Jim Jones's Blog, page 5
August 12, 2014
SKYSCRAPERS
The Empire State Building in New York City is 1,454 feet from the street up to the tip. Willis Tower in Chicago is 1,451 feet tall. Bank of America Plaza in Dallas is 921 feet tall. They call them skyscrapers. Pretty arrogant, not to mention misguided, if you ask me. Why, our little old Sandia Peak just to the east of Albuquerque is 10,679 feet tall. That means you could stack seven Empire State Buildings on top of each other and you’d still be shorter than Sandia. Pikes Peak in Colorado is 14,114 feet tall. I believe THOSE would be your skyscrapers.
I worry that many people who live in big cities have lost sight, both figuratively and literally, of what nature looks like. The only green they see is on people’s lawns or in the occasional city park. They never see the sun set on the mountains. They never see an animal any larger than a dog (well, maybe one of those New York City sewer rats). They don’t know the thrill of seeing an elk, a moose, even a bear (that would be the “thrill” of sheer terror!) out in its natural habitat. They don’t know the experience of looking out towards the horizon and being able to see for a hundred miles. They feel no connection to the land. They are so disconnected, in fact, that they don’t even know what they’re missing.
Recently, I drove from Albuquerque up to Cimarron, NM for a performance. Something…I don’t even remember what…was on my mind and causing me some consternation. I was in a pretty foul mood. I got off the interstate at Santa Fe and began driving in the direction of Taos. There I would turn off and head through the canyon to Angel Fire and then a few miles beyond that, through Cimarron Canyon. The further I drove, the more I was embraced by the beauty and peacefulness of the southern Rockies. A panoramic view of the Rio Grande Gorge as you approach Taos. Cool, fresh air that smells of pine. It just sucked all the mad right out of me.
Last weekend, I performed in southeastern Arizona. During the day on Saturday, my friend Rich Dollarhide took me on a tour of the Dragoon Mountains (east of Tombstone, highest point- 7,520 feet, more than five times taller than the Empire State Building). He took me to see the ruins of the Dragoon Springs Stage Stop, a way station on the Butterfield Mail line back in 1858. There are grave sites nearby of four Confederate soldiers who were killed by the Apache in 1862. Apparently, the Apache didn’t care whether you served the North or the South; they just knew you were encroaching on their land. They weren’t very happy about it. I tried to imagine what it must have been like to be a young man from the deep South cast adrift way out West in a land that was totally foreign to you. Maybe it wasn’t so different from what our young men and women feel during their tours in the Middle East.
I saw ruins of an old school with tall Romanesque columns out front. I also saw ruins that Rich said were either a hospital or a brothel, depending on whose version of history you believed. I stood inside the remains of the building for a few minutes trying to get a sense of which one it had been. I felt better when I walked out but of course, that doesn’t answer the question, does it? The entire time I was exploring the various ruins, I could look to the west and there, the Dragoons spread out as far as I could see. To the east lay the Chiricahua Mountains. There’s a rugged beauty to southern Arizona that you have to see to believe.
I’m not suggesting that everyone who lives in a city should pick up stakes and move out West to the country. In fact, PLEASE DON’T!! What I am suggesting is that it would be a good thing if people who live in urban environments spent some time out in wide open country. It gives you a very different perspective and it soothes your soul. It also helps you understand that what you may know as “skyscrapers” can’t hold a candle to what we’ve got out West.
SKYSCRAPERS
Let me start by confessing that I live in a city. In fact, there are even certain aspects of living in a city that I enjoy…good restaurants near by, don’t have to drive too far to get beer, medical care within easy reach (distance-wise if not financial-wise!). Boy, there sure are some drawbacks though. Traffic can be awful. Far too many people in a small geographic space which makes me claustrophobic. Did I mention that traffic can be awful? I really believe the worst part, though, is that you’re surrounded by concrete and steel which limits your ability to actually see the world. This is especially true in the great big cities like New York, Los Angeles, Dallas, Phoenix and Chicago, to name a few of my least favorite ones.
The EmpireStateBuilding in New York City is 1,454 feet from the street up to the tip. WillisTower in Chicago is 1,451 feet tall. Bank of America Plaza in Dallas is 921 feet tall. They call them skyscrapers. Pretty arrogant, not to mention misguided, if you ask me. Why, our little old Sandia Peak just to the east of Albuquerque is 10,679 feet tall. That means you could stack seven Empire State Buildings on top of each other and you’d still be shorter than Sandia. Pikes Peak in Colorado is 14,114 feet tall. I believe THOSE would be your skyscrapers.
