This is Page 4.
See Page 1 for an index to the questions, answers, and poems.
new 5/4/06
There's a lot about life as I've lived it ...
Ray has been seeking info about a poem that goes:
There's a lot about life as I've lived it, a lot about this and that,
I've been content by the wayside, when I might have been rolling in fat.
I've stirred up my chow in the jungle, 'long side an old water tank,
Done time in the stir house in Folsom, for blowing the poke in a bank.
That tough me a lot about shysters, lay off that bad breed when you fall.
A good yeggman now Bro is more honest, he lacks that bad traders rank gall.
Then up through the drifts to Alaska, where gold is the hard god of lust.
I was dead on the square but a hustling she bear, squandered my poke of its dust.
Then off for a cruise in the tropics, I got into some bad politics,
Was washed from the deck of a hurricane wreck, while running in guns for the sp__ks
Then back to the states on a freighter, that was smuggling Ch__ks and hop,
And I starts kickin' logs with the heathen, in the Nassau and New Orleans flops.
That place reeked the smell of a paradise hell, plumb rotten with vice ridden dirt,
But I shook off the yen in this sin crusted den, for the likes of a straight little skirt.
Then back to the old straight and narrow, with a job as cashier in a bank,
Four walls and a clean roof above me, a good little woman to thank.
When out of the past like a serpents head, with the fangs of a white livered rat,
A good pal that I trusted betrayed me, but I forgave the poor devil for that
That taught me a lot about silence, I'll never squeal on a pal that I know.
That cost me a year in Atlanta, the judge said I was shoving queer dough.
Ray writes: As I type these lines, tonight, I am not sure if I have the verses and stanzas in the right order. I haven't seen this poem in print. I learned it while following a herd of cows with a man named Wayne (Lopey) Heller. Lopey was a Dakota cowboy that served this country as a GI during World War Two. He was captured by the Germans and spent considerable time in the infamous Nazi prison camp. During the 1950s Lopey was the wagon boss on he ZX ranch that Sunny Hancock wrote about. I'm not completely sure, but I think Lopy is the man that got the ZX buckaroos a bunkhouse to winter in. I didn't work there until 1955 but I was told that before Lopey's time they lived in tents year round. They considered it very posh to get to sleep two or three months under a hard roof and have a cook-house with a dinner table you could set a plate on instead of their setting it on their knees in the wagon tent. In those days they said the teats hung out of the back of the cow's bag from the calves suckling between the cows back legs as they moved
on up the trail. The ZX wagon used to be on the move from the middle of February until sometime in December. In December they would start right away to make up herds so that by the middle of Feb. they would be ready to throw a big herd together and head for the high desert. Lopey's crew went to the desert one year with 8500 head of dry cows. Now I don't know if you know how many cows eight thousand five hundred head of is but that is a bunch!! In the days of the big trail drives they didn't take bunches that big. They had to break them up into smaller bunches so they could get feed. Lopey was only an the trail about four to seven days so feed was not a problem. At the end of the drive these cattle would be dropped in great stands of bunch grass left over from the year before.
Have an answer for Ray? Email us.
updated 7/13/06
new 5/4/06
Cowboy's prank about coveralls Answered!
Phil writes:
I remember many years ago hearing a really funny poem at a Cowboy Poet & Old time Fiddler's gathering. I can't remember which cowboy poet performed it, but I think it was called "A Cowboy's Prank" or something close to that. It was about some cowboys working some cows in the dead of winter. All were wearing insulated coveralls. One of them got a pain & had to go over behind the corral to do his business. A cowboy snuck up behind him just as he was finishing his job & with a shovel, took away the pile that he had deposited on the ground! He was convinced that it had dropped into his coveralls, causing him to completely disrobe. If you know the name of the author of this or the correct name for the poem, I would love to get a copy of it!
Sam sent a copy of the poem. He told us, "The author has always been unknown to me. A friend of mine, who is
Sioux Indian, gave it to me over ten years ago. He lives in Wolf Point Montana." It begins:In the cowboy west all pranks are fair,
And some could only happen there.
This prank that I am about to share,
Is not so nice, but extremely rare.
...
Have more to add? Email us.
new 4/20/06
"Bruin Wooin'" Answered
Phil, and a number of others, have asked us S. Omar Barker's classic, the widely recited "Bruin Wooin'." of S. Omar Barker).
Bruin Wooin'
The track of the bear that had killed Carson's pig,
It wasn't so small and it wasn't so big
But what when this cowboy come ridin' a-past,
He claimed he'd go git him--an' go git him fast.
"The dogs took his trail," the nester gal said.
"But Pa couldn't make it--he's down, sick abed.
We'd be mighty glad if you'd foller the dogs
And shoot that ol' bear 'fore he gits all our hogs!
"Well, ma'am," says the cowboy, a gleam in his eye,
"To please a fair maid, there ain't much I won't try,
For I'm Bill Maginnis, a buckaroo which
Kills panthers bare handed and bears with a switch!
So if this pig-killer ain't handy to shoot,
I'll grab me a tail holt and pop off his snoot!"
And so, spizzered up by the nester gal's smile,
Bill rode up the canyon not more than a mile,
And there found the nester's dogs bellerin' brave,
A-bayin' that bear in a little ol' cave.
To git to this openin' up there in the rocks,
Bill had to shuck boots and climb in his socks.
The ledge was plumb narrow, the cave mouth was small.
Bill stopped to peek in and saw nothin' at all,
For to this here hunter of bears with a switch,
All inside the cavern was darker than pitch.
The nester's two mongrels kept raisin' a din
Around the cave's mouth, but they wouldn't go in.
Ol' Bill tried to "sic 'em," but them dogs was wise.
They wouldn't go in--and the look in their eyes
Was purt near reproachful, up there on the shelf,
As much as to say: "Whyn't you try it yourself?
We holed up your bear--that's all we can do!
If you want him UNholed, mister, that's up to you!"
Bill knowed by the smell he was in there all right.
He struck him a match and peered in by its light.
Two little red eyes in the glow was reflected--
And then somethin' happened Bill hadn't expected:
A sweet maiden's voice drifted up from the crick:
"Could you poke the bear out if I hand you a stick?"
The nester's fair daughter had follered to view
A bear gittin' switched by her bold buckaroo.
The sight of this maiden shore give Bill a sweat,
Recallin' some braggin' he'd like to forget.
But you take a cowboy, and what he won't try
To dazzle a damsel's admirin' blue eye!
"I'll crawl in an' git him!" Bill's voice was plumb bold
In spite of the blood in his veins runnin' cold.
"I'll grab a tail-holt and I'll show you the art
Of whip-snappin' bears till they plumb fly apart!"
But when he stooped down--with his hand on his gun
'Twas bruin hisownself that started the fun.
With a growl and a squall and big whoosh of wind
He came out of there like a cat bein' skinned.
Bill riz up plumb sudden, his legs spraddled wide,
To find hisself straddlin' a hairy black hide.
The bear give a beller, Bill's gun give a boom,
They both give a lurch, and the dogs give 'em room.
Bill wrastled the bear and the bear wrastled him.
Bill grabbed for the tail-holt--and fell off the rim!
And who was on top as they rolled down the hill?
Sometimes it was the bear and sometimes it was Bill!
Then just when pore Bill thought his last blood was shed,
The gal grabbed his pistol and shot the bear dead!
Bill lived to git married--a right happy hitch--
His wife, she won't let him hunt bears with a switch.
Now this story's moral, if a moral you crave,
Points straight at you hombres that talk up too brave.
It's a plenty good rule, Mister Big-Braggin' Male:
When wrastlin' a bear, never reach for his tail!
Though reasons for this are both mighty and many,
It's mainly because he ain't got hardly any!
© S. Omar Barker, reprinted with the permission of the estate of S. Omar Barker, further reproduction without explicit permission is prohibited.
This version is from Classic Rhymes by S. Omar Barker by Cowboy Miner Productions (reprinted with their permission and the permission of the estate of S. Omar Barker).
Have something' to add? Email us.
new 3/7/06
The Last Longhorn Answered
Lefty wondered, "who wrote 'The Last Longhorn"?
Well, we looked around and found:
In the 1921 edition of Jack Thorp's Songs of the Cowboys, he writes, "I have been unable to trace the authorship of this song. Have heard it sung in many places and also recited." (See our feature and selections from this book here.)
