Texas Rose

I was on the last leg of my South Texas sales route when I arrived in Panhandle. Smoke was rising from the small grove of cottonwoods at the edge of town. Sheriff Tom and Doc Harris were surrounding the area with yellow “Police Line Do Not Cross” tape.

I parked my car and walked over there.

The Sheriff looked up and said, “Dry lightning. Don’t see it that much but this is proof that it exists.”

A thick cottonwood lay on the ground, smoke rising from the trunk and some of the larger branches. A scorch line from the top branches to the base of the tree marked the lightning’s path. The trunk was split in two.

Doc Harris finished tying off his end of the tape and joined us next to the Sheriff’s cruiser.

“Lotta history on that old tree”, he said. “There usta be an artesian spring here years ago. Shallow water but I hear tell Indians counted on this place to water their horses ‘way back when. The aquifer must be near the surface though to keep these dozen trees alive even through the droughts.”

He wiped his hands on his pants, pointed to the fallen tree and said, “Back in the day before anybody said ‘back in the day’, folks took their wedding vows under these trees. Nothing romantic about it, just common sense. It was cooler under the trees than inside the church.”

I stepped over the tape to take a closer look. Doc and Tom followed. If I had to guess, the tree was at least 50 feet high, the trunk three feet in diameter. There were dozens of initials carved in the trunk, many of them partially covered with hardened sap as the tree healed itself over time. A large carving in the shape of a heart with the initials KM+RO inside had an “X” cut through it.

Doc Harris ran his finger over the “X” and said, “It was before my time but I’ve been told the initials stand for Kenny Miles and Rose O’Dell. As to who put the “X” there, it coulda’ been done by a fella called Burt or another one named Jeff. The story goes those boys, Kenny, Burt, and Jeff courted Rose at the same time. And they all lost.”

I said, “A love rectangle.”

“Yes, you could call it that. Some older folks talk about the time when those boys near killed each other, not intentionally you understand, but dead is dead so there’s that. Courtin’ Rose was not for cowards with these boys around. They had other choices, plenty of other girls available, but they all fell for her.

“They went at each other a whole summer. According to old timers there was some dynamite, horse thieving, a range fire, and other stuff, everybody wondering how it would turn out. Then all of a sudden it was over.”

Tom took off his gloves, put them in his back pocket and said, “Come on, let’s go to Jackie’s. Deputy Dudley ‘ll be here in a minute, watch the place, keep the kids away.”

The bar was empty except for Wendy and Jackie.

Not-So-Happy-Hour at Jackie's

“Jackie, where is everybody?”

“Hi, Doc. You heard I killed the Happy Hour? Nobody was happy about it so they’ve all gone to Billy’s or Chato’s. They’ll be back. It’s noisy and rowdy in regular hours over there and it gets worse with half price beer. Only thing that makes things quiet down is Sheriff Tom starin’ the roughnecks down once or twice a night.

“With the men gone I invited my lady friends to come in for a visit. Doris, Jenny, and Flora comin’ by in a bit. I’m thinkin’ I might make it a regular thing. I invited some churchwomen but they won’t be comin’, this being a bar and all. You know how it is with their kind: If you’re havin’ fun, it’s gotta be a sin. Too bad about that old cottonwood. I used to climb on it when I was a little girl.”

The Sheriff picked the table near the door. Wendy brought our drinks, went back to the bar and sat with Jackie.

I said, “Doc, what was that about dynamite, range fires, and horse thieves?”

“Well, the Rose O'Dell story is so old hardly anybody alive now that saw it in person but people talked about it for years, sort of a legend. Hard to tell what’s true and what’s imagination. I know some of it. The Sheriff does, too. Most of what anybody knows is second or third hand anyway, but it still makes a good yarn.”

Jenny, Doris, and Flora came in, said their hellos, and sat with us. Wendy brought beer mugs for Jenny and Doris and a cup of tea for Flora. “Allergy pills, no alcohol,” she said.

Doc gestured towards the women and said Doris and Flora might know some things. They volunteered at the old folks home where Rose lived ‘til she died.

“Come on, Doc”, I said. “What happened? Dynamite? Range fire?”

“I’ll tell it, but bear in mind every time a story’s told something’s left out or something’s added. My daddy used to call it the 10% Rule – whoever's telling you a story is sure to be addin’ 10% more or taking 10% off if something in the story puts ‘em in a bad light. You won’t know if I’m addin’ or subtractin’ but this what I heard. Anybody here can correct me if I don’t get something right but it’s as best as I can do.

“Those three boys, Burt, Kenny, and Jeff were classmates along with Rose. Nobody knows exactly why they all figured her for a wife after graduating. Could be the fact that the three of them were athletes, football, baseball, basketball, one always tryin’ to do better than the other two. So when Kenny said he was plannin’ to court Rose, the other two probly seen it as a challenge. Who the hell knows what goes through young boys heads, I mean besides the obvious. But it wasn’t like that, I don’t think. Tom, Les, and I talked this over and considerin’ the ‘facts’ as we know ‘em, we more or less agree on that point.”

Tom pointed at me with his drink and said, “Back then, courtin’ meant you had to meet the family before anything else. And if the girl had brothers they might give you something to worry about if they didn’t like you. No matter who you were, just to be safe you’d be wise to take a month or two before even tryin’ to hold hands.”

Doc signaled Wendy for another drink and said, “Kenny had his sights set on Rose so one Sunday he waited ‘til she and her folks got to the church and fixed it so he sat next to her, said hello and what a nice day it is, and all that. Next Sunday there’s Rose in church sitting between Kenny and Bert with Jeff sitting in the pew behind them. They were fidgeting so much the minister stopped the sermon, called them out, made the three of ‘em sit together in the front pew.”

Front row for children and rowdy young men

Flora put her teacup down, cleared her throat and said, “Doris and I helped out at the old folks home. Rose died a year after we started. We used talk to her, give 'er some company, let her talk about the olden days. All her family was dead and gone. She told us the summer those boys courted her was the most fun she ever had. Whatever one of them did, the other two would try twice as hard to top ‘im. It got so her daddy had to give ‘em a schedule so they wouldn’t fuss over who would take her on a date Saturday night. They rotated days. Monday and Thursday one of ‘em could sit with her on the porch and just talk. ‘Course, daddy or one of her brothers would be inside next to the open window just in case, you know. Sundays at church, same thing, take turns sitting next to her, take her home slow after.”

Mind your manners. You know everybody's listening

Doris added, “Her friends were jealous but what could she do? It wasn’t like she was showing favor for one over the other two. If she ever thought of marryin’ one of ‘em she never let on. She told us she didn’t think she was anything special. She was prettier than some, not as pretty as others but is was mighty flattering to have those boys doin’ everything they could to get her attention.”

Wendy brought Doc’s drink. He thanked her and said, “Those boys kept raisin’ the stakes then things got out of hand at the end of August. Each one thought one of the others had the upper hand.

“One day Rose told Jeff in passin’ that she wished she could still sit under the shade by the pond near Seven Mile Road. The pond dried up when ranchers dammed up a natural spring upstream a ways so cattle could have water year round.

Cool off. Dip your toes in the water

“Jeff got the idea he could blast a small gap in the earthen dam, just enough to fill the pond so he set out with two sticks of dynamite to do just that. Rose was sure to be grateful.

“He cut the fuse for a 10 second lead, time enough to get away from the blast. Ten seconds go by, no explosion, then a minute, five minutes, ten minutes, nothin’ happens. He figures he’s got a dud so he takes another stick, cuts the fuse, and gets up to set it on the dam. Of course, like in every story you ever heard, the first stick exploded shootin’ dirt and rocks everywhere. Lucky for Jeff, most of it blasted away from him but one stone hit him square on the head and knocked him out.

“Well, ‘cept for the big ol' knot between his eyes and a concussion, Jeff got what he wanted. The dam gave way and sent water down the gully filling up the hollow under the trees. It kept risin’ and goin’ ‘til it reached the road where Burt’s truck had started a grass fire.”

I started to ask what fire but he said, “Don’t interrupt, sonny boy. Everything in its time.

“Seems Burt found out Jeff bought some dynamite an’ he got curious about what he was up to so he followed him around without him knowing, stayin’ back just enough. Saw ‘im leave town pullin’ a horse trailer. When Jeff got off Seven Mile Road and mounted his horse Burt couldn’t follow anymore so he parked on the side of the road to follow on foot. That old truck was overheated from being old, probly. Anyway, the grass under it caught fire.

Straight 6, no airbags

“Burt walked maybe a hundred yards up the road and he could see Jeff pretty far off crouching behind a boulder facing the dam. He saw Jeff stand up just as the dynamite exploded. A second later Burt’s truck exploded behind him from the grass fire. He was so startled he stumbled into the culvert and twisted his leg real bad, hurt like the devil, he couldn’t stand up.

“That leaves Kenny, probly the smartest of the three. He noticed Jeff acting funny, too, so he kept his eye out for him, saw him leave town towin’ his horse trailer. A few minutes later he spied Burt getting’ in his truck and headin’ the same way. Kenny followed him.

“He was watching Burt turning on to Seven Mile Road when he ran out of gas. Nothin’ to do about that so he headed back to town on foot thinkin’ of stopping at a ranch see if they could give him some gas. Half hour walkin’ he gets to a ranch when he hears two explosions up in the hills where Burt was goin’. There’s thick, black smoke risin’ to the sky. It’s gotta be Burt and maybe Jeff, too. Not thinkin’ twice he runs to the bunkhouse where there’s three horses saddled up. He hops on a horse and gallops off towards the smoke.

“Meantime, the rancher’s wife hears the explosions, she goes outside to take look and sees Kenny stealin’ the horse. She doesn’t have her rifle so she does the next best thing; she yells at her cowhands to get the horse thief and calls the Sheriff.

“Kenny reaches Seven Mile Road, he can see Burt’s truck on fire ‘bout a quarter mile away when he’s lassoed, jerked off his horse. Lucky for him the cowhands didn’t shoot ‘im, just beat him up some. Thievin’s serious business. They were gettin’ ready to lay him across the horse and tie ‘im up when the Sheriff and his Deputy interrupted them.

The wages of not too smart

“They found Burt’s truck. The fire was out. Water from the busted dam had flooded the culverts and washed over the road where the truck was parked. Burt was up a ways in the culvert, covered head to toe in mud, half drowned, holdin’ his leg and moaning. They pulled him out and he told 'em go look for Jeff at the dam.

“The Sheriff and the Deputy went up the trail on horseback. They found Jeff, thought he was dead, all the blood on his face.

“That ended the competition for Rose O’Dell’s hand what with the three boys injured in various ways, also from their daddies layin’ in on ‘em hard for being knuckleheads.”

“Wow. That’s some story, Doc. So which one did she pick?” I asked.

He looked at me as though I should be arrested for breathing air I didn’t deserve.

“Weren’t you payin’ attention, sonny boy? I told you right at the beginnin’ she didn't marry any of ‘em. Pity’s sake, if dumb questions was a crime you just committed Felony Stupid.”

He finished his drink in one hard swallow, nodded at Flora.

“Flora, you tell ‘im what happened.”

“Rose O’Dell, she was a sweet lady, always tried to look her best, be nice to everybody. She told me she met her husband at a USO dance down in Snyder. He was a sailor just out of the service. Rick was the only Navy man in the VFW hall, all dressed up in starched Navy whites, seemed to glow among the rest of the men wearing khaki Army uniforms. Accordin' to her she decided on him inside a minute after she laid eyes on ‘im.”

Doris said, “And you won’t believe what she said happened next. Lord knows I don’t.”

“He stood in front of her and the very first thing he said was, ‘Will you marry me?’ And she said, ‘Yes, but, first, we’d better call my folks and let ‘em know.’”

The Navy gets the gravy but Army gets the beans

  

Just Enough, Texas. Population 2

"...Mona Lisa musta had the highway blues.
You can tell by the way she smiles." Bob Dylan

I was on my sales route in the Texas Panhandle when the right front wheel on my car started screeching and smoking. At the time I was 30 miles from the next town and 30 miles from the last one. Choosing FM1488 turned out to be a bad choice because it was rarely used anymore since SR 73 was built. Half hour went by and I didn’t see a single car or truck until Jim and Angel happened by and stopped to help.

 “Looks like the wheel bearing’s seizing on the spindle. If it ain’t too bad we can grease it up and get you to Mike’s Conoco have ‘im fix it right.”

Between the two of them, bickering the whole time, they jacked up the car, took wheel off, and greased the bearings so I could go on to Mike’s place. I knew better than to offer them money so I just said thanks. They followed me to Mike’s, waved at me as they drove by on their way to wherever they were going.

Mike said he had to order a new spindle and bearing set from Amarillo, so settle down somewhere ‘til tomorrow afternoon. It was near sundown when I checked into the Lazy Bones Motel. I headed over to Jackie’s Cold Day Inn, my all time favorite bar, for my usual Jack & Coke.

Mike bearing bearings

Sheriff Tom, Les, Doc Harris, and a couple of others were at a table near the door where the Sheriff could see who’s coming or going. I sat down with them and waited for Wendy to bring my drink, waved hi to Jackie who was washing glasses at the far end of the bar.

I told my story about Jim and Angel helping me out and how they had argued about every single thing start to finish.

Monday morning at Jackie's

“Jim said it’s a Ford so the bolts have to be SAE. Angel says, no, they’re metric. Jim says 5/8, Angel says 16mm. Well, I don’t know who was right. I backed away and pretended to be busy with my samples in the trunk. What an odd pair.”

Les smiled, leaned back on his chair and said, “We were just talking about them. Ever meet Jim and Angel before today?”

“All I know is what I hear in the stories you tell. They sound kinda rough, always in a jam, getting in a jam or getting out of one.”

“You know that Angel is Gina’s twin sister, the one who painted Jackie’s portrait, the one over the bar. Made it big in the art world.”

I nodded.

“Then you know neither one is real big on rules and conventions. Gina’s paintings don’t make sense to folks around here and Angel herself doesn’t make sense either. She didn’t marry until she was past 21. Most girls marry right outa high school. I mean, what else are you supposed to do?

“She had her pick, being so good looking and all but she scared the bejeesus outa the boys. No, she wasn’t the kind to wait by the phone hoping one of them would call. If she wanted to go drinking and dancing she’d call one or another and say ‘let’s go to Billy’s or to Chato’s, I’ll meet you there’. From what I can tell she had normal appetites so it wasn’t like she was holding out for Mr. Right. It was more like she was ok with Mr. Right Now once in a while. Nothin’ wrong with that, I suppose, but some folks still aren’t comfortable with it.

“Anyway, before you came in we were talking about something Jim and Angel do that nobody else around here does on purpose -- buy each other the wrong birthday gifts.”

“You mean like a prank or joke?”

Tom shook his head. “No, it’s a real thing and it makes sense if you think about it some. When Angel’s birthday comes up Jim gets a gift that he would like for himself and on his birthday Angel buys him something she really wants for herself. Doin’ it that way neither one is disappointed with what they get. It all started at Les’s General Store, I dunno know, eight, ten years ago? Tell ‘im, Les.”

“I thought he was pullin’ my leg when he told me he was giving his wife a chainsaw for her birthday. He said can you wrap it up like a gift, and here, stick this birthday card on it. I’m thinking he’s lost his mind ‘cause I know Angel’s not the type to use a chainsaw ‘specially one that heavy. Besides, that’s what Jim’s for.

“What happened was day before her birthday he blew his paycheck on beer for his buddies and didn’t have a thin dime to his name. All he had worth anything was the Stihl chainsaw he’d special ordered two weeks before. His buddies were broke, too.

“I said, Jim, can I ask you something? He said no, I’m in a hurry, be back before you close. He came back like he said, took his saw before I could say anything about the wisdom of such a gift for a woman like Angel. I expected to hear something about it sooner or later. Six months and I didn’t hear nothing about it.

“Then Angel comes in one day, says, Les, can you special order this for me? I look and it’s a sunshade, floor mats, and seat covers for a pickup. I say sure thing, Angel. The pink ‘Hello Kitty’ stuff’ll look good in your truck. You know, just makin’ conversation. She says, no, it’s Jim’s birthday gift, for his truck. Can you get it here by the fifteenth? And don’t tell Jim.”

Happy Birthday, Jim

Tom chuckled and said, “I wish I’d been there when she tore the wrapping off the box with the chainsaw in it. She’s as tough a woman as you’d ever meet but that don’t take nothin’ away from her feminine side. She dropped hints about really wantin’ something nice, like the big makeup kit she saw at Laurie’s Gift Shop. Wendy knows something about that, right, Wendy?”

“Yeah, she told me what happened one time we had lunch together. The wrapping’s off and she thinks there’s something nice for her inside the box but she sees a yellow chainsaw. She doesn’t show she’s disappointed. She pulls it out of the box and says Jim, show me how to start it. He puts in some gas, pops the choke, and pulls the cord ‘til the thing starts. It’s a new saw so there’s smoke pouring out while it warms up. Jim’s saying something but she can’t hear him over the noise. She takes the saw outside and lays the blade across the front fender of Jim’s truck, rips up paint something awful. He’s yellin’ at ‘er, she gives him a dirty look then rips another chunk of paint off the hood."

Tom stubbed out his Cheroot and said, “For most men messing with their truck is about as bad as stealing it. Angel’s a little bitty thing and if Jim had a mind to it, he knows could knock her into next week. He also knows if he lays a finger on her, she’ll be gone forever.”

Wendy said, “Naturally, the chainsaw and the ruined paint was an epic fight. They were getting into deep waters and I guess Jim was thinking they’re both gonna lose if they keep it up so he stops arguing and says for his next birthday Angel should buy whatever she wants for herself. It’s worked out fine since then, giving each other the wrong gifts every year."

Tom added, “Tell you somethin’, if it weren’t for her, Jim would be doing time somewhere for sure.”

Jackie brought a tray of fresh drinks and said, “That’s right. Most everybody thinks Angel’s a walkin’, talkin’ demolition derby and it’s Jim keeps her on the level. But I’ve seen how they get into scrapes and it’s Jim with the hair trigger.

“Angel’s a man magnet. That smile, red hair and green eyes make ‘em wanna get close to her real bad. The wedding ring on her finger don’t mean a thing to guys on the make. They work in the fields in the middle of nowhere, three weeks running with no days off, hardly ever coming in contact with civilized human beings. Those knuckle draggers don’t have a pig’s notion on how to look at or talk nice to a woman, get ‘er interested.

"Wendy, tell what happened at Chato’s with that cowboy from Lubbock.”

“Sure. I’m sitting with Angel and some girlfriends when this git leans in, says to her, ‘If I said you had a beautiful body would you hold it against me?’ Her eyes light up like five alarm fire, she cocks her head sideways then in a flash hauls off and lays a one-two slap on the guy’s face. ‘I heard that old song before, cowboy’, she says and turns away. Instead of walking away, try his luck some place else, he grabs her arm and that’s the last thing he did before Jim comes outa nowhere and lays him out cold. He did the same to two more of the cowboy’s buddies and he wasn’t finished yet. It was Angel made him stop.

"Jim doesn't mind if she talks to or even dances with other men, but if they get too familiar, he takes it to 11 in no time. Angel's done the same for him with other women but she only goes up to six, sometimes seven.”

Tom said, “Jim’s a roughneck, one of the toughest. Hell, I think those boys fight just for something to do. I heard times when fists are flying right an’ left Jim switches sides to even things up and keep the fight goin’. Used to keep count how many times my deputy or me took Jim and Angel into custody. Now, what the hell, who knows how many that is.

“Justice has been real friendly to Jim over the years. Nearly every time I’ve arrested him for fightin’ or some such, witnesses that weren’t even there swear on their dead momma’s sainted head that he was defending himself or his wife. I think it’s probly ‘cause he never hit anybody that didn’t deserve it right and proper, know what I mean? Jim’s idea of Texas justice.”

Everybody at the table smiled.

Tom gave me a sideways glance and said, “The way you’re lookin’ at me you think them two is a public nuisance, oughta be corralled and controlled? Maybe I’ve made Jim look worse than he is. Fact is, He’s never gone past simple assault. It’s only one more punch or kick that gets "Aggravated"  added to your arrest record. He’s come close, though. But I’ll tell you what, on payday when the oil field grunts come to town to drink and party, Jim’s just one of many.

“Any other day of the week he's as likely to ask you for money as he is to give you some. Money’s somethin’ he’s got or he ain’t. It don’t mean a damn thing to ‘im. Angel’s the same way. Long as she and Jim can get by, it’s enough.

“Year ago his crew set up a betting pool on the Texas Oklahoma game. Jim got the over/under dead on and won the pot. I think it was $500 or so. The deal was the winner had to buy the crew a round of beer with the winnings. So they all went to Billy’s, Jim put the money on the bar and told the bartender to keep serving his boys ‘til it was all gone. You never heard hollerin’ and yellin’ like those boys did that night.

“I was makin' my rounds looking in on trouble spots like I do. It was only 9 o’clock, still too early for any fights but I had to make a show of it anyway. I see Jim standin’ at the bar, go over to say hi. The money was half ways gone, his friends coming up, tell ‘im what a great guy he is. He waves ‘em off. I tell him the same, he says ‘Nah, don’t you get it, Sheriff? I’m not spendin’ my money. I’m spendin’ theirs. It took a little detour through my pockets, that's all.’”

Les cut in, “It’s a good thing Bobby wasn’t there. For sure them two would’ve gotten into it about Jim giving away his winnings like that. Don’t let Bobby’s fancy clothes and shiny boots fool you. He’s as tough as Jim when he has to be.”

“Who’s Bobby?” I asked.

“Jim’s brother, wants everybody to call ‘im Robert, night and day different from Jim. He made piles of money on some shady land deals, lives in Midland now, I think. Always flashing his money in your face. If you ever meet ‘im he’s bound and determined to tell you all about the money he’s got and you ain’t. In five minutes you’ll know what he paid for his trucks, his pinky ring, the hat on his head, and how much money he’s making. He’s all money all the time, never stops talking about making more."

Jackie finished wiping down the bar. She poured herself a drink, took a seat across from me and said,

"Outsiders looking those boys over would think Bobby's got it made with all his money while Jim's barely getting by payday to payday. A winner and a loser, they'd judge.

"To Bobby all money belongs to him. Your money is his money and he'll take it if he can because all money is there for him to take. Even if his pockets are full to bustin' and he can't stuff another nickel in 'em, he'll still grab at it.

"Jim, he knows something Bobby never will.”

“What’s that?”

“He knows when he has enough. Angel does, too.”

Just a Mexican

After a day of peddling farm equipment I stopped at Jackie’s Cold Day Inn, my favorite bar in the Texas panhandle. It isn’t the cleanest or the dirtiest place to relax after a long day in the Texas sun. The windows have been gathering dust and cigarette smoke undisturbed for 20 years. Some of the gum stuck under the tables is older than that. What makes Jackie’s good is the waitresses, bartenders, and the regulars. They only want to know what you choose to tell them.

Leave your horse outside and tip the waitress when you leave

When I walked in Sheriff Tom and Les were at their table by the front door going over the events of the day. Tom called out, motioned for me to sit down. Wendy hipwalked over with my Jack on the rocks and a clean ashtray.

“I was just telling Les that I arrested ole Jorge for trespassing and suspicion of cattle rustling.”

“Jorge? I can’t see him for rustling, Tom.”

“Jorge stealin’ anything is nuts but the D.A. is running for re-election again, pushing his law n’ order bullshit. I tell you, Judge Martin wasn’t happy about it but he had to hear the case. I wasn’t happy about the whole mess either but I had to take the complaint.

“If he was white nobody’d think twice about seeing him around town doin’ what anybody else would do. But no, they watch him like he’s up to something they won’t like. And Jorge being Jorge, won’t do anything to make anybody like or trust him. Just minds his business and expects the same from everybody else. Tell you what, if more folks did that this town would be a better place.

“So the judge starts off with Jorge, reads the charge and says how do you plead.

“Jorge says ‘bullshit’. Judge Martin gives him the eye so Jorge says not guilty.

“’I was fixing Newman's fence when he comes up, points his rifle at me and calls the Sheriff, says I’m trespassing, and taking the fence down so I can steal some of his steers.’

“The judge gives the D.A. and Newman a hard look that says everybody in the courtroom knows the charge is bogus. The D.A. starts to say something but the judge shuts him up, looks at Jorge.

“Mr. De La Cruz, how long have you lived in Carson County?”

“More than 20 years, Your Honor.”

“When did your family come this country?”

“1850 or 10,000 B.C., depends on who you ask. My grandmother says one; University of Texas says the other.”

“Have you ever been arrested?”

“Just once, a long time ago. Disorderly Conduct and Possession.”

“Ok. What were you doing on Newman’s property?”

“Your Honor, everybody in these parts knows I like to ride all over the hills. Everybody knows my horse and me from a mile off. Nobody minds if I cross their land, ‘cept Newman, today.”

“So what was different today?”

“I was riding along Newman’s fence line on my way to the artesian springs. I could tell the fence was new from the shiny barbed wire but it was falling over. Whoever put it up did a crappy job. I thought I’d do him a favor. So there I was setting the posts two feet down, the way they’re supposed to be when he pulls a gun on me.

If you build it right it'll last 50 years

“Judge Martin drops his chin, rests his forehead on his fingertips and says, ‘Sheriff what did you see?’

“I saw a fence falling down. What wasn’t down was gonna be down soon. It was a lousy job. In my opinion, Jorge was doing Newman a favor and doing a good job of it, Your Honor.

“The judge stands up, gathers his papers, points at Newman fines him $50 for wasting the court’s time. He’s about to leave the bench when he says, ‘And Newman, next time you want a job done right, hire a Mexican.’”

It was getting close to sunset and the evening crowd began drifting in, all regulars but Tom checked them out anyway, making mental notes. Jackie came by to take the empties. She stood by Tom, put her hand on his shoulder and said, “So what’s with Jorge? Is he ok?”

“Oh, he’s just a little pissed. I drove him home after the hearing. He’s fine”. Jackie patted him on the shoulder and went back to the bar.

“I’ve known Jorge a long time. He was born and raised in Southern California. He told me that the first time he came to Texas he fell in love with the open range and just wanted to see it all. At first he rode all around in his truck but eventually went off road on his horse. Been doing that as long as he’s lived here. Some folks think he’s crazy but I think lots more envy him.

Miles and miles of Texas

“In 1988 Jorge married Jenny, one of the Jensen girls he met in Crosbyton. They bought a few acres in hill country just south of Shamrock. They raised kids, chickens, ran a few head for meat, and had a fair size vegetable garden. The place wasn’t big enough to make a living but Jorge never lacked for money. When he was home Jorge spent a lot of his time just riding the range. When the kids were older, he and Jenny rode together.

I remember goin' out to his place right after he got married. Some ranchers were calling the department about a horseman riding on their land, a stranger. His wife said he was out hunting but she could bring him back. She went indoors, came out with a .22 rifle, fired three shots in the air, 10 seconds apart. By and by, Jorge rode in, said he’d been tracking white-tail just west of the caprock ridge, come along if you want. I told him not today but maybe on my day off. Next thing I know, we’re hunting together once a month or more. He’s one hell of a tracker, better’n me and I’m pretty good.

“Some people thought he was a drug dealer. It didn’t help that he was a Mexican with a big mustache. You know how it is; a juicy story’s easier to believe than simple truth. Jorge would suddenly disappear for a month or a couple of weeks at a time. He come home flush with cash, go into town, pay off whatever he owed Les, Doc or anybody and put the rest in the bank.

Blade, bucket, or scoop, Jorge can run it

“The fact is he’s a heavy equipment operator first class. If it’s got treads and a blade, a bucket or a scoop, he can run it better than most. He belongs to the McCoy Disaster Recovery crew. You probably never heard of it. McCoy’s and other outfits like it are called in whenever there’s a natural disaster anywhere in the country. If there’s floods, tornados, hurricanes, fires, first thing they need is a crew of experienced cleanup guys working fast. McCoy’s got ‘em. The call goes out, the crew members drop what they’re doing and fly or drive to wherever they’re needed. They get paid top dollar. Four months work they make enough to get them through a whole year or more.

Take a number

“I met him the first time back in 1970 or 71. I was a rookie Deputy Sheriff in Riverside, California. Lots of immigrants there. The head nurse in the ER at County called in a gunshot wound so I had to check it out. The victim was brought in by his friend who told me they were sitting outside a convenience store when somebody drove up and took four or five shots at them. No witnesses, no motive anybody knew. One bullet grazed his friend’s head; the doctors were sewing up the damage.

“He wanted to smoke so we went to the parking lot and lit up by my patrol car. His ID said his name was Jorge Washington De La Cruz, age 22. I’ve seen lots of phony ID’s but this one looked legit. I looked him in the eye. He just shrugged and said, “I was born right after my parents became citizens. They named me after George Washington. Very patriotic.”

“Musta been tough growing up with a name like that.”

“Yeah, I guess it made me tough, too. My friends call me Washington D.C. for short.”

“When I gave him back his ID he asked, ‘How long were you in ‘Nam? You got the look, you know.’

“He had me there so I told him I mustered out year ago but I didn’t want to go back to Texas right then, had to get my head on straight first.’”

“Man, I know what you mean. For me it was like the whole time I was over there didn’t happen, but I knew it did. I’d stare at my girl and I couldn’t decide if I was dreaming or if she was real. She broke up with me, said I made her nervous.”

“He reached for another cigarette and a joint fell out of his pocket. His face froze like he wanted to stop time and rewind it 10 seconds. I picked up the joint and put it in his shirt pocket. He said thanks and relaxed.

“We talked some more. When he finished his second cigarette and we went inside to see about his friend. The ER doc gave me what I needed for my report and I said goodbye to Jorge. A few months later, I got homesick finally, and came back to Panhandle.

I didn’t see Jorge again until maybe 1985, no wife yet. Deputy Dudley arrested him and Carson brothers for disturbing the peace, disorderly conduct, and possession of marijuana at Billy’s Last Stand.”

Wendy came over with fresh drinks. I told her to put it on my tab. Tom saluted me with his drink and continued.

“You know me how I hate puzzles but I love mysteries. I talked to everybody who’d been there, put the pieces together and framed out the story. Dudley’s arrest report named several witnesses and it looked like Judy Butler was in the middle of it. Billy’s is Judy’s second home. That woman loves to dance and it don’t matter who asks, she’s game. Anyhow, Jorge sees her and asks her to dance. And they’re dancing up a storm, two steppin’ with the best of ‘em.

Mind your feet

The Lonesome Foursome take a break, Jorge goes outside to cool off and have a smoke. Judy sits down with her girlfriends and the two Carson boys who’d been watching Judy and Jorge come up to her asking questions like it’s somehow their business.

“So who’s the lover boy, Judy?”

“Name’s Jorge Washington De La Cruz. What’s it to you? He’s nice and he doesn’t stomp on my feet. And he’s polite with his hands, not like you, Harley.”

“Jorge Washington De La Cruz? So he’s Spanish?”

“Oh, hell, Harley. He ain't rich. He’s just a Mexican. Now go away, bother somebody else.”

Lonesome Foursome

“The band started up again. This time they did a long line dancing set. Jorge was pretty good on his feet and you could tell Judy was having a great time kicking up her heels, showing off. The Carson boys watched them close, guzzling beer like they was going to prison next day.

“The Lonesome Foursome upped the tempo and the dancers got sloppy, bumpin’ into each other, laughin’, just havin’ a good time. The music stopped suddenly. Hec, the bandleader, said it was time to slow things down. He cued the band to play a slow song, and fellas, mind your manners.

“Well, Judy put her arms around Jorge’s neck and hung on him like wallpaper. Jorge put his hands on her waist to help her hang on.

“When they danced close to the bar, Harley stepped up, tapped Jorge on the shoulder.”

“Hey, PAYdro, I wanna cut in.”

“Sorry, hoss, I’d rather dance with Judy. Ask your buddy there; maybe he’ll dance with you. And my name isn’t PAYdro. It’s Jorge.”

“OKAY, HORHAY or whatever. Billy’s ain't a beaner bar. Beaners hang out at Chato’s on 14^th.”

“Been to Chato’s but I like it better here. The ladies smell real nice even if the cowboys don’t.”

Sheriff Tom paused, wiped his forehead with a handkerchief. He rested his arms on the table holding his drink with both hands.

“Jim and Angel. Jim and Angel. You know if there’s a fight or a hint of one, Jim and Angel gotta be nearby. It’s like they can sense it just before it happens, kinda like sharks smelling blood from miles away.

“Harley and Jorge square off. The other Carson boy, Colt, moves closer to Jorge to make it two-on-one but Jim comes up behind him, puts one hand on his neck, gives it a squeeze, punches him on the shoulder real soft with his other fist. Angel takes Judy’s arm and leads her away.

“Ever hear the word lummox? I’m pretty sure it was invented for Harley Carson. He’s dumb and clumsy. Get a few beers in ‘im and it takes every bit of his brainpower to walk and say his name. He rears back to throw a punch upside Jorge’s head but it takes so long coming Jorge could have gone to bar got another beer and come back in time to duck under it. I said Jorge could dance. He let Harley punch air over and over and never even lost his hat. By now, the crowd’s into it, laughing at Harley, cheering Jorge. Colt can’t take it anymore, he charges in, rabbit punches Jorge.

“Jorge goes down on his knees. Colt’s about to smash a stool on his back when Jim kicks Colt’s feet out. The belly flop knocks him out. Harley still wanted to fight but Jim got between him and Jorge.

“You know, I kinda wish Deputy Dudley hadn’t arrived just then. I got the feeling that Jim woulda taken his time punishing Harley. I seen it before. Jim’s got a mean streak that’s long on justice an’ short on mercy. Maybe some other time.

"Long story short, the judge fined Jorge $25 for possession of one joint. It could have been worse but the joint got lost somewhere between evidence locker and the courthouse. The Carson boys paid $100 each for disturbing the peace and three days in lockup just because."

Tom pushed his chair out and stood to leave.
“Hey, I gotta run, turn in early. Me and Jorge are huntin' tomorrow.”

“Wait a minute, Sheriff”, I said. “How did the joint get lost? And why didn’t the judge make an issue of it?”

“Well, it was so long ago I don’t rightly remember. It was late and the judge probably just wanted to wrap things up and go home to his new wife. Maybe whoever was carrying the joint to the courthouse smoked it on the way over.

“What’re you two looking at? It coulda happened.”

“Sheriff, was it you?”

“Like I said, I don’t remember.”

You're doing it wrong...

“Are you sure he’s back?”

“Yeah, I saw his camper parked in front of his house this morning.”

“So where is he? It’s getting late and a lot of us have a long way home.”

“Jackie’s Cold Day Inn” had near a full house tonight, everyone wanting to be there when Sheriff Tom came back from a wedding in Balmorhea. His friend, also a Sheriff, invited him to his only daughter’s wedding.

I happened to be there doing my usual route selling farm equipment up and down the Texas panhandle. Jackie had reserved a seat for Sheriff Tom and, surprisingly, one for me right next to it. Good thing, too. When I got there every table, chair, and barstool was occupied.

Wendy led me to my seat and brought my usual Jack on the rocks, smiling as she always did, like she’d been waiting all day just to see me and nobody else.

“Tell me something, Wendy. What’s going on? Something happen in Balmorhea?”

“Well, I guess you’ll know when he gets here. I think Jackie’d be better to tell you. I’ll tell her you’re asking.”

 

“Not much to tell yet,” Jackie said as she sat down with a fresh drink. “Tom and his Sheriff buddy, Max, go back a long time. When his daughter’s wedding came up he invited Tom and half a dozen other Sheriffs.

“Tom and his friends have been in law enforcement for a lotta years. That kind of work they get to see the worst and best in people. Lord knows how they bear it, but they do. Seems they’re on sentry duty 24/7 even when they’re home in bed. But they get together with their own kind they tell some pretty good yarns. It’s not ‘til it gets late that they talk about the really bad stuff they seen, you know, the stuff they never talk about to you and me.”

“You’re saying everybody’s waiting on Tom to tell the stories he heard at the wedding?”

“Pretty much. You know how it is in small towns; stories get repeated, get stale pretty fast. Guy like you hears a lot of ‘em. Sometimes you pass ‘em on, sometimes you don’t if you’ve heard it more’n twice on one trip. Like the one when the preacher’s wife put a note on the bulletin board.”

I remembered the story and laughed. “You mean the one where she wrote ‘One Night Stand, $20’?”

“It’s old but still funny. If you look her in the eye she still blushes. Oh! There’s Tom. Wendy, he’s here.”

Tom took his seat while Wendy weaved her way over with his drink.

He nodded thank you to both women, took a sip and scrunched his eyes.

“It’s good to be back. Six hours drive time, got in last night and I still have flat butt. What’s up, Jackie? It’s not two for one night.”

“Don’t be a jackass, Tom. We wanna hear about the wedding. You get eight Sheriffs in one place, somebody’s bound to get silly. Give it up.”

“The wedding wasn’t anything special. Max walked his girl up to the groom and the preacher, they said their I do’s and it was over. Had a few laughs. We all got drunk, of course. The other guys had their deputies drive ‘em home. They took my keys and I spent the night on a cot in Max’s jail."

He stood up, spread his arms wide and said, "I’m back, safe and sound so y’all can go home now. And thank you for waitin’ on me.”

 

Miles and miles of Texas

He took another sip and scanned the room smiling ‘til he saw Jackie glaring at him.

“Well, I’ll tell you there was about 200 people there. Sheriffs from Odessa, Hobbs, Monahans, Hiram from Wichita Falls, other guys. 

"Ole Hiram’s about to retire, gotta be 75 years old. Time to go. Just about busted a gut telling us about a rancher from Monahans and his truck and how he got it back better than when it got stolen. Seems like the guy’s truck broke down on the way to town. He couldn’t start it so he hitched a ride thinking to tow it the next day. But before he could do that somebody got it started and drove off. Well, it was an old truck anyway, hundred things not working right so in a way he counted that as a blessing. Trouble was he didn’t have enough money to buy another one.

“Three, four months go by and he still didn’t have enough money. Then Hiram, calls and tells him they’ve recovered his truck, pick it up at the impound lot.

“So he goes to get it, gets the keys but something’s not right. Now he drove that truck for 17 years and knows every rattle and groan in that thing. He remembers that the passenger window crank didn’t work, but this one did. The turn signals were reversed so if he wanted to signal left, he had to pull the lever for right, but this one worked. And so on. Everything that was wrong before was fixed. New brakes, new front tires, both windshield wipers worked. Even the dome light lit when he opened the door. He got in and right off he knew for sure it was his truck. Seventeen years of driving had formed the seat to fit his butt just right. Sat there a minute, closed his eyes. It was his truck, yes indeed.”

A little paint, she's good as new

Tom paused and looked at his empty glass. He waited until Wendy hurried over with a fresh drink.

“Bring the bottle and leave it, Sweetheart. I hear Jackie’s picking up my tab tonight.”

Jackie did the numbers in her head. “Finish this story or it’s full price, Tom.”

“Okay, Jackie, I hear ya.

“Well, he starts for home, turning on to the highway the Deputy Sheriff gives him a ticket for improper signaling on a turn. He tried to explain about the turn signals but it still got him a $25 fine. Figuring he’s not coming all the way back from Monahans to pay it he goes to the courthouse, pays the fine and starts for home again. Six miles down the 82 a State Trooper pulls him over for speeding, 70 in a 55 zone. He tried to explain about the truck getting stolen and the speedometer being off kilter but the trooper’s heard it all before and tickets him $90. So back to the courthouse he goes, pays the fine.

And this one is for telling me a story I heard before

“He finally makes it to Monahans, stops at his watering hole to tell his buddies the story and his truck gets stolen while he’s inside having some cold ones. Hasn’t been found yet.”

A voice from the back asked, “That guy that stole the truck, was his name Buckaloo? Thad Buckaloo? If it was, he’s my cousin. The Sheriff arrested him but the truck was wrecked. Had to trash it.”

“Matter a fact, that’s his name. Mr. Buckaloo gets around. His name came up a coupla times, different towns, different counties.”

Tom took a break and headed for the bathroom. Jackie topped off his glass and mine. Les grunted and tilted his glass at her. What the hell, she filled all the glasses at the table.

When Tom returned Les said he heard something about the Sheriff in Hobbs being in a bullfight.

“Was Sheriff García at the wedding? Did he really get in bullfight?”

“I’ll tell you, Les. Sheriff García’s been known to enlarge any story he tells, but the bones of the story are always true. He was at the wedding and also in a bullfight or something like it. He got his turn with Thad Buckaloo in a bull pen.

“Way he told it, a ranch wife reported a man she didn’t know was taking stuff out off the hay barn and loading it in his truck. She woulda shot ‘im but all she had was birdshot in her .22.

“García drives up and the guy takes off running into the fields towards the holding pens.  He hops some fences and winds up in a corral where the rancher’s keeping a bull.

“Hobbs is a fair sized city so the Sheriff's got six deputies do most of the leg work, meaning he’s not fit for going on any 5K runs for charity so he’s doing a slow chase as fast as his gut will let ‘im, but keeping an eye on the perp.

“The bull, name’s Thunder, is a three year old in his prime. The heifers he wants are in the next pen so you can figure he’s pissed about everything. Anyway, this bull’s really smart, has a history of never being caught at roundup for branding three years running. The rancher doesn’t want a bull that’s smarter than his cowhands so he tricks him into the holding pen, planning to sell him to a rodeo franchise outa Colorado.

He seems nice...

“Thunder sees the thief and charges but doesn’t ram ‘im, just gets real close, eyeball to eyeball. When the thief goes left, so does he. Goes right, bull goes right. If he tries to climb the fence, ole Thunder blows FIRE out his snout and makes like he’s gonna charge.

“García finally gets to the pen and he’s watching the bull and the man doing this back and forth. He said it looked like the bull was behavin’ like a cuttin’ horse, ‘cept in this case it was a cuttin’ bull keeping a man from escaping. Said if the bull had thumbs he coulda hog-tied the guy, won a prize.

“The thief sees García and he’s crying buckets, screaming get me outa here, get me outa here. He’s gonna kill me. García’s no fool. He opens the gate, takes a couple of steps into the corral and shouts out. Thunder turns towards the Sheriff and can’t decide which man to attack. He chooses García, but like I said, he’s slow footed and barely makes it out before Thunder smashes into the gate.

“The thief sees his chance and goes over the fence. Thunder’s circling the corral, tossing his head around, proud, looking for whoever is screaming on the other side of the fence.

“A man running for his life’s not likely to see danger ahead. He just looks to get away. Well, so happens when the thief goes over the six-foot fence he jumps into a pile of old barbwire and fence posts the cowhands left there. No matter which way he moves something sticks or cuts ‘im. It took EMS and two deputies cuttin’ wire for 40 minutes to get him out.”

That's no way to go through life, son

A guy at the next table said, “So if the bull wins it’s a Manfight?” His buddy pulled his hat down over his ears and the others tossed ice cubes at him.

The next few minutes was a jumble of a hundred people laughing and talking about Tom’s stories; Jackie, Tom, Les, and two others at the table, plus me just making small talk about nothing. Wendy found an empty stool, brought it our table and sat behind Tom and Jackie.

She said, “Sheriff Tom, tell us about the wedding. It had to be more than ‘I do’s’.”

“It was more than that but I’m at pains to tell it so it don’t sound bad because it wasn’t but you gotta know more about Max’s wife, Tina.”

The sound of Tom’s voice made everyone go quiet, people nearby shushing those behind them.

He began. “This is the last story I’ll tell tonight. I’m tired from the last four days and I need to get some sleep in my own bed with my own pillows.

“Folks, I know a lot of you want me to tell about the wedding. If I tell it like an outsider you might misunderstand so I’m going to tell you some things nobody would know unless he was there.

“When Sheriff Max called to invite me to the wedding he said, ‘Tom, something you should know that I’m telling all the others. It’s about Tina. We been married almost 40 years, had four sons before our daughter, Kathy, was born. We’ve had a good life that we would do over again if we could. We didn’t have a church wedding; no money, hard times back then. Tina often spoke about missing her chance to be a bride with bridesmaids, minister in his best duds speaking holy words about marriage, husbands, wives, love and honor, our duties to each other.

‘We had four sons and four weddings in which Tina was mother of the groom. Weddings are a bride’s day. The mother of the groom might as well stay home for all the participation she gets.”

I saw the women nodding at this fact and some of the men, too.

“’So he said, Tom, don’t be too hard on Tina. She’s gonna be ordering everybody around like a drill sergeant but just remember she’s been planning this wedding almost from the day we got married. Yes, it’s Kathy’s day, but it’s Tina’s day, too. Go easy on her. She deserves it.’

“Max was right about Tina taking charge. He said she spent six months making sure the church, the minister, the caters, the flower shop, the bakery, the bartenders, limo guys, tux rentals, dressmakers, photographers, printers, and the Country Club hall managers all understood that everything had to happen at an exact time, exact place, and EXACTLY as she laid out. And she kept checking on them, making double sure that everything was just like they agreed, no exceptions. It got so bad as the date grew closer, a few of ‘em thought about quittin’ but didn’t because it was Sheriff Max’s daughter.

“The day of the wedding she had place names in the pews so everybody would be where she said. Max’s Sheriff buddies were in the second row, bride’s side, lined up by height. I couldn’t believe she’d gone that far. By the time the dinner parties before the wedding were over everybody was more or less used to the military orderliness Tina imposed. Sheriffs are used to takin’ and givin’ orders so at the wedding reception, just standing around in a circle, drinkin’ and talkin’, they arranged themselves by height until Hiram noticed it and they changed the order only to wind up in order again but in the opposite way.

On my signal, say "I Do"

“But for all of that, the whole thing worked perfectly. Everything happened on schedule, everybody had a grand time, and the happy couple got in the limo, off to Gulf Coast for their honeymoon. Sheriff Max is sending me pictures. I’m getting’ ‘em next week.”

Tom paused to sip his drink.

Les said, “Tom, what about the happy couple? What did they think about Mom taking over everything?”

“Well, they weren’t immune to her planning either. She picked the wedding dress, the rings, the colors for the bridesmaids, the honeymoon hotel, everything. She even wrote the words for the minister and more but Kathy and her intended are pretty smart kids so they let it ride.

“Kathy and her fiancé had lived together at university for three years before they decided to marry. Kathy didn’t even want a formal wedding but it was for Mom so they did everything she asked. And Kathy knew her Mom would go half crazy planning her wedding. Her fiancé, Kathy, and her Dad agreed to let Mom manage everything the way she wanted. Don’t question, don’t object, just do what Momma says.

“Like I said, everything went perfect. By 10 o’clock it was over and everybody went home, worn out, ready for rest.

“Sometime around midnight, Max and Tina were at home asleep when the phone rang. It was Kathy. She wanted to talk to Mom.

“She said, ‘Hi, Mom. We’re in the bridal suite. We took off our clothes. We’re on the bed. Now what do we do?”

You're doing it wrong!