I worry that many people who live in big cities have lost sight, both figuratively and literally, of what nature looks like. The only green they see is on people’s lawns or in the occasional city park. They never see the sun set on the mountains. They never see an animal any larger than a dog (well, maybe one of those New York City sewer rats). They don’t know the thrill of seeing an elk, a moose, even a bear (that would be the “thrill” of sheer terror!) out in its natural habitat. They don’t know the experience of looking out towards the horizon and being able to see for a hundred miles. They feel no connection to the land. They are so disconnected, in fact, that they don’t even know what they’re missing.
Recently, I drove from Albuquerque up to Cimarron, NM for a performance. Something…I don’t even remember what…was on my mind and causing me some consternation. I was in a pretty foul mood. I got off the interstate at Santa Fe and began driving in the direction of Taos. There I would turn off and head through the canyon to Angel Fire and then a few miles beyond that, through CimarronCanyon. The further I drove, the more I was embraced by the beauty and peacefulness of the southern Rockies. A panoramic view of the Rio Grande Gorge as you approach Taos. Cool, fresh air that smells of pine. It just sucked all the mad right out of me.
Last weekend, I performed in southeastern Arizona. During the day on Saturday, my friend Rich Dollarhide took me on a tour of the DragoonMountains (east of Tombstone, highest point- 7,520 feet, more than five times taller than the EmpireStateBuilding). He took me to see the ruins of the Dragoon Springs Stage Stop, a way station on the Butterfield Mail line back in 1858. There are grave sites nearby of four Confederate soldiers who were killed by the Apache in 1862. Apparently, the Apache didn’t care whether you served the North or the South; they just knew you were encroaching on their land. They weren’t very happy about it. I tried to imagine what it must have been like to be a young man from the deep South cast adrift way out West in a land that was totally foreign to you. Maybe it wasn’t so different from what our young men and women feel during their tours in the Middle East.
I saw ruins of an old school with tall Romanesque columns out front. I also saw ruins that Rich said were either a hospital or a brothel, depending on whose version of history you believed. I stood inside the remains of the building for a few minutes trying to get a sense of which one it had been. I felt better when I walked out but of course, that doesn’t answer the question, does it? The entire time I was exploring the various ruins, I could look to the west and there, the Dragoons spread out as far as I could see. To the east lay the ChiricahuaMountains. There’s a rugged beauty to southern Arizona that you have to see to believe.
I’m not suggesting that everyone who lives in a city should pick up stakes and move out West to the country. In fact, PLEASE DON’T!! What I am suggesting is that it would be a good thing if people who live in urban environments spent some time out in wide open country. It gives you a very different perspective and it soothes your soul. It also helps you understand that what you may know as “skyscrapers” can’t hold a candle to what we’ve got out West.
August 5, 2014
CHUGWATER
Anyway, when the date arrived, I headed north from Albuquerque on I-25. About six hours later, I hit Denver’s rush hour traffic. Rush hour in Denver apparently starts at dawn and lasts until midnight. You first encounter it as you’re leaving Colorado Springs and you finally get out of it about ten miles south of the Wyoming border. What the heck are all these people doing in Denver?? That’s probably grist for a different article for the old blog mill. Suffice to say, I was mighty glad to cross into Wyoming where cattle outnumber people (AND their automobiles!).
Why is it called Chugwater anyway? Glad you asked. The story is that when the railroads came to southern Wyoming, the railroad boss asked the local Indians what the place was called. Through an interpreter, he was told “Chugwater.” The legend says an Indian chief known as “the Dreamer”…so-called either because he thought outside the box or because he was extremely lazy…decided the traditional way of hunting buffalo was inefficient and too dangerous. Instead, he had his hunters stampede the buffalo off one of the high bluffs from which they plunged to their deaths in the creek below. Apparently, the sound they made as they hit was a “chugging” noise so it was known as the "water at the place where the buffalo chug.”
It subsequently became known as Chugwater Creek.