In John Lomax's 1938 Cowboy Songs and other Frontier Ballads, he writes the song was "Said to have been written by Judge R. W. Hall, Amarillo, Texas."
Later collectors identified the author as John Wesley.
In the 1969
In Jim Bob Tinsley's 1981 He Was Singin' This Song, he profiles Wesley, includes his photo, and says "The Wesley poem was popularized by R. Walker Hall of Vernon, Texas, a prominent jurist and writer of western verse." He notes, "The Cattleman published "The Passing of the Old-Time Cowboy and Texas Longhorn" by John Wesley in 1916, eleven years later reprinting an altered form under the title "The Last Longhorn, without credit to the poet. Lone Star cowboy and range detective Charles A. Siringo printed it as "The Tough Longhorn" in a booklet of old cow-camp favorites."
Johnny Kendrick includes the song on his Western CD, and his liner notes say it was written in 1889, and, "John Wesley was a Civil War veteran who settled in Pease City, Texas, about 1880. Several of his topical verses appeared in local newspapers and he originally wrote this requiem to a way of life for a Saturday night literary meeting..."
The song was maybe best known for the recording by Carl T. Sprague back in the 1930s. In more modern times, Skip Gorman (www.skipgorman.com ) has also recorded the song.
Here is Thorp's 1921 version:
The Last Longhorn
An ancient long-horned bovine
Lay dying by the river;
There was a lack of vegetation
And the cold winds made him shiver;
A cowboy sat beside him,
With sadness in his face,
To see his final passing,--
This last of a noble race.The ancient eunuch struggled
And raised his shaking head,
Saying, "I care not to linger
When all my friends are dead.
These Jerseys and these Holsteins,
They are no friends of mine;
They belong to the nobility
Who live across the brine."Tell the Durhams and the Herefords
When they come a-grazing round,
And see me lying stark and stiff
Upon the frozen ground,
I don't want them to bellow
When they see that I am dead,
For I was born in Texas,
Near the river that is Red."Tell the coyotes, when they come at night,
A-hunting for their prey,
They might as well go further,
For they'll find it will not pay:
If they attempt to eat me
They very soon will see
That my bones and hide are petrified,--
They'll find no beef on me."I remember in the seventies,
Full many summers past,
There was grass and water plenty,
But it was too good to last.
I little dreamed what would happen
Some twenty summers hence,
When the nester came with his wife, his kids,
His dogs, and the barbed-wire fence.His voice sank to a murmur,
His breath was short and quick;
The cowboy tried to skin him
When he saw he could n't kick;
He rubbed his knife upon his book
Until he made it shine,
But he never skinned old longhorn,
'Case he could n't cut his rine.And the cowboy riz up sadly
And mounted his cayuse,
Saying, "The time has come when longhorns
And cowboys are no use."
And while gazing sadly backward
Upon the dead bovine
His bronc stepped in a dog-hole
And fell and broke his spine.The cowboys and the longhorns
Who pardnered in eighty-four
Have gone to their last round-up
Over on the other shore;
They answered well their purpose,
But their glory must fade and go,
Because men say there's better things
In the modern cattle show.
Jim Bob Tinsley's He Was Singin' This Song notes that the original poem ends:
They answered well their purpose when they used to ride the line,
But their glory has departed in 1889.
A version in the 1969 Cowboy and Western Songs by Austin E. and Alton S. Fife includes a verse:
It was only one short year ago that some of them remained,
But they were embalmed to feed the boys who were a-fighting Spain
The heel-fly will soon be around and they torment me so,
I would not die in springtime so now is the time to go.A note on The Ballad Index site comments on that version, which has the same ending as the original poem described by Tinsely, "The dating of the Fifes' version is rather strange; the final verse says that the cowboys' 'glory has departed in 1889,' but earlier it said that the last comrades of the longhorn 'were embalmed to feed the boys who were a-fighting Spain' (placing the song after 1898). Since the cow also refers to the 1880s as 'some nineteen summers past,' the correct date in the final verse is probably 1899..."
Have something to add? Email us.
updated 5/6/06
new 2/27/06
Airplanes and broncs
Doyle wrote to us that he was after "a poem/song about a dude going out to a ranch and the boys got him on bucking bronco, then one of them went to the city and the dude got him in an airplane and he describes the maneuvers in cowboy terms. I believe the poem I'm after is well over fifty years old as it was at least that long ago that I heard it.
(We had suggested "Turbulence" by Murray Hartin, but that's not the one.)
Bill Black suggested "The Flying Cowboy" by Gail Gardner, but that's not the one, either.
Have an answer for Doyle? Email us.
new 2/14/06
The Cowboy's Dance Song (The High-Toned Dance) Answered!!
Terry wrote: I heard this cowboy poem, I can't remember the title or the author, but its about a cowboy dance and the only line I can remember is "I cut me a heifer out from the herd."
We happened to know that one: it's James Barton Adams' "The Cowboy's Dance Song" (sometimes called "The High-Toned Dance").
The Cowboy's Dance Song
Now you can't expect a cowboy to agitate his shanks
In the etiquettish fashion of aristocratic ranks
When he's always been accustomed to shake the heel and toe
At the rattling rancher dances where much etiquet don't go.
You can bet I see them laughing in quite an excited way,
A-giving of their squinters an astonished sort of play,
When I happened into Denver and was asked to take a prance
In the smooth and easy mazes of a high-toned dance.
When I got among the ladies in their frocks of fleecy white,
And the dudes togged out in wrappings that were simply out of sight,
Tell you what, I was embarrassed, and somehow I couldn't keep
From feeling like a burro in a purty flock of sheep.
Every step I made was awkward and I blushed a fiery red
Like the principal adornment of a turkey gobbler's head.
The ladies said 'twas seldom that they had had the chance
To see an old-time puncher at a high-toned dance.
I cut me out a heifer from a bunch of pretty girls
And yanked her to the center to dance the dreamy whirls
She laid her head upon my bosom in a loving sort of way,
And we drifted into heaven as the band began to play.
I could feel my neck a-burning from her nose's breathing heat,
And she do-ce-doed around me, half the time upon my feet;
She peered up in my blinkers with a soul-disolving glance
Quite conducive to the pleasures of a high-toned dance.
Every nerve just got a-dancing to the music of delight
And I hugged the light sagehen uncomfortably tight;
But she never made a bellow and the glances of her eyes
Seemed to thank me for the pleasures of a genuine surprise.
She snugged up against me in a loving sort of way,
And I hugged her all the tighter for her trustifying play,--
Tell you what, the joys of heaven ain't a cussed circumstance
To the hug-a-mania pleasures of a high-toned dance.
When they struck the old cotillion on the music bill of fare,
Every bit of devil in me seemd to bust out on a tear.
I fetched a cowboy whoop and started in to rag,
And cut her with my trotters till the floor began to sag;
Swung my pardner till she got sea sick and rushed for a seat;
I balanced to the next one, but she dodged me slick and neat.--
Tell you what, I shook the creases from my go-to-meeting pants
When I put the cowboy trimmings on that high-toned dance.
by James Barton Adams
above version from the Songs of the Cattle Trail by John Lomax (1919)James Barton Adams (1842-1918) cowboyed for a short time in New Mexico and later was a Denver journalist. He published a book of poetry, Breezy Western Verse, in Denver in 1899. Read more about James Barton Adams here.
"The Cowboy's Dance Song" is not included in Breezy Western Verse, but it appears with other Adams poems in Songs of the Cattle Trail and Cow Camp by John A. Lomax and in other anthologies.
"The Cowboy's Dance Song" is sometimes called "The High-Toned Dance."
Wylie and the Wild West recorded the song (as "The High-Toned Dance") on their Cowboy Ballads and Dance Songs CD.
Glenn Ohrlin has several recordings of the song, and he performs it on the Cowboy Poetry Classics CD from Smithsonian Folkways Recordings.
Have something to add? Email us.
updated 2/22/06
new 2/17/06
One Rank Bull Named Psycho ("Distractions") Answered!!
Jerry wrote to us: I am working with a group of 6th-8th grade students in a Texas Poetry reciting competition. One of the students wants to do a Cowboy poem entitled “Distractions” that another teacher Found in her files from several years back. In order to compete, We must have documentation proving the author of the piece. As of yet, we haven’t been able to find the name of the person Who wrote this humorous poem. Can you help?
