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JOHN RIFFEY: THE LAST ‘LONE RANGER’ by Edie Eilender (ZX#64)

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Riffee came to Tuweap in 1942. Came out to spend one night to see if he would like it and ended up staying almost 40 years. “Don’t think that I could have found a better place for me to work and spend a life, “ he once said. “When I retire I’m going to live right down the road; a place good enough to work at is good enough to die at.”

In 1942 Tuweap was part of the Grand Canyon National Monument and Riffee’s main job was working with the ranchers who had grazing permits in the Monument. Over the years the job changed as ranching declined and recreation increased. Later, the Monument became part of the park. Riffee was there for it all.

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DOWN the ESCALANTE RIVER w/Ken Sleight —By Edna Fridley (ZX#63)

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FROM KEN SLEIGHT,
“Edna soon came to Escalante and met many of the town folk. Coming and going from trips, we spent a lot of time at cousin Mohr Christensen’s Moqui Motel. My clients met there and at the other rustic-looking motels in Escalante when coming on trips.

“Edna loved Escalante Canyon and became intimately familiar with its features. We frequented Coyote Gulch more than any other canyon. It contains Jacob Hamblin and Coyote natural bridges and Jug Handle Arch. At its mouth and across the river, Stevens Arch looms high on the skyline. Negotiating this country often came hard. Going down Coyote Gulch on one trip, a giant part of the wall broke away and crashed into the creek bottom below, forming a natural dam. My old intrepid friend Vaughn Short, who helped me a lot through those years, aided me in fashioning a detour around the slide and I got our horses and mules around the long pool of water. Edna followed that trail on numerous occasions, as it led to Indian wall writings.”

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HERB RINGER’S PRICELESS ‘ARTIFACTS’ Vol, 1 W/ Jim Stiles (ZX#62)

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But several months later, I rediscovered the paper bag and opened it up. It contained several hundred Kodachrome transparencies from the camera of herb Ringer. They were images of the American West, in pristine condition; the color was as vivid and sharp as the day Herb took them. Now he had given them to me. I was overwhelmed and Herb was delighted that he’d found someone who loved and appreciated his photographs as much as I did. This was 1986

And now Herb wanted to start sharing other treasures with me. His extraordinary photographs were just the beginning. He wanted to share the rest of his priceless possessions with me. That’s what this Zephyr Extra Part 1 is about. In that little 42 foot trailer, Herb maintained a museum of sorts. Knowing we shared this love of history, he began to insist that I take them. He knew I would cherish them as much as he did…

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THE HEARTACHES & HARDSHIPS THAT THE GRAVESTONES TELL —Jim Stiles (ZX# 61 )

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Nowadays few Americans would even give it a thought —- why is there a tiny cluster of trees in the middle of a featureless plain? We see them all the time. At certain times of the day, we might see an odd white glint of something undefinable. A misplaced rock? An abandoned car? But who cares? We race onward to the next McDonald’s or Ramada Inn. We follow our itinerary.

But out there on that tall grass prairie, or tucked in some little side canyon, or atop a wooded knoll, or in the midst of endless rows of corn, or wheat, or milo, or soybeans, or cotton— is our history. And the departed men and women that we owe so much to,.

Many of them are not even graced with a marker. There’s a good chance you’re driving over their long forgotten remains as you race along the highway.. Nothing remains.

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THE MYTH of ‘PROGRESS’— Revealed by Traditional Navajo Wisdom … by Harvey Leake (ZX#60)

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The position of these men (like John Wesley Powell) and many others in the Federal Government was that Native Americans were stuck in the barbaric stage and needed to be civilized. The Bureau of Indian Affairs, since their inception in 1849, implemented a number of unsuccessful strategies to bring the Indians “up” to modern intellectual and moral standards, while failing to acknowledge that the divide was fundamentally a philosophic one. William Henry Holmes, who had responded to B. K. Wetherill’s first letter, later expressed the violent aspect of the government approach. He believed that the dominant culture was destined predominate and that “the complete absorption or blotting out of the red race will be quickly accomplished. If peaceful amalgamation fails, extinction of the weaker by less gentle means will do the work.

Powell elaborated on Morgan’s theory in two articles: “From Savagery to Barbarism” and “From Barbarism to Civilization”. He maintained that civilized society is not only technologically and intellectually superior, but morally superior as well. “In savagery, the beasts are gods; in barbarism, the gods are men; in civilization, men are as gods, knowing good from evil,” he wrote.

