearty, Hi, Ho, Silver! … the daring and resourceful masked rider of the plains led the fight for law and order in the early western United States … Return with us now to those thrilling days of yesteryear.
A shiver would run through me when I heard:
From out of the past come the thundering hoof beats of the great horse Silver. The Lone Ranger rides again! Come on Silver. Let’s go, big fella ―Hi, Ho, Silver! Away!
I’d listen to the stories about honest, law-abiding town folks, ranchers and settlers who were killed, robbed and wronged by the crooks, gunslingers and gangs of outlaws. The Lone Ranger, with Tonto, brought them all to justice. As he rode off at the end, someone would ask, “Say, who was that masked man?” “Why, that was The Lone Ranger.” “Hi, Ho, Silver! Away!"
The next words I heard were, “It’s bedtime now.”
Of course, while I climbed up the grassy slope of the hill behind the house in the morning, I knew my grandma was in the kitchen “cookin’ me up some grub.”
Mom even got me a Hopalong Cassidy outfit for my sixth birthday. It was too big. But that was ok ― I wore it anyway. The shirt was black with snaps instead of buttons: a real cowboy shirt. She took it away to exchange. I waited a long time for it. One day, I gathered up my courage and asked when I would get it back; she got mad.
On Sundays I’d go out with my father. First thing, he’d take me and my sister to the drive-in for hamburgers, fries and a malt. Afterwards, most of the time we’d go to the movies. Both of us would buy some candy bars ― then we went in and saw the news, the cartoon, and then the two movies. It was at that time I saw the westerns with cowboys like Randolph Scott and Joel McCrea, in one of those old, old, movie theaters in the city. I saw “High Noon” there, too, with Gary Cooper. It was a grown-up’s movie, but we saw it anyway.
I was eleven when I saw “High Noon.” When it ended, I knew that when I grew up, I wanted to be a man just like Gary Cooper ― a real cowboy. One who rode and took special care of his horse. A cowboy who was strong, who knew what was right and did it ― no matter how hard it was. Who loved his girl and didn’t let her keep him from what he had to do. I got upset during the movie because his friends abandoned him, even his wife left him when he made up his mind to do what it was he had to do ― but that’s what it was like for a real cowboy. Then his wife ran back to find him and even saved him from getting shot. I knew I wanted a wife like her, too ― someday.
At fourteen I’d already ridden a couple of horses. That was on vacation up in the Sierra with my father. I did all right.
I wanted a horse of my own. But I didn’t tell anyone. I knew exactly the kind I wanted and what he’d look like. I wouldn’t have told anyone that, either. So I wished for him to myself.
I got the social security card, like Tim said. Filled out a form, signed it and all that stuff. The post mistress told me, “Remember the number, you’ll be using it the rest of your life.” So I did. Branded it into my brain.
It was early when Mom and I left for the city to pick up my new glasses. The doctor’s office was in a fancy old building that had marble around the elevator doors and on the floors. I was his first patient of the day, so he got right to fitting me. While he did, he and my mom talked. I didn’t pay much attention to them, until Mom said, “Kids nowadays don’t have any imagination.” They talked with each other, just like I wasn’t there. She said, “When we were kids we had to use our imagination; kids nowadays don’t have any.” He nodded, “That’s right.” I thought about the Depression, when she was a kid. I knew it must have been hard for her and she was right about having to use her imagination. But that didn’t mean we didn’t have any. Anyway, I didn’t like what she said.
Going back down in the elevator, I noticed I could see more. But there wasn’t much to see in an elevator. When I stepped out of the building, though, “Wow!” All of a sudden I saw more than I’d ever seen before. I could even see things far away, like the clouds and how blue the sky was. I saw the tops of buildings and way down the street in front of the car. I could even read the signs on the buildings. I couldn’t believe it and I couldn’t stop talking about it, either. As she started the car, Mom said, “OK, stop it now. I’ve heard enough.”
Boy, was I glad to have my new glasses before going to work. I had no idea I’d see so much better with them.
As we headed back home, I thought again about what I would be doing for The Ranch. The truth was, I knew my job would have to do with the pear harvest. That was the kind of work most of the kids my age did there in the summer ― pears and hay. But that hadn’t kept me from hoping.
Tim had told me not to worry about being late. Just to look out for him at Shav’s barn when I got there.
We passed the tomato field and the bar on the right, and then turned left and over the bump where the railroad tracks used to be. Shav’s barn, with the holes in its roof and its barn door long gone, was right ahead of us. The sorting machine was set up in the open field not far from the corral ― with a lot of teenage girls standing around it. Tractors were driving in with trailers loaded with full boxes of pears. Even a couple of big trucks were being loaded along the side of the road, with pears for the cannery.
As Mom stopped the car just off the pavement, I saw Tim over by the sorting machine. I got out, said “Bye” to her, and headed over to him.
Right then ― with the smells, the noise and walking through the dusty dirt ― I was one hell of a happy and excited boy. I knew then that somehow I’d get my horse.
At the turn headed towards Shav’s barn ― ca. 1950
To be continued:
