By Jo White, The Roaring Mouse
For the Telegraph
Waylon Jennings warned us first, "Mamas don't let your babies grow up to be cowboys, don't let them pick guitar and drive them ol' trucks, let them be doctors and lawyers and such."
His message came with a vivid description, about that great American institution, the cowboy. I heard his song the other day on the radio and started wondering what it was about the American cowboy that stirs the hearts of young girls and old ladies alike, strikes fear in the international community, and is imitated all over the world and in every karaoke bar in Japan. As my cowboy partner and husband Bill commented, "Wow, that's a complex subject. You better give it some thought." He was right. Let's break it down to chewable bites, (and no spitting chaw in the house).
Cowboys as heartthrob: Now I am not talking about the Midnight Cowboy of polyester fame in the 1970s disco dancing kind of guy, I am speaking of real cowboys with Western cut shirts, dusty Levis and boots that have occasionally stepped in ... well ... you know. They sweat and they spit. They can ride horses, drive trucks with a rig, hunt, fish and are willing to step up to protect their women, their mama and their favorite dog with equal enthusiasm. Hard work is part of each day whether they own a ranch, farm or 12-feet of mean crab grass. They are respected by their friends, feared by their enemies and faithful to the ideals of family (even while their hands stray dancing with a good friend's wife). Cowboys ain't afraid of kids. They just rope 'em, brand 'em and turning 'em out with the herd.
And cowboys can turn up all kinds of places. Like the day I stood in line at the bank and made conversation with a tall, skinny cowboy who said he was new in town and did I know of any good watering holes. When I informed him of several, he kindly asked if I'd like to join him. After graciously turning him down and showing him my wedding ring, he remarked with a grin, "Is he a big guy?" Casually mentioning Bill could bench press 325 pounds, we ended our brief exchange. Next he tried the same line on the bank clerk. I got to tell Bill, who laughed and said you have to love them for cowboy persistence. Sigh!
So much for the heart. How about image in the world? Picture the French beret, the Greek fez, the American Stetson — who do you pick to protect you? This has become the universal symbol of everything good in America. What comes to my mind is cowboy values: independent action, helping our neighbors in need, voting our hearts and spiritual closeness to the land and our God. The cowboy always tips his hat to the ladies before settling a score with a bully. You notice who the world calls when there are bullies; it is never France.
And finally to the imitators: those who dress and sing our cowboy praises. In Bill's travels as an F-16 pilot with the best of the West, the New Mexico Air National Guard, they were warmly welcomed in Germany, Italy, England, Holland, Australia and Singapore. They came to be called the Enchilada Air Force, the flying Tacos, and in Italy they had a special Western label made for their wine. The locals loved the New Mexico cowboys. Everyone wanted to know how those American cowboys flew, spoke and behaved. (I am sure well, as usual!) Edgewood councilwoman, Rita Loy Simmons recently summed up the cowboy theme. She stated, "Rural is not a place but an ideal." So is the cowboy. Cowgirl up, Rita! Roaring Mouse...Yippee ky ay...out. Neighbors is an occasional humourous column written by folks in the community. If you are interested in writing a Neighbors column, contact Rory McClannahan at 823-7102 or editor@mvtelegraph.com.
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