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1957 AERIAL VIEWS of ARCHES NATIONAL MONUMENT (“Before the Asphalt”) ZX#59

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When I posted last week’s story about Arches in the 1950s, I had not intended to do a “part 2.” But later I remembered hearing Lloyd talk about the substantial role he and superintendent Bates Wilson played in laying out the new road alignment. And it reminded me of the black and white aerial photos I found in a trash can at the Arches visitor center in 1977. The NPS had just received a new set of color high resolution images of the park, and considered the old ones to be worthless. I fished them out of the can and even checked with my boss, to be sure they no longer wanted them. Like so many other artifacts I have from my days at Arches, from weather reports to wildlife observation cards, even to the old wooden signs, one agency’s trash was my treasure, I’m glad I have kept these historical remembrances all these years…JS

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Rangers Lloyd Pierson & Lyle Jamison: Remembering Arches, Moab & Ed Abbey in the 50s: from 1989 & 1992 Interviews —w/ Jim Stiles (ZX#58)

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In 1989, my own seasonal ranger “career,” (if you could call it that) had ended, much to the relief of most park managers over the GS-7 pay level. But I still maintained good friendships with some of the older NPS staff, many of whom had retired years earlier but who had decided to live in Moab. I was particularly blessed to call two park veterans, Lloyd Pierson and Lyle Jamison, as dear friends. While newer park personnel loathed my irreverent, outspoken side, Lyle and Lloyd appreciated it. In fact, Lloyd’s humor was somewhat biting, and he was always willing to speak his mind, and let the chips fall where they may. He gave new meaning to the expression “unbridled candor.” It’s why, so many years ago, I concluded that, “When I grow up, I want to be just like Lloyd Pierson.” I’m still working on it.

Lloyd Pierson was the Chief Ranger at Arches from 1956 to 1961. He and Superintendent Bates Wilson oversaw the Mission 66 project during those most tumultuous years. The building of a new road was inevitable, and so both men played a role in determining the new highway alignment in a way that would have the least impact on the park they both loved.
Lyle Jamison worked as the Monument administrative officer from 1959 to 1960, but as they both later explain in this story, his duties in those days were “wide and varied.” . Lyle took another job in the NPS system that year, but a decade later returned to the newly formed Canyonlands National Park. It was Lyle who oversaw the hiring of seasonal rangers at Arches. I had signed on as a volunteer in the winter of 1975-76 but applied for the Arches seasonal campground job and often stopped by the old headquarters office downtown to check on my status. Using every technique possible, I told him that at volunteer pay I could not sustain myself on a diet of peanut butter and jelly sandwiches. Finally one day in March I poked my head in his office and Lyle looked up and grinned, “Stiley!”

…Lloyd retired from the Park Service a few years before my arrival but was a well-known face in Moab. A historian by trade, Pierson was an active board member of the Moab Museum and his frequent letters to the Moab Times-Independent were legendary. Lyle retired from government service just a few years after my arrival. But like Lloyd, he was hooked on Moab. He and his wonderful wife Lois bought a home in Spanish Valley and stayed active in local issues related to the parks.

When I decided to start The Zephyr, I was anxious to use it as a way of keeping and preserving the history of Southeast Utah. The first two people I sought out were Lloyd and Lyle. One cold morning in January 1989, I coerced both of these guys to take a ride with me through Arches to remember and recall the “good old days,” and observe the changes that have occurred over the years. We all bundled into my 1963 Volvo and I sat a tape recorder on the dashboard. I pushed the record button and off we went.. The overriding theme was: What’s changed? What’s here now that wasn’t here then? How different does this place feel to you? For the next hour and a half, they talked and I mostly listened…

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Hitchhiking Across America (December 1972)— A Really Dumb Idea —Jim Stiles (ZX#57)

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Suddenly Schreiber appeared around the corner. He’d run back to the Alto Nido, grabbed every guy he could find, and they all came running back to “save” me. I was impressed! They were ready to rumble. Barry was breathing heavily. He may have been armed with a golf club.

“Hold on!” I said diplomatically. “These men are officers of the law. They mistook me for an armed bandit.” By now the detectives had uncuffed me and though they never actually apologized, they did acknowledge that while I looked like the suspect, there was “reason to believe” I was not that man.