My host for the weekend was Keith Miller whom I met in Albuquerque in early 2014 when I performed at the Solid Grounds Coffeehouse. Keith liked my music and asked if I would be interested in taking part in the Chugwater Chili Cook-off. I said, “Let me think about it…okay.” Keith has had an illustrious career as an engineer, both at Sandia Labs in Albuquerque and as a professor at New Mexico Tech in Socorro, but he grew up in Chugwater. He learned to be a cowboy at an early age and he also learned to farm wheat around the same time. He loves the cowboy life. The life of a wheat farmer, not so much. He took me for a grand tour around Chugwater and shared a lot of the history.
Did you know the horse pictured on the Wyoming license plate was named Steamboat? I already knew that. What I didn’t know is that Steamboat was raised on the Foss Ranch just west of Chugwater. I got to drive right past the Foss Ranch as we meandered around in the hills towards Laramie. Keith also showed me the homestead of one of his great uncles where Tom Horn reportedly spent a night. Sometime later, Horn was tried and convicted for the murder near Iron Mountain of fourteen year old Willie Nickell, the son of a sheepherder. There’s a controversy amongst Wyoming history buffs about whether or not Horn actually committed this murder. Apparently, the Nickell family and another local family were engaged in a feud. Some suspect the other family committed the murder and tried to cover it up by making it look like a signature Tom Horn killing (he left a rock under the victim’s head, I’m told). One thing most folks do agree on is that whether or not Horn committed this particular murder, he probably got what he deserved. Although his official title was "range detective," he actually functioned as a killer for hire.
The land east of Chugwater is known as the “Iowa Flats” because it was homesteaded primarily by folks from Iowa. It is definitely flat and it spreads out for miles before dropping off precipitously down towards Nebraska. At the point where it drops off, you can see Scotts Bluff many miles to the east. Great land for grazing cattle and a pretty good spot for wheat farming as well.
The descriptions of nearly every place Keith showed me began with the phrase “this is so and so’s place, they’ve been on this land for four generations.” There’s a real sense of permanence around Chugwater. People come and stay awhile. They’re tough, too. Here’s a conversation I overheard at the chili cook-off.
“Where’s old (I can’t remember his name but it doesn’t matter. He’s 84 years old)?”
“He couldn’t make it, he wasn’t feeling well.” (I’m thinking, “No kidding, he’s 84!”)
“Really, what’s the matter?”
“He had a pile-up on his dirt bike. Broke his leg and his wrist. He’s healing up okay though, should be up and around pretty soon.”
Wyoming is an interesting place. It’s the Wild West, for sure. It’s also the cradle of women’s suffrage. The people are hardy and independent stock and they have deep roots. Everyone was really nice to me. I hope they invite me back for the 30th annual Chugwater Chili Cook-off. I also kind of hope they add a beer-tasting event.
CHUGWATER
I bet you’ve never been to Chugwater, Wyoming. Don’t feel bad…until a couple of months ago, neither had I. Then I got invited to be the emcee for the 29th annual Chugwater Chili Cook-off. About the only thing I can imagine being better than that would be to emcee a beer-tasting event. One can always dream! (I AM available!).
Anyway, when the date arrived, I headed north from Albuquerque on I-25. About six hours later, I hit Denver’s rush hour traffic. Rush hour in Denver apparently starts at dawn and lasts until midnight. You first encounter it as you’re leaving Colorado Springs and you finally get out of it about ten miles south of the Wyoming border. What the heck are all these people doing in Denver?? That’s probably grist for a different article for the old blog mill. Suffice to say, I was mighty glad to cross into Wyoming where cattle outnumber people (AND their automobiles!).
Why is it called Chugwater anyway? Glad you asked. The story is that when the railroads came to southern Wyoming, the railroad boss asked the local Indians what the place was called. Through an interpreter, he was told “Chugwater.” The legend says an Indian chief known as “the Dreamer”…so-called either because he thought outside the box or because he was extremely lazy…decided the traditional way of hunting buffalo was inefficient and too dangerous. Instead, he had his hunters stampede the buffalo off one of the high bluffs from which they plunged to their deaths in the creek below. Apparently, the sound they made as they hit was a “chugging” noise so it was known as the “water at the place where the buffalo chug.”
It subsequently became known as Chugwater Creek.
