The Misadventures of an Old Saddle Tramp

By Robert Schweiger

R. J. Schweiger is eighty-one years old. He has traveled many paths during his lifetime, but he always seemed to end up on horseback.
Among other things, Mr. Bob has been a freelance writer. He has written articles for The American Field, The Western Horseman, and Gun Dog.
His involvement in field trials and horse shows meant extensive travel, and it wasnt unusual for him to log thirty thousand miles a year on the road. His equipment was well worn, and every trip was an adventure.
Mr. Bobs exploits have earned him a Life Patrons Award from the National Bird Dog Foundation in Grand Junction, Tennessee, and a Charter Membership in an international organization called the Long Riders Guild, which is based in France.
Mr. Bob moved to Alabama in 1989 with plans to just make it his winter home. But now he has settled down permanently in the town of Hurtsboro, where he has served as a constable. He now serves as a special deputy sheriff in Russell County.

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse
• Release date: Jan 18, 2013
• ISBN: 9781481704885

Robert Schweiger

I was born in Mendota, Illinois, in 1930. I’ve always been a dreamer, and I’ve followed my dreams wherever they’ve taken me. I’ve had a lifelong love affair with horses. At the beginning of my life, I had a pony. All through my life, horses were part of my occupation. And now, at eighty-two years of age, I still have a horse for a companion. I make my home in Alabama and still ride on occasion.

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2013 by Robert Schweiger. All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means without the written permission of the author.

Published by AuthorHouse 01/16/2013

ISBN: 978-1-4817-0490-8 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-4817-0489-2 (hc)

ISBN: 978-1-4817-0488-5 (e)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2013900238

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Thinkstock are models, and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

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Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

CONTENTS

Acknowledgements

Foreword

Introduction

Chapter 1:   From A Rockin’ Horse To A Rockin’ Chair

Chapter 2:   Tales From Toad Hollow

Chapter 3:   Leaving The Farm

Chapter 4:   High School High Jinks

Chapter 5:   Watermelons And Boxcars

Chapter 6:   Playing Hooky

Chapter 7:   Truck Stop Shenanigans

Chapter 8:   The Route Man

Chapter 9:   The Red Baron

Chapter 10:   Ambushed

Chapter 11:   An Eye-Opening Experience

Chapter 12:   Out For The Count

Chapter 13:   The Plumber’s Protégé

Chapter 14:   Packing House Pranks

Chapter 15:   The Phantom Artist

Chapter 16:   One Piece At A Time

Chapter 17:   A Ramblin’ Wreck

Chapter 18:   Choices And Chances

Chapter 19:   The Pilgrimage Ride

Chapter 20:   A Return To The Old Sod

Chapter 21:   Just A Damned Yankee

Chapter 22:   Horsin’ Around In Dixie

Chapter 23:   Wearin’ A Badge

Chapter 24:   Conclusion

About The Author

TO

THE GALLANT HORSES

THAT CARRIED ME THROUGH LIFE

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The fabulous four: Dan, Stormy, Frosty and Tuesday

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

Indian Creek High School

Joiner History Room

Shabbona Lee Rollo History Museum

Carol Christianson Bend

Cheri Baker

Delores Johnson Shrader

Gail Jacobson Loes

Mary McDonald Shrader

FOREWORD

It takes a special fellow to follow a dream. How simple it is for folks to settle into the expected—marriage, two children, a six-to-four job, taxes and mortgage payments—just living the life we are expected to live.

Our secret dreams and our want to be and our want to do thoughts are tucked into that special place reserved for such nonsense, and we move through our orderly life as expected.

And yet, throughout history, some men have elected to travel unchartered paths. The path these men take may be difficult or nearly impossible—a trek that can be a source of satisfaction or disappointment. The choice is one’s own and not to be considered by anyone who fears failure.

Bob Schweiger dared to risk failure and made a choice that many deemed foolish; he wandered far from the chartered course of life as most people live it.

When Bob graduated from high school, he was given the opportunity to operate the family farm. He opted instead to see the world, and he never stopped looking toward the horizon or seeking his elusive dreams. Bob’s search for adventure took him into many forms of activity. He became a jack of all trades, as will be noted in the appendix of The Misadventures of an Old Saddle Tramp. But he never relinquished his boyhood dream of a life in the saddle.

As a boy, Bob rode a pony to school, idolized Roy Rogers and Gene Autry, and pretended he was a cowboy at every opportunity. These were dreams and games of little substance in a workaday world. But Bob hung on to his dreams, and they became a reality when he discovered the sport of field trials.