I decided I was not meant to be here. But my VW was just hammered. I didn’t know if it could make the trip home. I calculated that I had driven 22,000 miles in the last six months. It wasn’t really like I missed home anyway…I just didn’t know what else to do. And I was yet again almost broke. It was at that moment that the idea of hitchhiking across the country, more than 2500 miles, with a 75 pound Husky, in the middle of the winter, began percolating in my brain.

“Stiles…are you crazy?” Schreiber said. “It may be warm here, but once you’re out of here, you’re going to freeze your ass off…and besides…HITCHHIKING? Do you have any idea how dangerous that is? Have you heard of Charlie Manson? That was only three years ago. Do you know how many crazy people are out there? Or just plain mean? Don’t do it.”

I said, “Would you give Muckluk and me a ride as far as San Bernardino?”

Schreiber shook his head. “Sure, I’ll ride you that far. Damn Stiles, you are one crazy son of a bitch.”

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A GLEN CANYON ALBUM: THE NIELSEN RANCH at HITE (1949-1964) #2 (ZX#56)

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In the first installment of this series, called “Glen Canyon’s Nielsen Ranch at Hite: The Untold Story,” I provided a considerable amount of background information on the history of the Hite (Dandy) Crossing, and the political history behind the building of Glen Canyon Dam.

In addition, I needed to explain just how Beth and Ruben Nielsen wound up at Hite and spent the next 15 years, from 1949 to 1964, in this place they called Heaven on Earth. (I urge all of you who missed Part 1 the first time, to go back and read it. You need the history, especially of Beth and Ruben, to fully appreciate what follows.

In this edition of the “Untold Story” is more of an album than a narrative. This is the first of several albums I plan to post over the coming weeks and months. When Leslie sent me a thumb drive with the complete collection of images, even I didn’t realize the full extent and number of photographs that I had just received. The index that Leslie sent me identifies each photo—the index is almost 50 pages long! That should give Zephyr readers just how much photographic history is here. It is a treasure beyond my ability to express it

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UPDATE: THE 7/4/61 DEAD HORSE MURDERS: THE FORGOTTEN VICTIMS —Jim Stiles (ZX#55)

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For the last two years, I knew there was a vital part of this story that was missing. Like I’ve said so many times before, what about Abel Aragon’s family? What about his wife and five children? I had read the editorial in the Price Sun-Advocate, written the week after the murders, and I wondered if it was already a plea to their fellow citizens in response to a backlash from the community. How did the Aragon family cope with this insane crime?

But I had no idea how to contact the Aragon family. And if I did, would they even want to talk to me? Even worse, had they seen my articles and resented the fact that I have dragged up this awful piece of history from 60 years ago? I resigned myself to the idea that it was one part of the saga that was beyond my reach. But last November, I opened my email and was stunned to see an email from a member of the Aragon family. At first I was almost afraid to read it. Had I opened old wounds unnecessarily and caused them even more pain?

I opened the email. It was addressed to “To whom it may concern…I know that there is a great likelihood that this won’t find the right person and that this is a shot in the dark, but I was wondering if there’s a way that I could provide some information on a topic that Jim Stiles has been writing about for many many years.”

I read on…

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HERB RINGER & his Love for the Rural West’s Small Towns (1940s-50s) Volume 1 (ZX#54) w/Jim Stiles

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On May 30, 1939, Herb Ringer’s life changed forever. As he drove away from his family home in Ringoes, New Jersey, he could not have guessed that as he backed out of the driveway and turned west, that his life would never be the same again. And yet the departure was hardly a happy moment for Herb. In fact, he dreaded it. I’m sure it felt more like the most painful of deaths than the beginning of a new and indescribably beautiful future.

Herb had been married for less than two years, but it had been a disaster. Neither of them was happy. But Herb made a decision that in 1939 was almost unthinkable. He decided to file for divorce. Though his wife was just as unhappy as he was, the stigma of divorce was more than bare. She pleaded with Herb to change his mind. He was barely less humiliated than she was. He didn’t want to be known as “that man” who divorced his wife in the little hamlet of Ringoes. And so Herb made a decision that he thought might make the process less painful for both of them. He would travel all the way across America, to Reno, Nevada. Even then it was known as the “Divorce Capital of the World.”

***
When Herb first started giving me his photos, I realized that he took the time to do what few of us even consider. We took the scenic shots. Herb often turned the camera around and took pictures of the people who were taking pictures. And he stopped to photograph the little towns that most people just wanted to get through. Eventually he would give me all his photographs. Thousands of them. And among them dozens…scores…hundreds of little communities in the West that everyone else ignored.