My host for the weekend was Keith Miller whom I met in Albuquerque in early 2014 when I performed at the Solid Grounds Coffeehouse. Keith liked my music and asked if I would be interested in taking part in the Chugwater Chili Cook-off. I said, “Let me think about it…okay.” Keith has had an illustrious career as an engineer, both at Sandia Labs in Albuquerque and as a professor at New Mexico Tech in Socorro, but he grew up in Chugwater. He learned to be a cowboy at an early age and he also learned to farm wheat around the same time. He loves the cowboy life. The life of a wheat farmer, not so much. He took me for a grand tour around Chugwater and shared a lot of the history.
Did you know the horse pictured on the Wyoming license plate was named Steamboat? I already knew that. What I didn’t know is that Steamboat was raised on the Foss Ranch just west of Chugwater. I got to drive right past the Foss Ranch as we meandered around in the hills towards Laramie. Keith also showed me the homestead of one of his great uncles where Tom Horn reportedly spent a night. Sometime later, Horn was tried and convicted for the murder near IronMountain of fourteen year old Willie Nickell, the son of a sheepherder. There’s a controversy amongst Wyoming history buffs about whether or not Horn actually committed this murder. Apparently, the Nickell family and another local family were engaged in a feud. Some suspect the other family committed the murder and tried to cover it up by making it look like a signature Tom Horn killing (he left a rock under the victim’s head, I’m told). One thing most folks do agree on is that whether or not Horn committed this particular murder, he probably got what he deserved. Although his official title was “range detective,” he actually functioned as a killer for hire.
The land east of Chugwater is known as the “Iowa Flats” because it was homesteaded primarily by folks from Iowa. It is definitely flat and it spreads out for miles before dropping off precipitously down towards Nebraska. At the point where it drops off, you can see Scotts Bluff many miles to the east. Great land for grazing cattle and a pretty good spot for wheat farming as well.
The descriptions of nearly every place Keith showed me began with the phrase “this is so and so’s place, they’ve been on this land for four generations.” There’s a real sense of permanence around Chugwater. People come and stay awhile. They’re tough, too. Here’s a conversation I overheard at the chili cook-off.
“Where’s old (I can’t remember his name but it doesn’t matter. He’s 84 years old)?”
“He couldn’t make it, he wasn’t feeling well.” (I’m thinking, “No kidding, he’s 84!”)
“Really, what’s the matter?”
“He had a pile-up on his dirt bike. Broke his leg and his wrist. He’s healing up okay though, should be up and around pretty soon.”
Wyoming is an interesting place. It’s the Wild West, for sure. It’s also the cradle of women’s suffrage. The people are hardy and independent stock and they have deep roots. Everyone was really nice to me. I hope they invite me back for the 30th annual Chugwater Chili Cook-off. I also kind of hope they add a beer-tasting event.
July 29, 2014
HORSES FOR HEROES Part II
The performers included WMA Hall of Famer RW Hampton, myself, Doug Figgs and Randy Huston. For the concert in Cimarron, NM in the City Park, we were joined by cowboy poet Dennis Russell and the amazing Rod Taylor. One of our attendees was a local deer (we think she was local…no one actually checked her ID to see). She seemed to like the music all right although it’s hard to tell with deer since they either can’t or won’t applaud. That’s the kind of stuff that happens where the Rockies meet the Plains.
One thing that was a little different was that each of us personalized our set lists to match the event. Almost all the songs were either about horses or heroes. Randy Huston had a song that he had just finished last week called “The Day of the Cowboy.” He played it for me and I said, “I like it. Let’s do it!” He said, “But you don’t know it.” I said, “Randy, it’s so new, YOU don’t even know it. So what?” We did it and it was fine. It’s a great song and will be on his upcoming CD…yes, after ten long years, he’s nearly finished recording a wonderful project with some of his old buddies in Nashville. Probably the best part of the album is that his lovely daughter, Hannah, will be singing four of the songs.
I played a new song entitled “Old Soldier” that I’d never performed in public before. It’s a tribute to the veterans of WWII…the greatest generation…and talks about the fact that there aren’t many left. I initially got the idea from Texas songwriter, Butch Morgan, who told me about taking care of his father, a high-ranking combat veteran and quite the imposing figure in his time. Now he’s an old man who has difficulty getting around. When people see him, they have no idea of the heroic deeds he performed. I also included some things about my father in the song which made it very personal for me.