The poem begins:
He wuz one rank bull, PSYCHO wuz his name,
His only purpose in life wuz to inflict pain!Linda Kirkpatrick recognized the poem, and identified the author: cowboy cartoonist A. W. Erwin. We were in touch with him, and he kindly gave permission to post the poem. He told us, "I did a few other poems that are in a couple of my other books...I only do a poem once in a blue moon, when the mood hits me, as almost all of my time is spent drawing my cowboy cartoons. Also, for any of your poets out there, I also do a fair amount of illustrations for poems or short stories, so keep me in mind."
Visit A. W. Erwin's web site.
Here's the entire poem:He wuz one rank bull, PSYCHO wuz his name,
His only purpose in life wuz to inflict pain!
I wuz really depressed, I didn't have a chance!
Maybe I'd skip all this, and go straight to th' Dance.
Then what I saw next, made me really sweat;
He had notches on his horns for each victim he'd met!
"HE'S A NIGHTMARE COME TO LIFE," I heard someone say,
"HOPE YER INSURANCE IS PAID UP, YOU'LL SHORE NEED IT TODAY!"
With encouragement like that, I should've gone on back home,
Cuz one thing I'm allergic to, is badly broken bones!
But I climbed on his back, as he stood in th' chute,
An' I wrote out my WILL, then stuffed it in my boot.
Now th' chute boss wuz hollerin', an' shakin' his fists;
"GIT THIS SHOW ON TH' ROAD, I AIN'T GOT TIME FER THIS!"
So I yanked my hat down, plumb over my ears,
Took a deep firm seat, an' prepared to shift gears.
With a nod I signaled, "BUT WAIT, I CHANGED MY MIND!"
"NOPE, IT'S TOO LATE!" said someone from behind.
We exploded outta that chute, like a clap o' thunder,
Th' gravitational pull almost sucked me under!
He grunted an' bellered, an' slobbered everywhere,
He wuz buckin' so high, I 'bout fainted fer lack o' air!
But worse came to worse, as he broke into a spin,
I heard th' announcer call out, "CONTACT HIS NEXT O' KIN!"
Suddenly my hat flew off, an' my boots did too!
HECK, I was comin' undressed ridin' this wild corkscrew!
When that buzzer finally sounded, I wuz happy as could be;
Cuz I was still on top, an' he wuz still under me!
Now gittin' off wuz easy; with such style an' grace!
I fell like a rock, an' landed right on my face!
Now th' clown, he left; he had to take a phone call,
Least that's whut he said as he jumped over th' wall.
As I got up from th' ground; all I could see;
Wuz this huge T-BONE comin' after me!
Then he hooked an' stomped me, right there in th' dirt!
He hit me in places I didn't know could hurt!
He finally trotted away with his tail in th' air,
Leavin' me busted an' broke, jus' barely standin' there.
I waited fer th' judges, to give out my score,
But they wuz watchin' this gal, up on row number 4!
They turned an' smiled, then said with a grin:
"WE DIDN'T CATCH ALL THAT, YOU'LL HAFTA DO IT AGAIN!"
© A. W. Erwin
This poem may not be reprinted or reposted without the author's written permission.
Have something' to add? Email us.
updated 5/4/06
new 2/17/06
Jack McGee of the Double E ...
Pat wrote to us: I'm trying to track down an old poem which begins "Jack McGee of the Double E was king of the cattle trail. He was six foot two and beef clear through, and hard as a keg of nails." I was eight years old in about 1939 or 1940 and we lived with my three uncles who were in high school. They were always bringing poems home and I would try to memorize them.
John added: I don't have an answer for Pat as I,too, am looking for this recitation. I heard it recited by a taxi driver in 1960 and only remember that first verse that went like this:
Big Jack McGee from the Double D
Was boss of the cattle trails
He was six foot two and beef all through
And hard as a keg of nails.Although I don't know any more of the verses I do know that the story is about Big Jack going into a bar and while ordering his drink a little short guy comes in and Big Jack begins to taunt him about his size. A gunfight ensues and the little guy is lightning fast on the draw. The last line goes: And Big Jack cashed in his chips. For an identical story one only has to listen to a western song sung by
Marty Robbins called "Mr. Shorty."[You can read the lyrics to Mr. Shorty here: http://www.cowboylyrics.com/tabs/robbins-marty/mr-shorty-2395.html]
Have an answer for Pat and John? Email us.
new 2/17/06
Old Brown Dogs
Todd writes: I'm trying to find a poem called "Old Brown Dogs" I heard it on the radio in El Paso about 1998 and have not been able to find it since. The poem was about the good things about old brown dogs. The phrase "old brown dogs" was repeated through out the poem.
Have an answer for Todd? Email us.
new 2/17/06
Steer Hide Sled
Bob writes: While at a cowboy poets gathering in Prescott, Arizona in 2004 I heard a poem about some cowboys having some winter fun. Seems they used an old steer hide as a sled and going under a barbed wire fence that was a little lower than they thought! Seems part of their anatomy got caught on the wire with predictable results. The whole thing was hilarious!...It was on the big stage and I believe it was on the first night. As the group sat around one cowboy came up with this one. One part in particular was a "sleigh" ride on a steer hide under a barbed wire fence that was lower than expected with an ear being caught on a barb.
Have an answer for Bob? Email us.
new 2/17/06
Saloon Fire Act of God
Bob wrote about two poems he heard at a gathering near Grand Canyon: The first is a story of a preacher who objects to a saloon being built across the street, and prays for it to burn down. When it does, the saloon owner sues him for causing the fire with his prayers. In his defense, the preacher claims he had nothing to do with it, as it was an act of God. The punch line is that we have a case in which the saloon owner believes in the power of prayer, and a preacher who does not.
Have an answer for Bob? Email us.
Updated 2/28/06
new 2/17/06
Types of People Tongue Twister ("People Are Funny Critters," by Baxter Black) Answered!!
Bob wrote about two poems he heard at a gathering near Grand Canyon: The second is a fast, tongue-twisting categorization of the many types of people in the world. Some lines include, "There are Kleenex people, hanky people, scratch golfers, duffer golfers." Other lines might be (I'm making this up, but you get the idea) "There are short people, tall people, fat people, skinny people" and so on. Makes you smile at the cleverness as the recital rambles on.
Robert Dennis knew that Bob was thinking of Baxter Black's poem, "People are Funny Critters," which is in Baxter's Coyote Cowboy Poetry book and other publications and recordings by Baxter. The poem begins:
People are funny critters.
There's apple pie bakers,
And crooked book makers,
And blondes and brunetters,
And birthday forgetters
...
Have something to add? Email us.
new 12/27/05
Forever More May You Ride
Sally wrote to us: I am a crafter and sell a lot of western items. I had a young girl come in asking for a cowboy prayer that had a line in it "wind at your back" and the ending was "Forever more may you ride." She read it when she was little and her husband just died and she is trying to find it to put on her husband's monument. If you can help us please let us know.
Have an answer for Sally? Email us.
Updated 1/8/07
new 12/27/05
Christmas Stranger
Greg wrote to us: I'm looking for a copy of a cowboy story I read 20 years ago. It's about a wrangler in up in the mountains who finishes his work on a Saturday night and rides down the snowy mountain roads at breakneck speed, to the dance in the valley below, on Christmas Eve. However he is delayed by a poor homesteader family, father ill, mother trying to prepare a Christmas for her young
children. He spends the night, doing chores and giving of himself so that there will be a Christmas for this family. Then he rushes out, jumps on his horse, and realizes that he's too late for the dance. Then, in the snowy mountain night, he meets a Christmas stranger, that makes his efforts all worthwhile.Karen writes:
I'm pretty sure that the gentleman is looking for the magnificent short story by Jack Schaeffer "Stubby Pringle's Christmas"...I read it every year, and have never made it all the way through without crying. The gentleman likely knows of Mr. Schaeffer's other works, such as Shane and Monte Walsh.
See an item about the story here on another Who Knows? page.
Have something to add? Email us.
new 12/27/05
The Last Fight of Cocklebur Bill
Bruce wrote to us: Growing up in the East, I was blessed to have a "mentor" (closest word I can find to describe what he was to me), who was a cowboy in the 1930s (mostly in Wyoming and Montana). In addition to classical violin, he taught me many cowboy songs and shared his cowboy stories. One involved a fight he was part of that was recounted in a song sung to him in a typical song exchange around a "road fuddler's" campfire some years after the fight. The song was called "The Last Fight of Cocklebur Bill." It described the fight between "Highpockets" Bob Johnson (my mentor) and Cocklebur Bill, a huge one-eyed half-breed Indian. Although Bob lost the fight and was only saved from God-knows-what-end by Cocklebur Bill's ferocity by the intervention of the foreman, a big Swede called "Heavy Handsome," the song turned the truth on its head and made Bob the winner. I've been searching for years for this song without success and finally decided to memorialize both the fight and the phantom song by writing my own song (which I call "Highpockets Bob").
Would any of you out there know anything about the original "Last Fight of Cocklebur Bill," any of the characters (all real) mentioned in the story, or even the term "road fuddler," (itinerants, maybe like gypsies) which no one else I've ever mentioned the term to ever heard of?There's a version of Bruce's song elsewhere on the web: http://www.homepages.dsu.edu/jankej/oldwest/brill.htm
Have an answer for Bruce? Email us.
new 12/27/05
The Old Men
Mike wrote to us: I am looking for a poem I saw some years ago, I believe it was titled "The Old Men." The theme of the piece was a man recalling his younger days listening to the "old men" talk about the old days and wondering to himself if he would have "made a hand." As the poem finishes he is at his dad's funeral, and commenting to a childhood friend that now we are "the old men."
Have an answer for Mike? Email us.
new 12/27/05
Dumb Herd of Cattle Answered!!
Berneta wrote to us: My Dad (would be 78) use to recite part of a poem that he learned in High School. No one seems to know who wrote it - or its name. It had one line that I remember and it is: "Don't be like a dumb herd of cattle...." Would you happen to know what the poem would be? My Dad was a dairyman and the line of the poem is just a memory. I hope you can help me.
Ray found this one. It is "Psalm of Life" by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow (1807-1882):
Tell me not in mournful numbers,
Life is but an empty dream!
For the soul is dead that slumbers,
And things are not what they seam.
Life is real! Life is earnest!
And the grave is not it's goal;
Dust thou art, to dust returnest,
Was not spoken of the soul.
Not enjoyment, and not sorrow,
Is our destined end nor way,
But to act that each to-marrow,
Finds us farther then today.
Art is long , and time is fleeting,
And our hearts, though stout and brave,
Still like muffled drums are beating,
Funeral marches to the grave.
In the world's broad field of battle,
In the bivouac of life,
Be not like dumb, driven cattle!
Be a hero in the strife!
Trust no future, howe'er pleasant!
Let the dead past bury it's dead!
Act,-act in the living Present!
Heart within, and God o'erhead!
Lives of great men all remind us,
We can make our lives sublime,
And departing leave behind us,
Footprints in the sands of time.
Footprints that perhaps another,
Sailing o'er life's solemn main,
A forlorn and shipwrecked brother,
Seeing, shall take heart again.
Let us then be up and doing,
With a heart for any fate;
Still achieving, still pursuing,
Learn to labor, and to wait.1838
Have something to add? Email us.
new 11/15/05
It Was Cold and Damp....
Jeanie wrote to us: A geezer my husband works with recites these lines often. They are rattling around in both their heads. I have to agree it sounds familiar. None of us can come up with the who or what of it all...
"...it was cold and damp when we entered the camp, it was buffalo meat we eat, they shot a man dead for what he said but they always treated me ok......"
Have an answer for Jeanie? Email us.
new 11/15/05
Ride the Clay
Sylvia wrote to us: I am looking for the name of an old poem, the poem is about a cowboy having his morning coffee, and ... he declares to the other cowboys that he is going to ride the clay, and the other cowboys comment that the clay can not be rode. Then the poem proceeds, he saddles the bronc and he begins to buck it out, and after a hell of a ride, the cowboy and the bronc ride out of sight and the last line of the poem "the cowboys shouted out with pride, as he bucked over the rise, Ride, Bolly, Ride."
Have an answer for Sylvia? Email us.
new 11/15/05
Cayenne Pepper Bill
Jean wrote to us: My husband's dad used to say this poem around Christmastime when my husband was a little tyke. Little did we know after he passed away, that we would be trying to find it. The name of it was: "Cayenne Pepper Bill."
Have an answer for Jean? Email us.
updated 12/27/05
updated 11/15/05
updated 10/14/05
new 3/25/05
Bunkhouse Christmas Answered! With some questions remaining
Ray wrote to us to tell us about his favorite poem for our Favorite Western and Cowboy Poems project, and that poem comes with a mystery. He told us:
... With this Iraq conflict going on, last Christmas I thought of a poem that was published in about 1942 in either the Western Livestock Journal or Ranch Romance magazine. I believe it was called "Bunkhouse Christmas" ... I was a little boy of about eight or ten years of age my older brother (11th armored division) and his wife-to-be (an army nurse) were in Patton's army in France and my older sister was in the Women's Army Corps here in the states. Her husband to be was in the Asian (China - Burma - India ) theater working on the Burma Road. This poem really stuck in my mind. If anyone has access to this poem I would like to hear from them.
The junipers whiten with snow softly falling,
Somewhere down the draw there's an old cow a bawling.
There aint nothing ails her we're plumb sure of that,
For the grass has been good and the stock is all fat.
...Well Mary Lou came to the rescue. She told us:
The real name of this poem is "Empty Saddles at Christmas" by S. Omar Barker. He won a Spur Award for it in 1967.
Sure enough you can see the poem title listed here in the Spur Awards from the Western Writers of America, where they note it was in Western Horseman in 1966. With the kind permission of the estate of S. Omar Barker, here is the poem:
Empty Saddles at Christmas
The junipers whiten with snow softly fallin';
Somewhere down in the draw there's an ol' cow a-bawlin'.
There ain't nothin' ails her -- we're plumb sure of that,
For grass has been good and the stock is all fat.
And yet, driftin' in on the snow-feathered breeze,
The sound brings a feelin' of wishful unease
To us old hands settin' here cozy and warm,
Snug-sheltered and safe from this Christmas Eve storm:
A strange, lonesome feelin' we can't push away,
Rememberin' tomorrow will be Christmas day;
Rememberin' it's Christmas and wonderin' when
Them two empty saddles will be rode again.
There's two pairs of spurs and two hats on their pegs,
And two pairs of chaps meant for young cowboy legs
A-hangin' unused on the old bunkhouse wall--
But the boys they belong to ain't hearin' cows bawl.
They're hearin' machine guns, the whine of a shell,
And all them strange sounds of a war that's plain hell;
The sea waves a-slappin' the side of a boat,
The ominous roar from a big bomber's throat;
The strange, alien language of little brown men--
The same sounds all over and over again,
While deep in their hearts what they're longin' to hear
Is wind in the cedars, the bawl of a steer.
Us oldsters, we set here this Christmas Eve night
A-thinkin' of cowboys that's gone off to fight.
If our thoughts could reach 'em, here's what we would say:
"We're doin' our best, boys, since you went away.
The ranch is still here and the cattle well-tended.
Your horses are fed and the fences are mended.
Looks like a white Christmas will show up at dawn.
We hope it's the last one you boys will be gone.
There's an old cow a-bawlin'--she claims her calf's missin'--
Sure wish that you boys was here with us to listen.
© 1966, S. Omar Barker, reprinted with the permission of the estate of S. Omar Barker, further reproduction without explicit permission is prohibited.In November, 2005, after Ray got a copy of the poem, he commented:
I still carry a vivid memory of reading and learning this poem in an old log house in Montana that burned to the ground in January of 1943. The lines I remember "The sea slappin soft 'ginst the side of a boat, The four motored roar of a big bomber's throat" date it more to the aircraft and the big Navy of the Second World War. I remember "Three pair of spurs, three hats on their peg and three pair of chaps meant for young cowboy's legs", not two. I guess I'll always wonder if S.O.B. wrote this poem back in the early 1940s and reworked it in 1966 or if over the years I've rewritten it in my mind to fit my life story.