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EDWARD ABBEY: 34 YEARS LATER in a BRAVE NEW WORLD—Jim Stiles (ZX#53)

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He once said, “ If America could be, once again, a nation of self-reliant farmers, craftsmen, hunters, ranchers and artists, then the rich would have little power to dominate others. Neither to serve nor to rule. That was the American Dream.”

Many of the older New Westerners love Ed Abbey but have no idea what that means. They’ve read all his books and they follow and “LIKE” his quotes on Facebook, but they understand far less than they realize. Many of the younger New Westerners are too busy recreating to care. Solitude isn’t even a priority (And please note, in the spirit of Abbey, I’m generalizing here and judging a generation who I know has its own shining stars. If there is any hope to be found, it is in those young people.)

What Abbey always hoped we’d take away from his writing and from his life was a sense of ourselves as individuals, as men and women who could take control of our own lives and our own destinies. Abbey spoke disapprovingly of a “nation of bleating sheep and braying jackasses.” He longed for a people with dignity and courage and he loathed the mindless “bleating” that he found even in his own readers

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GLEN CANYON’S NIELSEN RANCH at HITE—The Untold Story Pt. 1 —Jim Stiles (ZX#51)

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Even as the Utah governor and crowds of celebrants cheered the opening of Chaffin’s Hite ferry , plans were already underway to make the ferry obsolete. But the notion of a 700 foot high dam flooding almost 200 miles of the Colorado River and burying Hite under 150 feet of water was almost too much to comprehend. Or even believe. Its reality seemed eons away. And it was more than that. There was something magical about the place. Something special. Surely no one could do harm to such a place.

Even as the Utah governor and crowds of celebrants cheered the opening of Chaffin’s Hite ferry , plans were already underway to make the ferry obsolete. But the notion of a 700 foot high dam flooding almost 200 miles of the Colorado River and burying Hite under 150 feet of water was almost too much to comprehend. Or even believe. Its reality seemed eons away. And it was more than that. There was something magical about the place. Something special. Surely no one could do harm to such a place.

It was to that incredibly remote, hidden Eden that drew Ruben and Beth Nielsen to Hite and the Colorado River, already knowing, though barely believing the stories, that their new home might someday be wiped (or drowned and buried) from the face of the earth. They were coming to the isolated canyon and the recently opened ferry to make a home for themselves. It was the ferry itself that made the dream possible, but for Beth and Ruben, it was a dream come true. Their love for Glen Canyon and the crossing at Hite was only exceeded by their love for each other. That mutual love for Glen Canyon cemented their personal connection even more. It was such a shared love that their life and their marriage, in a way, was bound together in one living breathing joyful experience. Over the years, everyone who met Beth and Ruben could feel that bond and be a part of it. Fern Frost may have called their home “a little Heaven of your own,” but the truth was, the Nielsens loved sharing Heaven with everyone they met.

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AN INTERVIEW w/ ED McCARRICK: WW II HERO at the BULGE: & Famous Moab “Arch Hunter”—– w/ Jim Stiles (ZX#50)

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“This is where I saw Patton. We were stopped in this convoy, and I was in a half-track. I saw these three vehicles come down and as they got closer I saw the two stars–it’s got to be Patton I thought. Patton climbs out and yells, ‘Where’s an officer?’

“Meantime, this French vehicle comes flying down the road, and Patton yells, ‘Stop that vehicle!’ The Frenchman gets out and makes a real snappy salute, and Patton smiles and says, ‘Bon.’ If he hadn’t saluted Patton like that, he would’ve been chewed out.

“By this time, somebody found an officer, Captain Newton, and Patton yells, ‘What outfit is this?’ The captain responded, ’87th Reconnaissance 7th Army Division, sir.’ Patton says, ‘If this is reconnaissance, why the Hell aren’t they at the front?’ After a few more questions he says, ‘Where’s the communications vehicle?’

“I was in the next vehicle back, and I ducked down because I didn’t want him yelling at me. Besides, I was a lowly PFC. So he goes back to the vehicle and yells, ‘If there isn’t some audacity shown around here, some officers are going to be busted!’

“He went back to his Jeep, and which way did he go? He turned around and went back the other way. The next day in Stars and Stripes, big headlines read “PATTON VISITS TROOPS AT FRONT.” This is the kind of publicity crap that went on about Patton. Hell, he was five miles from the front! He was such a glory hound. Anyway that was my major encounter with General Patton, that jerk. My captain got killed at the front and Patton got the glory, five miles away.”