The Sunday concert in Placitas, NM took place under the threat of major thunderstorms. We didn’t know for quite a while if we’d be able to set up the stage outside but sure enough, the clouds parted and moved on west. We made it through the first half with Doug Figgs and Randy Huston doing great sets and after a brief intermission, we brought up Rick Iannucci, the director of Horses For Heroes. He surprised the four performers and WMA/NM president Joe Brown by inviting us up on stage. He then brought up some men and women who are participants in the program and they awarded each of us a purple wild rag, a badge of honor and recognition of accomplishment in Horses For Heroes. It was their way of thanking us and paying their respects. I don’t think I’ve ever been prouder or more humbled. Can you believe that THEY were thanking us? These young people have risked everything to defend the people and country they love, yet they seemed surprised when we all expressed our appreciation for their service.
We regained our composure and I started the second half of the program with Randy joining me on fiddle. An amazing number of people turned out for the concert in spite of the threatening weather so we had a good audience. My biggest regret is that I’m sure the storms kept a lot of folks away. Because this was a benefit, we wanted as many people to come out as possible. I can only imagine the numbers we’d have had with better conditions. It was pretty cool though to have a lot of new faces in the crowd, people who weren’t familiar with the type of music we play. We all got some new fans Sunday night.
When I was done, RW Hampton took the stage. After his first song, it began to sprinkle. After his second, a hard drizzle began to fall. In typical RW fashion, he went into an extemporaneous version of “Listen to the Rhythm of the Falling Rain,” at which point, the heavens opened up. People jumped up and helped us get the instruments and electronics under cover. We toweled ourselves and our instruments off and proceeded to do an impromptu set under the portal at the Arte de Placitas gallery. RW did nice version of Marty Robbins’ “Devil Woman” and Johnny Horton’s “North to Alaska.” That inspired me to do Johnny Horton’s “The Battle of New Orleans” and a swingin’ version of “Route 66,” complete with doowops from Doug Figgs, Joe Brown and Calvin Hampton, one of RW and Lisa’s seemingly endless supply of sons. Doug did a nice rendition of “My Heroes Have Always Been Cowboys” and Randy got the crowd singing along on his great original, “Cattle Rest Easy.”
Most of the people stayed for the acappella concert. Although they were crowded in like sardines, nobody seemed to mind. I think they appreciated that we didn’t let a little thing like a thunderstorm make us quit. Not that we were heroes or anything. Considering who this concert was for and the sacrifices they’ve made on our behalf, it really seemed like the least we could do. We know who the real heroes are.
To find out more about Horses For Heroes or to make a donation, go to www.horseforheroes.org. Show your appreciation and NEVER FORGET.
HORSES FOR HEROES Part II
Last week, I wrote about the WMA/NM Chapter’s upcoming concerts celebrating the National Day of the Cowboy and benefitting the organization Horses For Heroes- Cowboy Up!/NM. Now that we’ve done the events, I want to write about the experience while it’s fresh in my mind.
The performers included WMA Hall of Famer RW Hampton, myself, Doug Figgs and Randy Huston. For the concert in Cimarron, NM in the CityPark, we were joined by cowboy poet Dennis Russell and the amazing Rod Taylor. One of our attendees was a local deer (we think she was local…no one actually checked her ID to see). She seemed to like the music all right although it’s hard to tell with deer since they either can’t or won’t applaud. That’s the kind of stuff that happens where the Rockies meet the Plains.
One thing that was a little different was that each of us personalized our set lists to match the event. Almost all the songs were either about horses or heroes. Randy Huston had a song that he had just finished last week called “The Day of the Cowboy.” He played it for me and I said, “I like it. Let’s do it!” He said, “But you don’t know it.” I said, “Randy, it’s so new, YOU don’t even know it. So what?” We did it and it was fine. It’s a great song and will be on his upcoming CD…yes, after ten long years, he’s nearly finished recording a wonderful project with some of his old buddies in Nashville. Probably the best part of the album is that his lovely daughter, Hannah, will be singing four of the songs.
I played a new song entitled “Old Soldier” that I’d never performed in public before. It’s a tribute to the veterans of WWII…the greatest generation…and talks about the fact that there aren’t many left. I initially got the idea from Texas songwriter, Butch Morgan, who told me about taking care of his father, a high-ranking combat veteran and quite the imposing figure in his time. Now he’s an old man who has difficulty getting around. When people see him, they have no idea of the heroic deeds he performed. I also included some things about my father in the song which made it very personal for me.