Have something to say on this? Email us.
updated 11/16/05
updated 11/15/05
new 10/20/02Buckskin Bow
Out on an Indian Reservation...
Penny in Canada asks:
Can anyone help me find the complete words to "Buckskin Bow?" I believe that's the title and I do have most of the words, but would be interested in the author's name:
"T'was a calm and peaceful evening in a camp called Buckskin Bow.
The drinks were flowing freely with a bright and gurgly glow.
The boys about the layout were feeling pretty gay.
They were packing up their bedding in a reckless sort of way.
Sitting behind the table was a man called Henry Dean........"My Dad is 84 and has always had a wonderful memory for reciting long poems such as Lasca and the above. I love to hear him recite poetry especially when the whole family gets together, especially at Christmas.
Another favourite begins with:
"Out on an Indian Reservation, far from civilization,
where few pale face feet had ever trod,
Whiten(?) went a fishin' there one summer......"In November, 2005, Larry wrote:
I thought I would send you what I learned sometime back as lyrics to a song called, among other things, "Hanky Dean."
Some of the initial lines are close enough that I suspect they share a common origin even if it is not the precise poem that
Penny seeks. Here goes...
HANKY DEAN
----------
T'was a calm and peacful evening in a camp called Arapaho,
And the whisky was a runnin with a soft and gentle flow.
The music was a ringin' in the dance hall 'cross the way,
And the dancers were a swinging just as close as they could sway.
People gathered round the tables a bettin' up their wealth,
Nearby stood a stranger who had come there for his health.
He was a peaceful stranger, tho he seemed to be un-strong,
For just before he'd left his home he'd been parted from one lung.
Nearby at a table, sat a man named Hanky Dean.
A tougher man than hanky, buckskin chaps had never seen.
Oh, Hanky was a gambler and he sure did hate to lose,
But he'd been sep-a-rated from a sun-dried stack of blues.
Hank rose from the table, on the floor his last chip flung,
Then cast his fiery glimmers on the man with just one lung.
"No wonder I been losin' every bet I bet tonight,
A sucker and a tenderfoot was between me and the light!
"Look here, little stranger, do you know who I am?"
"Yes, and I don't care -- a copper-colored dam."
The dealers stopped their dealing and the players held their breath,
For words like them to Hanky were a sudden flirt with death.
"Listen Little Stranger while I read my pedigree,
I am known for handlin' tenderfeet and worser men than ye.
The lions on the mountains, I have rode into their lairs,
The wildcats are my playmates, and I wrestle Grizzly Bears.
"Why, the centipedes cain't even mar my tough old sunburned hide,
And the rattle snakes what bit me, they just crawled right off and died.
I'm wilder than the wildest horse what ever roamed the range,
The moss grows on my teeth, wild blood flows through my veins.
"I'm wild, and I'm wolly, and I am full of fleas,
I've never, ever been -- curried below the knees.
And now Little Stranger, if you'll give my your address,
How would you like to go? By mailboat or express?"
Well the gentle Little Stranger, who was leanin' against the door,
Picked up a hand of playin' cards, that were scattered on the floor.
Picking out the four-of-spades, he pinned it to the door,
Then stepped 20 paces across that bar room floor.
As he turned, he drew like lightening, four times did his six-gun roar,
He blotted out each pip, from the card upon the door.
For he had traveled with the circus, and had only quit that day.
"I have one more left, Mister, if you wish to call the play."
Then Hank stepped up to the stranger and this is how he spoke,
"Why the lions on the mountains, that was nothin' but a joke.
Never mind about the extra, you're a bold, bad, shootin' man,
And I'm a meek, little child -- and harmless as a lamb.
--That song shares some words with other songs and poems. For example, "I'm wild, and I'm woolly, and I am full of fleas,
I've never, ever been -- curried below the knees" show up in a number of poems and stories and such. That's how "Powder River, Let'er Buck" by Jack Lee ends, and in American Ballads and Folk Songs by John A. Lomax and Alan Lomax (1934) the lines are listed as one of a number of "cowboy boasts."Here's what Penny said when we sent her Larry's words:
Wow! I'd forgotten about my request for the words to "Buckskin Bow," and name of the author! Yes, I was still interested! When I checked the date of my original request (Sept '02), my heart jumped. I had mentioned that my Dad recited many long poems from memory, "Lasca", etc. Shortly before that letter, my Dad and I had been on a day trip in the truck, poking around the country, and he had been reciting his favourite poems for a friend. Three months after posting my request to you, my Dad was diagnosed with cancer and I lost him 6 months later. What wonderful memories were brought back when I found your e-mail reply today! It's never too late!
Have something to add? Email us.
posted 9/29/05
Geese Flying South by E. E. KirkpatrickPoet Linda Kirkpatrick is looking for info about E. E. Kirkpatrick, the author "Geese Flying South," a book of cowboy poetry published in May, Texas, in 1953.
Have any info for Linda? Email us.
updated 2/24/06
updated 11/16/05
posted 9/29/05
Texas A Paradise/Hell in Texas (Answered...?)JB wrote:
In the 1880s, one E. U. Cook migrated to Texas and became a ranch manager in Frio County. In 1887, thoroughly fed up after three years of drought, he wrote "Hell in Texas," gave it to Albert Friedrich, founder of the famed buckhorn Curio Museum in San Antonio, and left the state. Realizing that his memories of "back home" were not as good as realities of Texas, he came back and in 1892, with the drought forgotten, wrote and equally popular poem entitled "Paradise in Texas."
I have several different versions of "Hell in Texas" but have been unable to locate "Paradise in Texas." If you can assist my search with one or more versions of this poem I will be forever grateful. I also have heard other versions of the writing of these poems but am unable to verify or deny any of them.
When we asked, he added:
The information that I have concerning E. U. Cook comes from a small paperback book entitled Texas Brags. It is offered in a footnote to the poem "Hell in Texas" on page 51 of my 1960 edition. This encyclopedia of Texas facts and fun was collected by John Randolph and published and printed by him at Tomball, Texas. My printing is dated 1960, but there are several earlier versions copyrighted back to 1944. I also have 1951 version and a 1968 version.
Tthere are copies of many editions of the Texas Brags book available. We searched www.addall.com to find one for just $1.49.
Well, we had this much (or little, depending how you look at it) to say:
In the 1921 Songs of the Cowboys, N. Howard ("Jack") Thorp writes, "This song was originally entitled 'The Birth of New Mexico.' I have five different versions of it. As each version is supposed to be by a different author, and I can only procure the names of three of the, I shall brand it as a 'maverick' and let it go at that." (See our feature and selections from this book here.)You can see it as a postcard here with the poem and where it says it is by the author of "Hell in Texas" (but doesn't name him).
Here's a site that has both poems on old postcards: http://www.cowboysong.com/cards/cardsb1.html
Now, just who that author is, is a good question. At the Fife Folklore Archives, they have both poems in their collection, but no author:
http://library.usu.edu/Folklo/folkarchive/westerncowboypoetrycoll.html (box 6, folder 3)
Here's a whole board about E. U. Cook, but they seem to have more questions than answers, too:
http://www.emule.com/2poetry/phorum/read.php?7,154649,155145
We checked out the Library of Congress, too, with no luck there.In American Ballads and Folk Songs by John A. Lomax and Alan Lomax (1934) they write several pages about the song, never referring to E. U. Cook. They mention that the song has been called "The Devil in Hell" and "The Founding of New Mexico," and note that N. Howard Thorp's 1908 Songs of the Cowboys prefaces "Hell in Texas" "with the remark that 'this song was originally titled "The Birth of New Mexico." They trace one version of the song to a man who asserts he "learned it in 1907 at a summer camp in Maine, from a man named Scott who had been a cowboy in New Mexico and learned the song there." There are notes about many other claims to the song's origin, and a forerunner song, "Arizona, How it was made and who made it."
We found there were lots of variations on the "Hell in Texas" poem, with different states and locations using different endings and such, mostly offensive to the local minorities. It's been recorded often as a song, and there is a version with music here and another here. It starts off like this:Oh, the Devil in Hell they say he was chained,
And there for a thousand years he remained;
He neither complained nor did he groan,
But decided he'd start up a Hell of his own,
Where he could torment the souls of men
Without being shut in a prison pen;
So he asked the Lord if He had any sand
Left over from making this great land.