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Desolation. And Abundance: the Unexpected Comfort of Canyon Rapids, Origin & Family—By Brandon Hill (ZX#49)

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The river, when functioning accordingly, is a great democracy. “River Democracy.” All are equal. All are welcome. All are held accountable to one another for sustenance. If you can’t contribute, or perhaps more specifically, will not contribute, you will not be invited back. But if you can, as I have learned, you will be welcomed into one of the greatest gifts known to humankind; the River Family.

Family has never been easy for me. I have a hard time telling my mother “I love you” (even though I clearly do), and I tend to stay immersed in the day-to-day happenings of my own life that I forget to call and check in regularly. I have never been a great sibling to my younger brothers and sister. While I love them to death, our upbringing was, at times, chaotic and unstructured.

But on the river, family is a necessity. One of the greatest joys of the river is accountability to one another. To rely on one another. To help one another. To know that we are all in this together, for better or worse. Aside from running a class III or IV, this is one of the most enjoyable yet fundamental elements of river running with a group. Adhesion and effort. But on this trip, “family” had a new dynamic because, after almost a lifetime of existence, I had just met my biological father weeks before. And though he wasn’t with me physically on this river journey, his presence was very much felt.

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UTAH’S INFAMOUS POLYGAMIST ALEX JOSEPH: From Big Water to Amangiri & Outlier Outlaws to Opulence —-by Jim Stiles (ZX#48)

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But in 1975, Glen Canyon City was the domain of the controversial polygamist and constant thorn in the butt of Kane County politicians— Alex Joseph. He and his cult had been booted from one federally owned section of land after another. But they finally found Glen City and nobody seemed to care. It was ready to fall down anyway. Here Alex would build his own kingdom. I had heard about Alex from a ranger friend at the dam. “If you’re headed for Kanab,” Popovich said, “stop at the Red Desert Cafe. The food’s good and you might get to meet some of Alex Joseph’s gorgeous wives.”

I was skeptical but I thought, what the hell. The next morning, I left Page and after the long incline from the lake, in the middle of nowhere, I spotted a collection of ramshackle houses and trailers, long abandoned cars and pickups, and a plethora of tumbleweed. You’d think they were raising it as a crop. The Red Desert Cafe didn’t look much better, but I was hungry and curious about those wives.

Sure enough, Popovich’s description was spot on. Alex was at the bar, looking a tad taciturn. Several of his wives were there too, some cooking and some working as waitresses. They were all over-qualified to be food servers. I learned that among Alex’s wives, one was a doctor, another was a lawyer. Another was a realtor…they were all quite lovely. Alex walked over and said hello. He had a beer gut and stringy black hair pulled back in pigtails and he needed a shave and I thought: What does this guy have that I don’t have?

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HERB RINGER @ ZION & BRYCE( 1946-1965): The Complete Collection* (ZX#47)

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Herb Ringer and his mother and father started traveling extensively after the end of WWII. Until then, most of Herb’s wanderings were in the vicinity of Reno, Nevada or the far eastern side of California. he especially loved exploring the abandoned mines and ghost towns of Nevada. But in 1946, the Ringers headed for the Grand Canyon and other parks of the Colorado Plateau. They were stunned by the Grand Canyon and Herb’s father, Joseph, recorded his thoughts in the journal that Herb gave him for Christmas 1944. Joseph would maintain that journal until his death in 1963. Many of those journal entries are included in this story.

The Ringer Family’s first big trip to Utah came in 1946. They were still driving their 1941 Lincoln Zephyr, though you will only see one photograph of it, farther down in the Bryce Canyon section. So many Zephyr readers love Herb’s cars as much as the scenery so I have included excerpts from Joseph Ringer’s journals about both. You’ll find the history of their car purchases to be remarkably detailed. And that makes sense since most Americans then (and now) are more worried about their vehicles running than geology.

This album and the excerpts are from numerous trips that began in 1946. But most of them are from trips in the Ford Woody and the turquoise Ford truck with the camper, between 1950 and 1956. I include a couple additional photos from 1962, and one from1965, when Herb was now traveling alone with his mother. Joseph died of cancer in 1963, a year before Medicare legislation was passed. Herb later told me that he spent the family’s entire life savings, $37,000 trying to save his father…JS

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SPELUNKING the CAVE that was BURIED ALIVE: 1964…and now— Jim Stiles (ZX# 46)

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We emerged from the cornfield into a huge pasture dead ahead and a magnificent forest to our right. Just a few hundred yards in front of us, I could see several small clusters of trees, like little forested islands. In fact, I can still remember there were four of them, in a row, each one perhaps a hundred yards from the next. “You see that fourth cluster? That’s it.” Hotard said.