The Sunday concert in Placitas, NM took place under the threat of major thunderstorms. We didn’t know for quite a while if we’d be able to set up the stage outside but sure enough, the clouds parted and moved on west. We made it through the first half with Doug Figgs and Randy Huston doing great sets and after a brief intermission, we brought up Rick Iannucci, the director of Horses For Heroes. He surprised the four performers and WMA/NM president Joe Brown by inviting us up on stage. He then brought up some men and women who are participants in the program and they awarded each of us a purple wild rag, a badge of honor and recognition of accomplishment in Horses For Heroes. It was their way of thanking us and paying their respects. I don’t think I’ve ever been prouder or more humbled. Can you believe that THEY were thanking us? These young people have risked everything to defend the people and country they love, yet they seemed surprised when we all expressed our appreciation for their service.
We regained our composure and I started the second half of the program with Randy joining me on fiddle. An amazing number of people turned out for the concert in spite of the threatening weather so we had a good audience. My biggest regret is that I’m sure the storms kept a lot of folks away. Because this was a benefit, we wanted as many people to come out as possible. I can only imagine the numbers we’d have had with better conditions. It was pretty cool though to have a lot of new faces in the crowd, people who weren’t familiar with the type of music we play. We all got some new fans Sunday night.
When I was done, RW Hampton took the stage. After his first song, it began to sprinkle. After his second, a hard drizzle began to fall. In typical RW fashion, he went into an extemporaneous version of “Listen to the Rhythm of the Falling Rain,” at which point, the heavens opened up. People jumped up and helped us get the instruments and electronics under cover. We toweled ourselves and our instruments off and proceeded to do an impromptu set under the portal at the Arte de Placitas gallery. RW did nice version of Marty Robbins’ “Devil Woman” and Johnny Horton’s “North to Alaska.” That inspired me to do Johnny Horton’s “The Battle of New Orleans” and a swingin’ version of “Route 66,” complete with doowops from Doug Figgs, Joe Brown and Calvin Hampton, one of RW and Lisa’s seemingly endless supply of sons. Doug did a nice rendition of “My Heroes Have Always Been Cowboys” and Randy got the crowd singing along on his great original, “Cattle Rest Easy.”
Most of the people stayed for the acappella concert. Although they were crowded in like sardines, nobody seemed to mind. I think they appreciated that we didn’t let a little thing like a thunderstorm make us quit. Not that we were heroes or anything. Considering who this concert was for and the sacrifices they’ve made on our behalf, it really seemed like the least we could do. We know who the real heroes are.
To find out more about Horses For Heroes or to make a donation, go to www.horseforheroes.org. Show your appreciation and NEVER FORGET.
July 22, 2014
HORSES FOR HEROES
The National Day of the Cowboy is an opportunity for folks to celebrate and honor the Cowboy, a true American icon. You could say the West created the Cowboy or the Cowboy created the West and either way, you’d be right. Cowboys occupy an important place in our country’s history and they’ve been immortalized (if somewhat misrepresented) on the silver screen. What a lot of people don’t know is that there are many cowboys who are still doing the same kind of work all over the West that they did in the 19th century. Even with all the technological changes, the job is still pretty much the same.
I never refer to myself as a cowboy. I have done enough of the work now and know enough good hands that I have a tremendous respect for the complicated skills and vast knowledge needed to do the job properly. Over the years, the life of the cowboy has been romanticized in the media. While there are definitely pleasurable aspects to the work…riding out at sun-up in the glorious surroundings that nature provides us out West…it is a difficult and often dangerous job. Having just returned from Wyoming, which they laughingly refer to as the “banana belt” of the West, I can tell you that if you had to face the blizzards and that wild Wyoming wind in the frigid winter months, you’d think twice about the “glamorous” life of the cowboy. And still, men and women continue to do the job they love in spite of all the hardships.
We wouldn’t have a cowboy without the horse. The horse has been and continues to be the primary tool of the cowboy. More than that, the horse has served as friend, companion and on occasion, life-saver for many a good cowboy. These are noble, intelligent and brave animals…that is, unless they’re kicking you, biting you or bucking you off. In that case, there have been many colorful descriptions of them tossed about extemporaneously by cowboys in the heat of the moment. The horse is really what this article is about.