Bird dogs, horses, and field trials are synonymous. Field trials require extensive travel. It is a setting where grown men play little boys’ games. It is the perfect setting for a dreamer. Field trials were the answer—the answer to Bob’s impossible dream—and he leaped at the chance to play little boys’ games again. He became a professional bird dog trainer.

Bob was known far and wide as the Old Saddle Tramp for his nomadic ways and his lust for adventure. No field trial was too far away, and no competitor went unchallenged. Bob Schweiger had finally found his niche in life. And he has lived his impossible dream.

—Bob Kerans

Former Editor of The Flushing Whip

INTRODUCTION

It has been said in jest that, to ensure longevity, you must choose your parents with care. I’m a fortunate fellow. My parents were hardy and long-lived, and those traits were passed on to me. I will turn eighty very soon. And I greet each new day with anticipation.

Another stroke of good fortune, it seems, is the time when I was born and the place where I first glimpsed the light of day. I wouldn’t change either, even if I could.

I was born with a caul in a year of the horse—while a centaur pranced in the sky. If you believe in old wives’ tales and astrology, it’s obvious. My future was predetermined. And history has proven it so.

I have entertained thoughts of writing a book for quite some time—not so much as a biography but as a narrative. It would be the story of a boy who saw the end of an era and was reluctant to see it go. Its subject matter would be the saga of a young man’s dreams of glory and his quest for adventure. And, finally, it would be the tale of an old-timer who has led a charmed life.

But since the final chapter is yet to be written, I’ve always stopped short. And, truth be known, whenever I tried to put pen to paper, a disturbing thought has stopped me cold. Many of the events in this story are difficult to believe, but rest assured; they are undeniably true.

What I have written is meant only for a reader’s entertainment Perhaps if I am skillful enough in describing the events as I lived them, the reader will be able to visualize a time and place that can now only be found between the covers of a book and explored from the comforts of an easy chair.

Perhaps I am engaging in an exercise of futility. What was once considered high adventure and good clean fun may be of little interest today. People today care very little about the past. Our concerns are with the present, and our eyes are on the future. Recreational reading is almost a lost art. Television and the Internet can provide more than enough information and entertainment—with the push of a button.

But on the other hand, movies such as A Christmas Story, The Wizard of Oz, Shane, and Gone with the Wind continue to draw high viewer ratings. There must be a significant number of those who still steal a few moments to read, and who enjoy taking a peek at the past. This book may provide the opportunity to relax, fanaticize, and relive the good old days in the eye of the mind.

No one today can imagine the world as it was in 1930. Locomotives transported freight, mail, and passengers to their destinations. World news arrived by Western Union, and local gossip was relayed by party-line telephone. Women stoked the home fires, and men with their horses toiled in the fields to provide for their families.

Times were difficult. The nation was gripped in a depression, and war clouds hung on the horizon. But that mattered little to me. I romped with my dog, rode a stick horse, picked wild berries, waded in the creek, climbed trees, and dreamed of becoming a cowboy.

I have crammed a lot of living into the span of years that have passed since I was a child—far too much material to be included in a single book. So I have touched on just a few of the most foolhardy and exciting.

My thoughts of wealth or fame have long since vanished. But I am rich beyond description when I total up my memories. And now the time has come to share them.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Here’s to the best years of my life.

Spent in the arms of another man’s wife.

My Mother.

—Anonymous

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

FROM A ROCKIN’ HORSE

TO A ROCKIN’ CHAIR

CHAPTER ONE

I can’t remember much of my early childhood. But for the record, I was born in December 1930 in Mendota, Illinois.

This was a time when the American dream was alive and well. Opportunity was there for anyone who reached out for it.

This was also a time when boys were boys, men were men, and women were just housewives. The girls became ladies with very few exceptions.

Life unfolded naturally for farm children. There was no need to teach the facts of life or the finality of death. Rural youngsters were exposed to those firsthand on a daily basis Today’s experts on human behavior and the science of raising children would likely consider the culture of the 1930s uncivilized. But search as I might, I cannot find anyone linked to my past guilty of serious wrongdoing.

I remember very little of my years as a toddler. But from what I’ve been told, I was a mischievous child who never went far without a stuffed horse under my arm. And it seems that I rode hard on a rocking horse that had been in the family for years. I do have dim memories of the stick horse that I hitched to the back porch so it would be ready to ride in the backyard.

I suppose that I was about