A Cowboy Like Me: Short Stories, Volume II

By Thomas Edward Shaw

Set in an environment of sagebrush, mountain bluebirds and rivers that disappear, the twelve titles, inside this book, describe a place familiar to everyone - or perhaps familiar to none. We only remember what we think we saw.
The stories describe is a place where civilization does not necessarily describe refinement. As German philosopher Nietzsche once defined it, “The purpose of civilization is to convert man, a beast of prey into a tame and civilized animal; a domestic animal.
It was about the same time Mark Twain wrote this: “I reckon I got to light out for the territory because Aunt Sally she’s going to adopt and civilize me and I can’t stand it. I’ve been there before.”
And about the same time again, closer to home, one old sourdough described it this way: “See what women do? First it’s civilization and then the next thing, you know, you’ll be combin’ yer hair and eating broccoli.”
So over the years, what has changed? It used to take three months to drive a covered wagon from Missouri to California. Now the same distance can be covered in three hours; but that, in itself, does not accurately describe anything.
In the short story, A Song for the Son of a Buckaroo, a young man recounts how Kate, Karl, Alice and he take a late night swim in the Humboldt River. Later they go to town to dance until dawn, wearing only their underwear. In the small town of Elko, a cowboy can be who he wants to be. And that, by itself, doesn't fix what is wrong.
In The Sunday Matinee, undomesticated boys prefer watching western movies with “King of the Cowboys” Roy Rogers. Just ask them and they will tell you, it’s never fun to watch a film starring Ronald Reagan, who seems much too civilized to be a real cowpoke. But then, when they grow up and become domesticated, for whom did most of them cast their votes in a presidential election? Was the winner the best horse rider? Some of them still grouse about it.
In The Boxer, a young man describes the Queensbury Rules of boxing, “Points are deducted for hitting below the belt,” and after he proves his point, he surprises his doubting adversary by becoming a politician.
At the end - after time has passed and the place may or may not be the same - everyone comes together for their high school class reunion and what do they remember? A Cowboy Like Me is not really about cowboys, but if the reader prefers, it can be.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Thomas Edward Shaw
• Release date: Jan 1, 2014
• ISBN: 9780977730384

Thomas Edward Shaw

Thomas Edward Shaw – also known as Eddie Shaw is a musician and author.He co-wrote and recorded: BLACK MONK TIME, COMPLICATION, CUCKOO, and LOVE CAN TAME THE WILD on Polydor International Records (producer Jimmy Bowien) – also on American Records (See website: http://www.the-monks.com) - Retribution Records, distributed by Burnside Distribution, Portland, Oregon – BLACK MONK TIME and MONKS, EARLY YEARS on Light in the Attic Records, Seattle Washington; also MINNESODA (Lp) on Capitol Records. His newest release is JASS IN SIX PIECES, by the Hydraulic Pigeons on Sevencranes Music, (digital release) on CD Baby, Amazon.com, Itunes, etc.His music is on Movie/TV Soundtracks: Coen Bros movie, BIG LEBOWSKI; Canadian movie, TAILLIGHTS FADING; POWERADE sports drink commercials, aired on national U.S. TV stations; Peter Rosen’s 2006 documentary, WHO GETS TO CALL IT ART?; Movie documentary, about the Monks, TRANSATLANTIC FEEDBACK, by Playloud Productions (Berlin, Germany), in movie theaters in Europe and the USA, accessible through netflix and DVD. TV soundtracks: DAS WILDE LEBEN, German TV; CALIFORNICATION; HAMMER TIME; INDEPENDENT LENS; SKILLS LIKE THIS: and more.Books published are: A COWBOY LIKE ME (softcover book of short stories); BLACK MONK TIME (memoir); BELTRAMI’S RIVER (historical novel); Contributing author in the book, A FRIENDLY GAME OF POKER, 52 Tales of the Neighborhood Game, published by Chicago Review Press, Sept. 2003; Shaw is also a contributing poet for two different books of poetry by the Nevada Poetry Society.Shaw has also appeared for TV and radio interviews: NYC; National Public Radio; Chicago; San Francisco; Austin, TX; BBC, London; Berlin; Spain; Denmark; and more; including hundreds of newspaper and magazine articles.

Book preview

A Cowboy Like Me

Volume II

Short Stories

By

Thomas (Eddie) Shaw

A Cowboy Like Me - Volume II

By Thomas Edward (Eddie) Shaw

Copyrighted December 2013 by Thomas Edward Shaw

Published by Carsonstreet Publishing at Smashwords

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopy, recording, or any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher for information about permission to reproduce selections from this book

For permissions, write to:

Carson Street publishing

PO Box 5985,

Reno, NV 89513.

ISBN: 978-0-9777303-8-4

Cover graphics by Reu Shaw and Erin Shaw

While some information and/or descriptions contained may be a fictionalized account based on

actual events, any slights to people or organizations are completely unintentional.

CONTENTS

HOW CIVILIZATION CAME TO THE WEST

MY TRIP IN A COVERED WAGON

SATURDAY NIGHT MYSTERIES

BOYS CLUB

LONE MOUNTAIN CEMETARY

SERIOUS FORCES OF NATURE

FUTURE PACHUCO

MARION MCCULLOCH AT DARLING RANCH (POEM)

THE ILLUSTRIOUS SHORTY KELLY O’KEEFE

THE SKUNK AT MUD LAKE

THE SUNDAY MATINEE

SONG FOR THE SON OF A BUCKEROO

THE BOXER

CLASS REUNION

About The Author

Other Books by Thomas Edward Shaw

Reviews

How Civilization Came to the West

Regarding the subject of civilization, German philosopher F. W. Nietzsche said, The purpose of civilization is to convert man, a beast of prey, into a tame and civilized animal; a domestic animal.

On this subject Mark Twain’s opinion was somewhat similar. In Huckleberry Finn, he said, I reckon I got to light out for the territory, because Aunt Sally she's going to adopt me and civilize me, and I can't stand it. I've been there before.

Okay, both of them were alive in the same era, and both of them were onto something - but surely Nietzche, nine years younger than Twain, was not familiar with American mining camps. In the 1860s, ‘70s, and ‘80s, Nevada and California mining camps attracted men from all walks of life, looking for a new and less encumbered way of living. They were not philosophers. It was the era when the male sub-species of the Homo sapien was in his glorious twilight years, between the time he had escaped to the frontier and the time his woman caught up with him, to make him wash behind his ears.

Out west, the life style was simple because there were no amenities in the sagebrush. Chiggers, wood ticks, lice and fleas attracted the attention of hogs, dogs, rats, sheep, miners, drunks, vagabonds, gamblers, and thieves. Back then, a normal scene was described as, Out of a dozen men sitting in a saloon, every once in awhile, three or four will pop up and shriek, ‘Godallmighty!’ And of course, it's the wood ticks that do it.

Among all the California/Nevada mining camps of the time - Virginia City (where Samual Clemens began his writing career and changed his name to Mark Twain), Aurora, Austin, Bodie, Belmont, Placerville, and other places long forgotten - men traveled back and forth between the communities seeking a place that offered the best opportunity to strike it rich. They traveled light, relying on their own ingenuity to get any job done. All methods were improvised; subject to what was needed at the moment.

For example, in the small settlement of Lundy, in California - it is recorded that a journalist, Dan Jones, in his Tri-weekly Letter, claimed he printed the news with an ink composition consisting of equal parts of pitch, tar, resin, axle grease, beef tallow, soap, and strawberry jam cooked to the consistency of India Rubber; even as his critics, not totally disagreeing, said he might have been stretching the truth, just a little.

Describing this place where all men were created equal, Jones wrote that an expert is known for his brassy stare and general aspect for imbecility. Describing the inhabitants and how they lived, he said, Tents and brush shelters signify those occupants that have been delicately reared. While the middle-class bivouac on the lee-side of a log, the hearty old mountaineer curls himself up on a granite shelf and snores the bull frogs out of countenance.

Describing the appearance of these men, another journalist, Fred Hart, in Austin, Nevada, wrote that Deacon Toughly (a well known inhabitant) was a tall but slightly built man. He had a pair of small, sharp black eyes, which however owing to a habit of blinking were seldom visible. His head save for a few straggling gray hairs on top, with a lock on each side falling down to his cheeks and hiding his ears, was destitute of hirsute covering and as shiny as a new school globe. His forehead was decorated with a pair of steel bowed ‘specs’ that even the oldest inhabitant could never remember having seen the Deacon looking through. His shirt was always dirty. And on all occasions, he wore a paper collar that was turned wrong side out. According to Hart, The right side surely had been used by some other Austin citizen who cast the collar aside when it became too soiled. A greasy and tobacco stained vest, a rusty snuff colored coat that had once been black, a pair of pants turned up at the bottoms in order to make them somewhat in accord with the length of the wearer's legs, a dilapidated white plug hat, a stout stick, and a stream of tobacco juice shining from each corner of his mouth, completed the description of the ‘deacon,’ who, as Hart wrote, was not one to attract more than a passing notice."

Trying to characterize a more elegant resident, Hart described another Austinite, a buckboard driver, known as ‘Stubs’. When Stubs dressed up, he wore a velvet vest of many colors with a narrow strap buttoned on each side of the collar; on which was pinned a golden horse. Inside the vest, Stubs wore a linen duster. A pair of pants turned up at the bottoms, carpet slippers, clean white socks, and on his head a curly chestnut wig that caused Hart to say, Stubs was a more complex man than most.