The Lord He said, "Yes, I have plenty on hand,
But it's away down south on the Rio Grande,
And, to tell you the truth, the stuff is so poor
I doubt if 'twill do for Hell any more."
The Devil went down and looked over the truck,
And he said if it came as a gift he was stuck,
For when he'd examined it carefully and well
He decided the place was too dry for a Hell.
But the Lord just to get the stuff off His hands
He promised the Devil He'd water the land,
For he had some old water that was of no use,
A regular bog hole that stunk like the deuce.
So the grant it was made and the deed it was given;
The Lord He returned to His place up in heaven.
The Devil soon saw he had everything needed
To make up a Hell and so he proceeded....
Have something to add? Email us.
updated 9/29/05
new 9/16/03Podner Yo're Welcome... Dude Sands? (Answered...?)
Lisa asked: I was trying to find an old saying from when I was a kid. Since I don't know the author or title, I have had no luck. Though maybe you could help. The only words I remember anymore are: "Partner your welcome to such as we got, the leaks in the roof and the beans in the pot. . ." Well once and then we know one (or Google knows).
We answered:
We think that ditty is by that rascal Anonymous, and goes like this:
Podner, yo're welcome to such as we've got-
The leaks in the roof an' the beans in the pot-
The butter that's soft an' the bunks that are hard,
The weeds that are growin'
All over the yard.
git up when yo're ready, Be plumb at yo're ease-
Don't worry 'bout us
Just do as yuh please.
yuh don't have to thank us-- Or laff at our jokes-
Sit deep-and often
Yo're one of the folks.
We found it several places on the internet, all by "unknown."---
In September, 2005, we had a note from MP who has a copy of this poem, illustrated, with the name "Dude Sands, 1951"
We found a vintage postcard for with Dude Sands' image along with his horse Mac at Knotts Berry Farm (you might be able to still view it here) but we don't know any more about him. If you do, give us a holler.
Have something to add? Email us.
Posted 9/29/05
What Makes a Cowboy
B is after a poem called "What Makes A Cowboy" and has seen a copy that says it was by Mike Hodges. She sent a few verses:
It's the saddle sores
and the river fords
and the wind that just won't stop.
It's frozen toes
and a frost bit nose
and coffee that's never hot.
It's all this and more
that makes my neck sore
but wait, then again
It's a newborn calf
and a belly laugh
from a friend you'll always keep.B says, "From what I can remember the poem starts off telling about all of the hard stuff that comes with being a cowboy. Then about half way through it the tone changes and it tells of all of the good stuff."
Have an answer for Brandi? Email us.
updated 10/14/05
updated 9/29/05
updated 1/20/05
new 5/2/03Arthur "Slim" Vaughan (or Vaughn) and the 5-H Ranch Rodeo
Tom wrote:
I am looking for any information or publications concerning Arthur "Slim" Vaughn. I know he was a cowboy poet back in the 40's. My mother passed away last year and going through her things we found a poem written by him that was dedicated to my mother. At that time she was a performer with the 5-H Ranch rodeo in Roscoe, California. As near as I can tell the poem was written in Sept. 1946. Any information I could get would be much appreciated.
This is how the poem reads:
Dedicated to the pretty little girl in blue, (Dottie) Cowgirl of the 5h Ranch Rodeos, Roscoe, Calif.
You Fascinate and Captivate
No sculptor could, with all his skill,
Carve from marble, wood, or stone,
The likeness of, fair lovely you,
Like a queen, upon a throne.
An artist ne'er, could sketch or paint,
Upon a canvas, true;
With all his art, and color schemes,
Have beauty there, to equal you.
No song or story, could tell in full,
A million volumes long;
Nay, angels of the heavenly choir,
could sing of you, in song.
Nor a poet, with his heart aflame,
As even mine, how true;
Could ever speak, his heart aloud,
Of what he sees in you.
In a garden of violets, and roses,
With gardenias, and camellias so rare;
Butterflies, and humming birds,
Would pass them by, kiss you; it there.
No writer, artist, sculptor, poet,
Or even I, my dear;
Could ever write, tell, paint, or make,
The equal of you, in many years.
My inspired heart, could for ever write,
A million verses, how true;
Of an adorable, lovely, beautiful girl,
And whom I speak of, is you.
Composed by Arthur "Slim" Vaughn,
Cowboy Poet, Adventurer,
Tumbleweed Ranch,
Tujunga, Calif.
Sept. 15, 1946
I would like any information anyone could provide about this cowboy poet, or even the 5h Ranch Rodeos. This poem was a dedication to my mother. She is gone now but by far, not forgotten. At that time we believe she was part of "The wild Bunch" program or "Teddy's Rough Riders" program with the 5h.
Chuck added in January, 2005:
Roscoe changed its name to Sun Valley in the late 1940s. Tujunga is a few miles north and east of Sun Valley. Sun Valley is in the north central part of Los Angeles' San Fernando Valley.
Suzanne added in September, 2005:
I don't have any new information about Arthur "Slim" Vaughan, but I'd like to tell you that he was a contestant on the CBS game show "What's My Line?" - EPISODE #413 - which was originally broadcast on May 4, 1958. His episode was shown on GSN on August 10, 2005. His occupation was listed as a "Tree Surgeon" and his hometown was still Tujunga, California. The name of his company was the All American Tree Surgeon and Landscaping Company.
I manage the What's My Line? database at TV.com and Arthur "Slim" Vaughan's episode guide is here:
http://www.tv.com/whats-my-line/episode-413/episode/95896/summary.html
He had a great personality!Suzanne also pointed out that his name was spelled "Vaughan" (not Vaughn) on the program and found two great links to photos:
http://digital-library.csun.edu/cgi-bin/viewer.exe?CISOROOT=/ValleyHistory&CISOPTR=219
http://digital-library.csun.edu/cgi-bin/viewer.exe?CISOROOT=/ValleyHistory&CISOPTR=198
Have any info for Tom? Email us.
Posted 9/29/05
Tingle of the Shingle
Paul came by with this poem, which is referenced in a letter with a Mormon Battalion reference (in a PDF file here: http://www.jnjtreeclimbers.com/attachments/EdwardHunter/EdwardHunterHistory.pdf ) but no author is given:
The Tingle of the Shingle
When the angry passions rising on my mother's face I see,
When she leads me to the bedroom--lays me gently on her knee,
Then I know that I will catch it and my flesh in fancy itches,
As I wait for the tingle of the shingle on my britches.
Every tingle of the shingle brings an echo and a sting,
And a thousand burning fancies into active being spring.
And ten-thousand bees and hornets 'neath my coattail seem to swarm,
As I listen to the tingle of the shingle, oh, so warm.
In a sudden intermission which appears my only chance
I said "Strike gently, mother, or you'll split my Sunday pants."
She stops a moment, draws a breath, the shingle holds aloft,
And says, "I hadn't thought of that, my son, just take them off."
Holy Moses, and the angels cast your pitying glances down,
And, thou, oh family doctor, put a good soft poultice on,
And may I with rogues and wretches ever lasting intermingle,
If again I say a word when my mother wields a shingle.
Have any info for Paul? Email us.
Posted 9/29/05
Where's a cowgirl gonna ...
Patricia writes: In 1998 I attended the cowboy poetry gathering in Alpine, Texas. I was impressed with a poem presented at the Saturday night stage performance of the 'best of show'. I believe the title of the poem was "Where's a cowgirl gonna pee?" At least, this line was repeated several times in the poem.
There were only 8 cowgirls presenting:
Sandra Culpepper
Kay Kelley
Karen Roach McGuire
Sheryl, Tiffany, and Misty McLaurey
Jean Prescott
Ann SochatI am hoping you can find out who wrote that poem and if it appears in a magazine or book of Cowboy Poetry or how I can contact the author.
Have any info for Patricia? Email us.
Posted 9/29/05
Horse Hubby ....
Darla wrote hoping to find the author of a poem that circulates in email and on the internet. She had it as:
The Horse Hubby
My wife has a Quarter Horse, with shortened mane and extra long tail.
She thinks he is the finest thing that ever jogged a rail.and it ended ...
He'd scratched his nose a little bit, and the memory galls me yet......