There is a wonderful non-profit organization in Santa Fe, NM called Horses For Heroes (www.horsesforheroes.org). Through their Cowboy Up! Program, they provide a unique horsemanship, wellness and skill-set restructuring program for veterans of Operation Iraqi Freedom and Operation Enduring Freedom- Afghanistan who have sustained physical injuries or combat trauma (PTSD) during their time serving our country. They give these brave men and women the experience of working hands on with their horses, beginning with groundwork and progressing to riding, as well as participating in other aspects of ranch work such as working cattle. Anyone who has been lucky enough to spend time around horses knows that there is an amazing non-verbal communication process that occurs which has tremendous potential for healing. It is our pleasure here at the New Mexico Chapter of the Western Music Association to donate the proceeds from the two National Day of the Cowboy concerts we are putting on to the wonderful folks at Horses For Heroes.
Anyone who knows the cowboy culture knows that it is a part of the way of life to help your friends and neighbors. You don’t make a big deal out of it, you just do it. We of the WMA/NM Chapter are honored to provide support to this wonderful organization by doing what we love to do…entertain folks with our music about Cowboys.
“That’s what cowboys do, when there’s work to be done, they see the job through
If you need a friend to lend a hand, he’ll (she’ll!) be there for you, cause that’s what cowboys do.” (“That’s What Cowboys Do,” by Jim Jones, © 2006)
HORSES FOR HEROES
This coming Saturday, July 26th, is the tenth annual National Day of the Cowboy, a date which has been officially recognized in perpetuity in eight states and is celebrated all over the country. There are more than forty celebratory events scheduled from New York to California recognizing the National Day of the Cowboy including two here in New Mexico. We have a great cowboy lineup…RW Hampton, me, Randy Huston and Doug Figgs…scheduled for performances in Cimarron on Saturday and Placitas on Sunday. You can check http://www.westernmusicnm.com/home/ or https://www.facebook.com/pages/Western-Music-Association-New-Mexico-Chapter/446901628653936 for specifics if you’re interested in attending.
The National Day of the Cowboy is an opportunity for folks to celebrate and honor the Cowboy, a true American icon. You could say the West created the Cowboy or the Cowboy created the West and either way, you’d be right. Cowboys occupy an important place in our country’s history and they’ve been immortalized (if somewhat misrepresented) on the silver screen. What a lot of people don’t know is that there are many cowboys who are still doing the same kind of work all over the West that they did in the 19th century. Even with all the technological changes, the job is still pretty much the same.
I never refer to myself as a cowboy. I have done enough of the work now and know enough good hands that I have a tremendous respect for the complicated skills and vast knowledge needed to do the job properly. Over the years, the life of the cowboy has been romanticized in the media. While there are definitely pleasurable aspects to the work…riding out at sun-up in the glorious surroundings that nature provides us out West…it is a difficult and often dangerous job. Having just returned from Wyoming, which they laughingly refer to as the “banana belt” of the West, I can tell you that if you had to face the blizzards and that wild Wyoming wind in the frigid winter months, you’d think twice about the “glamorous” life of the cowboy. And still, men and women continue to do the job they love in spite of all the hardships.
We wouldn’t have a cowboy without the horse. The horse has been and continues to be the primary tool of the cowboy. More than that, the horse has served as friend, companion and on occasion, life-saver for many a good cowboy. These are noble, intelligent and brave animals…that is, unless they’re kicking you, biting you or bucking you off. In that case, there have been many colorful descriptions of them tossed about extemporaneously by cowboys in the heat of the moment. The horse is really what this article is about.
There is a wonderful non-profit organization in Santa Fe, NM called Horses For Heroes (www.horsesforheroes.org). Through their Cowboy Up! Program, they provide a unique horsemanship, wellness and skill-set restructuring program for veterans of Operation Iraqi Freedom and Operation Enduring Freedom- Afghanistan who have sustained physical injuries or combat trauma (PTSD) during their time serving our country. They give these brave men and women the experience of working hands on with their horses, beginning with groundwork and progressing to riding, as well as participating in other aspects of ranch work such as working cattle. Anyone who has been lucky enough to spend time around horses knows that there is an amazing non-verbal communication process that occurs which has tremendous potential for healing. It is our pleasure here at the New Mexico Chapter of the Western Music Association to donate the proceeds from the two National Day of the Cowboy concerts we are putting on to the wonderful folks at Horses For Heroes.