From a distance, it looked like nothing. I was crestfallen. I was hoping for more. “That’s it?” I asked skeptically. “Just wait,” Hotard grinned. We came to the edge of the copse of trees and sure enough, Steve was spot on. We’d come across a sink hole; it was about 100 feet wide and maybe 40 feet deep. At the very bottom of this steep but easily descended slope (we were 12), we saw a horizontal limestone ledge. It was perhaps 15 or 20 feet wide and at the opening, no more than four feet high. At the time I was barely four feet high, so I didn’t even have to bend over. Dutton was the gangly member of our spelunking team, but all he needed to do was duck a bit.

It was very much a living cave. Water was flowing through it, coming from a source north (or to the left of us). But the opening in that direction was too narrow for any of us, even me, to enter. None of us had expected the water, but we didn’t care. We turned on our flashlights, sloshed through the water in our tennis shoes, and ventured into the darkness

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TO GLUE, BLAST, PAVE & MOB DELICATE ARCH: A HISTORY —Jim Stiles (ZX#45)

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Delicate Arch…the name sounds familiar. In its online literature the National Park Service at Arches National Park calls Delicate Arch “the best known arch in the world.” In years past, the State of Utah considered the arch “so iconic” that it stamped the arch’s image on all state license plates. Visitation to Delicate Arch has recently become such an event that it is virtually impossible to experience the arch alone, or even with a small group of fellow tourists…

…As far back as the late 19th Century, ranchers and cowboys and maybe a few sheepherders had come across the arch. None of them were impressed; tourism was still an industry that had only occurred to a few. Even the uniqueness of this sandstone span failed to attract many visitors.

John Wesley Wolfe moved West from Ohio for health reasons. His doctor thought the desert air might extend his life. He and his son Fred found their way to Southeast Utah, to the Salt Wash area below the arch and established a ranch there in 1898. He built a primitive cabin and eked out a living. When his daughter Flora Stanley and her husband Ed visited him in 1907, she was appalled at the living conditions and made him build a new cabin. At some point he mentioned the arch to his daughter who made the two mile trek and is credited with the first known photo of what was then called “The School Marm’s Bloomers.” According to early Park Service reports, the arch sported a variety of nicknames, from “Pants Crotch,” to “Mary’s Bloomers, to the less colorful “Salt Wash Arch.” It most likely depended on which name the various ranchers preferred.

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JACKSON HOLE’S LAST HONEST COWBOY SUMMER: 1970 … Jim Stiles (ZX#44 )

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This was 1970, when there was a huge culture divide in America, not seen since…until now. But it was “Hippie Summer” in Jackson that year and the clash between the newcomers and the locals got pretty intense. Even Walt’s five boys called me “Hippie Jim,” though without any hint of malice. The boys stopped by regularly to see their dad and I often got to kid around with them too. But we all liked each other, regardless of hair length. That wasn’t always the case. There were numerous skirmishes between the “hard hats & the hippies,” and sometimes it got a tad ugly.

I worked the noon to 10 PM shift at Harold’s and Most of the locals waited until evening to gas up. During the day, the tourists were regular customers who also complained bitterly about the price of gas— 44.9 cents a gallon and believe it or not, that was one of the highest gas prices in the country. Still I always preferred the evening business when the ranchers and other working men stopped by.
One local was a particular favorite. His name was Tom Fortune. He was about 6 feet tall and might have weighed 130 pounds after a hard rain. His waist could not have been more than 28 inches. Tom had an agreement with Harold that he could use the bays after hours and he was a frequent visitor. Like so many ranchers, he got by on a wing and a prayer and baling wire. He had more patches than rubber on much of his farm equipment and still owned a lot of tires with split rims, which are a real pain to change. But Tom was not one to give up on a wheel or a piece of machinery if he could jury-rig it and keep it alive for a bit longer.

Tom was a man who never complained and never bragged. In fact, he just didn’t like to waste time on unnecessary conversation. One evening he came in with another flat and as he climbed out of his old truck, he was clearly injured and in pain. Tom Fortune might have only been in his late 30s but he was moving like a man twice that. I was concerned…

“Are you okay, Tom? I asked.

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