She left me lying in the mud, and ran to call the VET!!!We told Darla that we found the poem all over the internet, often also called, "The Horse Husband's Lament," often is posted with no title, and often with a first line about a "flaxen mane" rather than "shortened mane." Everywhere we see it, it shows the author as "anonymous."
Darla's interested in finding the real author.
Have any info for Darla? Email us.
Updated 9/29/05
First posted so long ago we don't have a dateA Humble Donkey
Joyce wrote to us:
I am looking for a poem about a donkey. It has something to do with a beautiful horse in a pasture next to this donkey. The horse is bragging about how beautiful he is and the donkey replies humbly that he was chosen to carry the "precious newborn King", our Christ. It is a precious poem. Would you be able to help me find it? I want to read it for our Christmas program in my little Baptist Church near Cordova, Maryland. Thanks so much.
A California writer tells us this is "The Little Gray Donkey" recorded many times by Tennessee Ernie Ford. You can hear a clip of Johnny Cash doing it here: http://www.mp3.com/albums/101243/summary.html
Have anything to add? Email us.
Posted 9/29/05
I'd Like to be in Texas (answered)
A lady (who prefers to remain anonymous) came by the BAR-D who remembers a fellow she met and words he recited. She told us, "He had gone to the Cowboy Poetry Festival in Nevada, and he actually quoted quite a long poem for me, by heart. I don't know who
wrote it, or even what it was called, but at the end of every stanza was the line 'At the round-up in the spring.' I managed to fall in love with that man that night, and those words, just written on a computer screen make my heart start to beat...It's very special to me."We were glad to oblige.
Over time there've been many variations of this song, which was written by Carl Copeland & Jack Williams in 1927.
You can find one here and another here.
Don Edwards has a version on his Saddle Songs CD and Skip Gorman has one on his Lonesome Prairie Love CD (you can hear a short clip on Amazon here)
Have anything to add? Email us.
Posted 8/24/05
Mustang Gray answered!
Lefty wondered if we had the words to "Mustang Gray." Here's one version of the traditional song:
Mustang Gray
There was a brave old Texan,
They called him Mustang Gray;
He left his home when but a youth,
Went ranging far away.
But he'll go no more a-ranging
The savage to affright;
He has heard his last war whoop
And fought his last fight.
He ne'er would sleep within a tent
No comforts would he know;
But like a brave old Tex-i-can
A-ranging he would go.
When Texas was invaded
By a mighty tyrant foe,
He mounted his noble war- horse
And a-ranging he did go.
Once he was taken prisoner,
Bound in chains upon the way;
He wore the yoke of bondage
Through the streets of Monterey.
A señorita loved him
And followed by his side;
She opened the gates and gave to him
Her father's steed to ride.
God bless the señorita,
The belle of Monterey;
She opened wide the prison door
And let him ride away.
And when his veteran's life was spent,
It was his last command,
To bury him on Texas soil
On the banks of the Rio Grande;
And there the lonely traveler,
When passing by his grave,
Will shed a farewell tear
O'er the bravest of the brave.
Now he'll go no more a-ranging,
The savage to affright;
He's heard his last war- whoop
and fought his last fight.attributed to Tom Grey by Jack Thorp, from Songs of the Cowboys, 1921
The Handbook of Texas Online notes that "Mustang" Gray was written about a Texas Ranger, Marbry B. Gray, who was born in South Carolina in 1817. He went to Texas in 1835 and served with Capt. William W. Hill and participated in the battle of San Jacinto. You can read here about how he came to be called "Mustang."
There's another good article here by Mike Cox at TexasEscapes.com
One of our favorite versions of "Mustang Gray" is by Andy Hedges on his City Boys CD:
Have something to add? Email us.
Updated 7/13/06
Posted 8/24/05
Maverick follows his own way Answered!!John is lookin' for a poem about a maverick. He told us the poem is "about how the Maverick goes his own way, where others won't go, and finds strength in not being part of the crowd...What caught my attention was that the maverick should not be thought of as
running loose, but following his own path, and forging new trails."Sharon had the answer for John: It's Red Steagall's poem, "The Maverick," from his Ride for the Brand book. It begins:
A Maverick's never worn a brand,
At least not one that shows,
He's free to travel where he will,
The trail is one he chose.
(Thanks too, to John, for the note that Riders in the Sky do a version of "Reincarnation," as noted below.)
Have more to add? Email us.
Posted 8/24/05
May you pitch your tent where the wind won't hit ya ...Jeff is looking for something his dad used to recite, that includes:
May neither rain, nor sleet, nor blizzard
Disturb the joy juices of your gizzard
May you pitch your tent where the wind won't hit ya
The snakes won't bite
And the bears won't get'ch ya
Have an answer for Jeff? Email us.
Posted 8/5/05
Zebra Dun answered!
We get a lot of questions about the words to the old Cowboy song, "Zebra Dun," and about who wrote it.Glenn Ohrlin, in his classic reference to Cowboy songs, The Hell-Bound Train, tells about the song, and says, in part, "The song...seemed to be well known or at least familiar enough since long before my first working days, and it just seems I've always known the story to it. I remember a fellow called 'Cactus Mac' singing it at the late Jerry Ambler's Pickwick Bar in California. While "Mac" sang 'Zebra Dun' it was worth your front teeth to make too much noise, which would keep someone from hearing the words. The words are the main thing in this song ..."
You can see a long version by Glenn Ohrlin, posted here http://www.smsu.edu/folksong/maxhunter/0728/ with many verses and an audio file of his performance of it.
In Cowboy Songs and Other Frontier Ballads by John Lomax, he writes, "This song is said to have been composed by Jack, the Negro camp cook for a ranch on the Pecos River belonging to George W. Evans and John Z. Means. It was first sung to me by W. Bogel, a student in the Agricultural and Mechanical College of Texas.
Here is a version from Jack Thorp's 1921 Songs of the Cowboys (See our feature and selections from this book here.):
We were camped on the plains at the head of the Cimmaron
When along came a stranger and stopped to arger some.
He looked so very very foolish that we began to look around,
We thought he was a greenhorn that had just 'scaped from town.
We asked him if he had he been to breakfast; he had n't had a smear;
So we opened up the chuck-box and bade him have his share.
He took a cup of coffee and some biscuits and some beans,
And then began to talk and tell about foreign kings and queens,
About the Spanish War and fighting on on the seas
With guns as big as steers and ramrods big as trees,--
And about old Paul Jones, a mean-fighting son of a gun,
Who was the grittiest cuss that ever pulled a gun.Such an educated feller, his thoughts just came in herds,
He astonished all them cowboys with them jaw-breaking words.
He just kept on talking till he made the boys all sick
And they began to look around just how to play a trick.
He said he had lost his job upon the Santa Fe
And was going across the plains to strike the 7-D.
He did n't say how come it, some trouble with the boss,
But said he'd like to borrow a nice fat saddle horse.
This tickled all the boys to death; they laughed ' way down in their sleeves--
"We will lend you a horse just as fresh and fat as you please."
Shorty grabbed a lariat and roped the Zebra Dun
And turned him over to the stranger and waited for the fun.
Old Dunny was a rocky outlaw that had grown so awful wild
That he could paw the white out of the moon every jump for a mile.
Old Dunny stood right still--as if he didn't know--
Until he was saddled and ready for to go.
When the stranger hit the saddle, old Dunny quit the earth,
And traveled right straight up for all that he was worth.
A-pitching and a-squealing, a-having wall-eyed fits,
His hind feet perpendicular, his front ones in the bits.
We could see the tops of mountains under Dunny every jump,
But the stranger he was growed there just like the camel's hump;
The stranger sat upon him and curled his black moustache,
Just like a summer boarder waiting for his hash.
He thumped him in the shoulders and spurred him when he whirled,
To show them flunky punchers that he was the wolf of the world.
When the stranger had dismounted once more upon the ground,
We knew he was a thoroughbred and not a gent from town;
The boss, who was standing round watching of the show,
Walked right up to the stranger and told him he need n't go--
"If you can use a lasso like you rode old Zebra Dun,
You are the man I've been looking for ever since the year one."