Anyone who knows the cowboy culture knows that it is a part of the way of life to help your friends and neighbors. You don’t make a big deal out of it, you just do it. We of the WMA/NM Chapter are honored to provide support to this wonderful organization by doing what we love to do…entertain folks with our music about Cowboys.
“That’s what cowboys do, when there’s work to be done, they see the job through
If you need a friend to lend a hand, he’ll (she’ll!) be there for you, cause that’s what cowboys do.” (“That’s What Cowboys Do,” by Jim Jones, © 2006)
July 9, 2014
July 8, 2014
AN IRISH TEXAN (WHERE’S JOE?)
I got suckered into joining…I mean, I was invited to join the band in 1975. For some inexplicable reason, we were one of the hottest bands in Dallas, playing to a packed house every Friday night. We played a mix of Irish pub and rebel songs along with the popular Waylon & Willie tunes of the day and a few of my originals tunes. Joe was not a great singer and he was a terrible guitar player. Once, he sang a song in the key of C while playing in the key of F, which in case you didn’t know, should be neurologically impossible. He was, however, one of the greatest entertainers I’ve ever seen. He enjoyed himself immensely and he was pretty sure you would enjoy him, too. More often than not, he was right. I’m not talking about ego; he just genuinely loved music and singing and couldn’t imagine that anyone felt differently.
This was back when the rest of the boys in the band, me included, were young, single and a bit wild. When we finished playing, we’d drink shots of tequila and flirt with the girls while he tore down and unloaded the stage. He never complained…but he always managed to find a way to “get” us back when we least expected it. When he did, he would cackle uproariously. He was one of the most good-natured individuals I’ve ever had the pleasure of knowing, but he did have a little bit of a mean streak. That’s okay, we deserved it.
We toured Ireland on three occasions and Canada twice. Those are some of the most wonderful memories I have…I wish you could have been there. Joe made friends wherever he went and it would take him thirty minutes to walk through a crowded room. Everyone wanted to talk with him and he wanted to talk with everyone. In Ireland, this resulted in our losing him with great frequency. We’d head to the van to drive to the next gig and when we looked around, he was nowhere to be found. “Where’s Joe” became our mantra. It also became a signature song of mine for the Irish Texans. Funny enough, I’ve played it for his new friends down in the Rio Grande Valley where he was a “summer Texan” (sorry Jim Wilson) and they always got it immediately.
I was already passionate about writing and singing music by the time I met Joe but I learned from him how to be passionate about entertaining people and making sure they had as good a time as we did. As a band, we weren’t particularly good, but we were a LOT of fun. Our fans sang with us, laughed with us and on occasion, cried with us. Along the way, many of them became life-long friends. We played at wakes and weddings, debutante balls and honky-tonks. As I’ve recounted before, we played in Northern Ireland and we had guns pointed at us. Through it all, Joe was there leading the way (except for when we lost him, but that never lasted long). He was probably the most decent person I’ve ever known, generous, compassionate and loving.
Sometime during the night of June 30, Joe left us. No one saw it coming. His oldest son, Kenneth, told me his dad was “making plans right up to the end.” That was Joe. He was like the energizer bunny, except with a guitar instead of a drum. I am so thankful that I spent a week this past March with Joe and two other Irish Texan stalwarts playing our music one more time for the folks down in the Rio Grande Valley. I still can’t quite grasp that he’s gone. Nobody lives forever but if anyone was going to pull it off, it would have been Joe.
Joe was a devout Catholic and while he never preached at the rest of us, he was steadfast in his beliefs. If he could speak to me now, I know he would tell me that it’s okay, that he’s with his Father. There’s a lot I don’t know…but I believe that to be true. I expect about now Joe is setting up a sound system and organizing a jam session. We always said he would sing at the drop of a hat. I figure he’s looking around to see if any of the angels is wearing hat. If one doesn’t drop pretty soon, he’s not above knocking it off. I can hear him now…“If you’re Irish, come into the parlor, there’s a welcome there for you.” RIP Joe Weisgerber. We miss you more than we can say.
