Posts Tagged john wayne

Working With James Caan

At the same Gulf station I talk about in my story about Blue Chip stamps—Don’t Do That!—I had another interesting experience. Buckeye, Arizona was a farming and ranching community, so there were a lot of cowboys in the little desert community.

One of those cowboys was Tom Cox. He was several years older than me, but he liked to stop by the station and chat with me while I worked. On one of his visits, he sauntered in while I was fixing a flat tire. He had somebody with him, but I didn’t recognize the guy until he got up close. I couldn’t recall his name, but I knew he’d been in the movie, El Dorado, with John Wayne a couple of years earlier.

After Tom introduced me to his pal, James Caan, the three of us shot the breeze for a few minutes. Turns out Caan and Tom were calf-roping buddies, and got together to team rope quite often—still do, so I’ve heard.

They didn’t stay long, and I never saw James Caan in person again, but I’ve been a big fan ever since. How can you not be a fan after you’ve shook hands with the guy and talked about calf roping in a Gulf station garage bay?

Jame CaanAt one point during the conversation I was struggling to get the tire onto the rim, and James Caan stepped up and pushed down on one side of the tire. As the machine spun the tire onto the wheel I grinned and thanked him, and he did that James Caan head-tilt and gave me one of his already patented grins in return.

So, I like to tell people me and James Caan worked together at a gas station back in the day. Well… we did, didn’t we?

 

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We’re Missing Another Hero

When we were little boys , my cousin Eddy Madden and I would imitate our TV heroes. Yesterday, my fellow hero passed away after a long battle with cancer. Ed loved God, his country and his friends, but most of all he loved his family. This country is now missing another hero and this old gunslinger will miss him dearly. I republish the following in his honor, because I know he felt the same.

We Used to Have Heroes  

We used to have heroes; they rode horses, wore white hats, fought for what they believed was right, looked out for their neighbors, and ran the bad guys out of town. I wanted to be like them.

When I was six, I was the Lone Ranger, and at the same time Superman; ever ready to stand against anyone or anything that dared to come against truth, justice, and the American way. When I was eight, I was Paladin–Have Gun Will Travel; a black hat this time, and more rugged, but a hero still, who righted wrongs and would go anywhere to correct injustice and defend the defenseless. When I was ten, I was John Wayne. I learned to walk like him, tried to make my voice deep like his, and hoped I’d grow to be tall, broad shouldered and brave. But mostly, I wanted to be a good man, a superb man, a combination of all of those heroes who cared little for themselves, but lived for what they could do for others.

 Yes, it was just television and all my heroes were make-believe, but they made me believe and they taught me about right and wrong, and so many things. Where have all the heroes gone? Who do we turn to now?  What is truth, or justice? And, what is the American way?  My heroes stood proud and tall, hands on their hips, ready to fight for a way of life and a country they loved, even though that country was flawed in so many ways. 

I love my country

Copyright © 2012 C. Mashburn

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We Used to Have Heroes

I can hardly watch TV these days; it reminds me too much of the real world, and it appears to me this world has gone to hell. I find myself looking around and wondering; where have all the heroes gone? Read the rest of this entry »

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One Hell of a Ride

This week the prompt for Jingle Poetry’s  Poetry Potluck #47 is “history and stories”. This poem is a brief synopsis of the life of my grandpa, Luther “Bunk” Stringer, whose life, in my opinion, was one of historic note, and whose story deserves to be told and remembered. He was the best man I ever knew–by far–and he was my hero. If I am one day considered to be even half the man Bunk Stringer was, I, too, will have had one hell of a ride.

I wrote the following poem shortly after my grandpa’s passing, and it is to his memory I post it now: Read the rest of this entry »

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Back In The Day

I posted a poem this morning about how as a little boy, I dreamed of one day being a hero. I can still recall those daydreams, of being Johnny-on-the-spot when someone was in dire straits and needed a dashing man on a white horse to come galloping up to rescue them. Read the rest of this entry »

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Feats Courageous

This is one of those poems from the early days, when I was writing a lot of poetry. Much of the stuff I wrote sprang from childhood experiences and memories. I think I was like most boys from that era, but maybe not–sometimes I think I was a bit strange. But this short poem is about those days when I dreamed of one day “saving the day”. Didn’t every little boy dream dreams of being a hero? Read the rest of this entry »

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One Hell of a Ride

A site where I’ve been posting some of my poems is having a contest wherein you are to write a short story or poem about this picture of John Wayne. John Wayne was one of my heros, because he was always the good guy, and he wanted things to be fair. I didn’t know John Wayne; I didn’t even know much about him, other than the characters he portrayed in movies, but I think he was a good man.

A man I did know, and a man who was my real-life John Wayne, was my grandpa, Luther “Bunk” Stringer. He was the best man I ever knew–by far–and he was my hero. If I was half the man Bunk Stringer was, I could sit tall in the saddle.

Bluebell Books

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Back In The Day

 I posted a poem this morning about how as a little boy, I dreamed of one day being a hero. I can still recall those daydreams, of being Johnny-on-the-spot when someone was in dire straits and needed a dashing man on a white horse to come galloping up to rescue them. Read the rest of this entry »

Comments (2)

Feats Courageous

This is one of those poems from the early days, when I was writing a lot of poetry. Much of the things I wrote sprang from childhood experiences and memories. I think I was like most boys from that era, but maybe not–sometimes I think I was a bit strange. But this short poem is about those days when I dreamed of one day “saving the day”. Didn’t every little boy dream dreams of being a hero? Read the rest of this entry »

Comments (2)