Oh he could twirl the lariat and he did n't didn't do it slow;
He could catch them fore feet nine out of ten for any kind of dough,
There's one thing and a shore thing I've learned since I've been born,
That every educated feller ain't a plumb greenhorn.
traditional, from Songs of the Cowboys, 1921
Have something to add? Email us.
updated 8/2/05
updated 1/20/05
updated 6/10/04
new 11/29/02
"The Pearl of the Them All" by Will Ogilvie answered!
It was a long and windy road to find Will Ogilvie's "The Pearl of Them All." Here's the poem. We have a feature on Ogilvie forthcoming:
The Pearl of Them All
Gaily in front of the stockwhip
The horses come galloping home,
Leaping and bucking and playing
With sides all a lather of foam;
But painfully, slowly behind them,
With head to the crack of the fall,
And trying so gamely to follow
Comes limping the pearl of them all.
He is stumbling and stiff in the shoulder,
And splints from the hoof to the knee,
But never a horse on the station
Has half such a spirit as he;
Give these all the boast of their breeding
These pets of the paddock and stall,
But ten years ago not their proudest
Could live with the pearl of them all.
No journey has ever yet beat him,
No day was too heavy or hard,
He was king of the camp and the muster
And pride of the wings of the yard;
But Time is relentless to follow;
The best of us bow to his thrall;
And death, with his scythe on his shoulder,
Is dogging the pearl of them all.
I watch him go whinnying past me,
And memories come with a whirl
Of reckless, wild rides with a comrade
And laughing, gay rides with a girl -
How she decked him with lilies and love-knots
And plaited his mane at my side,
And once in the grief of a parting
She threw her arms round him and cried.
And I promised - I gave her my promise
The night that we parted in tears,
To keep and be kind to the old horse
Till Time made a burden of years;
And then for his sake and one woman's...
So, fetch me my gun from the wall!
I have only this kindness to offer
As gift to the pearl of them all.
Here! hold him out there by the yard wing,
And don't let him know by a sign:
Turn his head to you - ever so little!
I can't bear his eyes to meet mine.
Then - stand still, old boy! for a moment ...
These tears, how they blind as they fall!
Now, God help my hand to be steady ...
Good-bye! - to the pearl of them all!by William Henry Ogilvie
Here's some of the history of the search.
Some while back Dale asked:
Bill Gunn performed "The Pearl of Them All" at the 10th Elko Gathering. I can't find him on the internet, can you tell us anything about him and if he is still performing?
In June, 2004 Bill Gunn wrote and told us he was a mining company executive, and was interested in performing. Stay tuned, he's sending us more...
We heard from a few other people interested in the poem. Joanne asked us recently, and then JF wrote, thinking it was by Banjo Paterson. She told us she saw it on an Elko video and "I had heard Bill Gunn recite it back in 1990 at a FOXHUNT Ball of all places." So we pulled out our Elko video, not remembering that part, and once we did, we recognized that we had headed in the wrong direction.
Well when we make a blunder, we make a big one. We had gone along thinking this poem was by Bill, but in fact it is by Will Ogilvie (1869-1963). Bill Gunn performs it on the Elko 10th anniversary video, Live At Elko (the poem's author isn't mentioned in the video). The poem is included in Cowboy Poetry: The Reunion.
This video, recorded at the 10th Gathering, includes Buck Ramsey, Joel Nelson, R. W. Hampton, Virginia Bennett, Gwen Petersen, Waddie Mitchell, Bill Wood, Ian Tyson, Michael Martin Murphey, Don Edwards, Wallace McRae, Stephanie Davis, Riders in the Sky, the Sons of the San Joaquin, Paul Zarzyski...and many others.
Virginia Bennett edited Cowboy Poetry:The Reunion, a volume published by Gibbs Smith in celebration of the 20th Annual National Cowboy Poetry Gathering.
Read our feature here, which includes Virginia Bennett's introduction and the complete table of contents.
Have something to add? Email us.
new 6/21/05
Charlie and the Calumet Can Answered!
Steve wrote looking for a poem:
".....where the old cowpuncher dies on the trail, wants to be cremated, his pards do the job( a la " Sam McGee " maybe?) somehow the cookie get the ashes in a baking powder can, maybe cookie goes to town and the new cook makes the biscuits with...well, you can guess the rest..
BAR-D favorite Dennis Gaines, a riding encyclopedia of cowboy poetry, knew right off that what Steve was after was "Charlie and the Calumet Can," written by Charley Hendren and, as Dennis says, "recited very well by our good pard, Andy Hedges. It's available on Andy's CD, Days and Nights in the Saddle."
The CD is available from Andy Hedges' web site. Read more about it here at the BAR-D.
You can also hear a clip of Charley Hendren reciting the poem at his web site, where he says it was inspired by cowboy singer RW Hampton. It's on Charley's CD, The Trail Home.
Have something to add? Email us.
new 6/21/05
Never Sold My Saddle
Millicent is looking for a poem with the lines:
"I never sold my saddle and I never bred them black."(There are plenty of poems and songs with "never sold my saddle," but she's looking for the one that includes the line "never bred them black.")
Have an answer for Millicent? Email us.
new 6/21/05
Little Frankie
Sherry wrote:
I have a couple of verses from a poem supposedly written about a relative. Don't know exactly when or by whom.
Little Frankie
He was just an old cowboy
who rode these rocky peaks
and mavericked on the mesas
and camped along the creeks.
He was known among the cowboys
as the kind they liked to be with
for he had the wild girls numbers
and he generally had a fifthThere are said to 13 verses and it may have been written by Pecos Higgins who supposedly cowboyed with Dan Jackson, who is a relative of "Little Frankie."
The verses I have of "Little Frankie" were on the last page of a handwritten anthology of my genealogy on my mother's side of my family. It is written about George Franklin Jackson who was born in 1911 in Alma, New Mexico after his parents, Dan and Mollie Jackson came from Texas. They may have lived on a ranch owned by Hugh and Mae McKeen. Mae was a daughter of one of my Jacksons. Sheesh....
Have an answer for Sherry? Email us.
new 6/21/05
1921 Ladies Grand Championship at the Wild West Show in Ogden, Utah
Diane wrote:
Several years ago, I purchased a ladies saddle. On one side of the saddle it reads, Ladies Grand Championship 1921 on the other side it says, Wild West Show, Ogden, Utah 1921. The saddle is in great shape and I was wondering if you had any information about this race, this saddle, or how I could obtain this.
We did suggest that she contact the Dickinson Research Center at the National Cowboy and Western Museum. She asked us to also post her question.
Have an answer for Diane? Email us.
updated 11/16/05
new 6/21/05Keith Avery Poems
Kurt wrote looking for a source for these poems and a title for one:
I read two Keith Avery poems... while we stopped at Wall Drug in Wall, South Dakota. One poem in entitled, "Respectful Letter To God," The other poem, Keith wrote for Ben Johnson's funeral and I don't know the title of it.
Have an answer for Kurt? Email us.
new 3/25/05
My WyomingConnie is looking for the words to and author or "My Wyoming." She has this fragment:
One last favor, My Wyoming, I am going to ask of Thee.
And I'll be highly honored if you grant it unto me.
Tis a space a little larger then is needed for a grave.
Take me then OH My Wyoming, let me lie upon thy Breast.With the skies of splendor o'er me, in a place of perfect rest.
Where the sagebrush and the cactus in their glory doth abound.Flowers of every hue and colors form a carpet for the ground.
With thy mountains for a headstone, I'll be richer oh by far, than
with any marble tablet for no human hand can mar.
None can rob thee of thy beauty, that thy Maker
Gave to thee, so I give thee MY WYOMING all thy maker made of ME.Have an answer for Connie? Email us.
new 3/25/05
High Stepping Critters
Lee writes:
I have been looking for a poem I found in a book 20 years ago. I think it was a book of Texas poems. The first line goes something like "There are some high stepping critters for some folks that will do". And the last line is something like "I want to ride across Heaven on an old cow hawse."
Have an answer for Lee? Email us.
updated 12/27/06
new 3/25/05
Broken Down Cowboy
Jerry's looking for the words to a song he said he first heard about 50 years ago that goes something like:
I'm a broken down cowboy
I've had my wild swing
No more in the saddle
Will I ever roam
Took into drinking
Just started in fun
It led me to gambling
And the use of a gun
Now my days are all over
No more will I roam
From drinking and gambling
Just started in funAudrey's looking for the song as well. She wrote, "I heard p