Stubs played the fiddle whenever there was a dance in Austin. He knew two songs. At one of the more memorable affairs, two women were present. It was a special occasion, indeed! Because the men had someone to dance with besides each other, Stubs got so excited, while bowing the fiddle, he did a couple of fancy steps and lost his wig.

He didn't want the miners to know that his real name was Charles Burns. He delivered the mail and, when he had something addressed to himself, he would act like he didn't know who it was. One day, while making his deliveries, he held up an envelope and asked one of the townsmen, Do you know a feller named Charles Burns?

The answer was, Why, Stubs, that must be you.

Well I'll be doggoned if it ain’t, said Stubs. To protect his credibility he then added, Why can't people write to a feller by the name he goes by?

These mining settlements were places to escape the pressure of that other, "civilized life. Men came to pick up the gold nuggets that lay everywhere on the ground. It was where a man could eat garlic, and the man next to him, who smelled like the horse he slept with, would not make a disparaging remark. These men - known as groundhogs, desert rats, and sourdoughs - were escapees from picket fences and flower gardens. Life was simple. Their food was described as grub in the mountains and hash in the valleys," usually beans and salty pork, no matter where they lived.

And as the first days of the Garden of Eden passed, so did this. Times were a-changing. It wasn't long before women followed their men to the mining settlements bringing irreversible transformation. For example, one day, in the mining camp of Lundy, twenty women came to visit from the nearby metropolis of Bodie, California, and it caused the men to stampede for soap and water. An immediate run on the ‘Rosenwald, Coblentz and Co.’ store depleted the town's stock of calico shirts and bandanna handkerchiefs.

And what a day it was! To the disgust of his male customers, the saloonkeeper outdid everyone by wearing a plug hat, biled shirt, barber pole socks, and a vest with a whole flower garden on it - and from that day on, nothing has been the same, since. As one old Nevada sourdough put it, See what women do? First it's civilization; and then the next thing you know, you’ll be combin’ yer hair and eatin’ broccoli.

*

Bibliography

The Genealogy of Morals by F.W. Nietzsche - 1887.

Huckleberry Finn, by Mark Twain - 1885.

The Sazerac Lying Club, by Fred H. Hart - 1880?

James Townsend, as ascribed to him from Nevada journals, in

Lying on the Eastern Slope, by Richard A. Dwyer and Richard E.Lingenfelter,

Florida International University Press - 1984.

My Trip in a Covered Wagon

As recounted by Mary Powell McCulloch (71 yrs old) in 1954

I lived on a farm in Ohio until I was ten years old. In 1883 we had a bad year. The crops did not grow because of the drought, so my father decided it was time to find a new place to live. It was not an easy decision to make but he assured us, I’ll go west to the gold mines. When I find a job, I’ll send for you.

In September he harvested what crops he could, so that Mother and I had enough to eat – and then he saddled his horse and left. It was a very sad day. Before he rode away, he promised, Don’t worry. We will all be together soon.

Two months later, we received a letter from him. He wrote he was in Virginia City, Nevada and working in a gold mine. It was a great relief to my mother and me, not only to to know that he was safe, but also to know we all were going to be together again. Immediately Mother sold the farm for $25 so she could buy a canvas covered wagon. She also bought bags of flour and sugar, as well as made candles for light. And I got a new pair of boots. My mother told me it was because we had a long way to walk. Molly also got new shoes. Dad used her to pull the plow in the fields. Now she would be used to pull our wagon.

We loaded the wagon with boxes of canned meat and canned vegetables. Mother had a list of things to take: soap, salt, vinegar, first aid medicine, two barrels of water, our family photographs, and all of our clothing. We also took Mother’s favorite rocking chair and large mirror.

Before we left, we built a rack on the back of the wagon to hold cages for the chickens. The chickens would supply eggs. We also loaded sacks of chicken feed inside the wagon because chickens need to eat too. And then we started our long journey west. Virginia City was more than 2,000 miles away and as there were no roads to the west - we had to follow trails that led across unsettled country, where many wagon trains had gone before us. Our little group was comprised of my mother, me, the chickens, Molly the horse, and Sally, our cow. Sally was tied to the back of the wagon, because she was going to provide fresh milk.

When we left the farm, our neighbors came to say goodbye, and we were a strange sight for sure. Everything we owned was in the wagon. There was Molly the horse, to do the pulling, with Mother holding the reins, and me sitting beside her. The chickens clucked in their cages on the back of the wagon, and Sally the cow followed. When Sally stopped to eat grass, which was often, it caused the wagon to jerk to a halt, forcing Molly to lean forward in her harness at the front the wagon. Only when Sally felt the tug on her rope would she begin to walk again, chewing the grass she had just pulled from the ground.

After our first day on the road, Mother decided we should walk at the side of the wagon, to lighten the load for Molly. As we walked, I watched the surrounding land for edible plants. I found wild berries. I found wild onions and wild turnips. Dandelion leaves make a good salad. And while there was abundance of good things to eat, there were some things that were not.