Wit Stop

Mom, When I Grow Up I Wanna Be a Cowboy

Arizona is rich in natural wonders the Grand Canyon, the Painted Desert, the Petrified Forest but a visit to one of the state's man-made attractions affected me tremendously. Old Tucson Studios. A trip to Old Tucson is more than theme park amusements and a tour of authentic-looking indoor and outdoor Western sets. Sure, it's the place where many Western television shows and motion pictures were shot, but it's also a spot where old dreams can be resurrected and relived. During my visit, I strutted along the wooden sidewalks of town, bellied up to the bar at the local saloon, and recalled the day when I told my mom that I knew what I wanted to be when I grew up. I can still see how my mom's eyes sparkled. She was thrilled that I knew what direction my life would take, and that I would one day grow up. "What are you going to be?" she asked. "A cowboy," I said. The sparkle deserted her eyes. "A cowboy?" "Yeah," I said. I had watched my heroes Gene Autry, Roy Rogers, and Hopalong Cassidy fighting bad guys Saturday after Saturday at the movie matinees, and I knew that's how I wanted to spend my life. "A cowboy?" Mom repeated. "Your dad and I were hoping you'd be a doctor." What a silly ambition, I thought. There were no Saturday matinee shows made about doctors. No, for me it was either Tarzan or a cowboy. I'd had one or two bouts with poison ivy, so Tarzan was out. "No, I'm going to be a cowboy." Mom said, "There's not much money in it. Think about it." So I thought about it and figured I could appease Mom by becoming a cowboy doctor. But it dawned on me that there wasn't much money in that, either. My heroes Gene, Roy, and Hoppy were compassionate. They fought baddies, but they didn't wound them. They simply shot the guns out of their hands. No blood, no bandage, no hefty medical fees. Hey, maybe that would satisfy Mom. I could make money by roaming the West as a cowboy gun repairman. Whatever, I wanted to be a cowboy. I wanted to be tough like my heroes, and they were tough. Anyone who could ride into a town where six-shooters were the law where lily-livered, yellow-bellied sidewinders made up a goodly portion of the population and readily admit that his name was Hopalong had to be fearless. And my idols were skilled. They could ride and rope, fight and shoot, and they could sing. Not only could they sing, they could yodel. Of course when you're singing and riding a horse at the same time, yodeling is not something you do intentionally. It just kind of happens. Nevertheless, they could yodel, and I admired them for it. They were well-liked. Every one of them had a sidekick. This was usually a gentleman who had two choices: Either be the star's sidekick or the village idiot. Which was a good indication that I probably should be a cowboy because I had many friends with sidekick qualifications. My heroes didn't need brainy pals. They had their horses, who were more cerebral than the stars of most of today's action movies. If one of those cowboys was trapped on the roof of a building, he'd just whistle. His horse would trot forward. The cowboy would jump, land on his horse, and ride safely away. Now that's further proof that these guys were worth emulating. Anyone who can jump two stories, land straddling a horse, and still go on riding and singing is rugged. All this came back to me as I ambled along the streets of Old Tucson. I walked into the sheriff's office and poked my head through the cell bars. I stood outside the stables and fantasized about the gunfights that surely took place there. I walked to the little house on the edge of town where the schoolmarm probably lived. There's another indication of how scholarly my Western heroes were they knew what a "marm" was. Yessir, that day at Old Tucson rekindled old desires. As I left, I once again wanted to grow up to be a cowboy. It's not too late for me, I thought. I began to make concrete plans. I was determined that sometime in the next week or 10 days I would ride a horse for the first time in my life.

CLEAR A SPOT ON THE COFFEE TABLE . . .

For the Book Destined to Become an Arizona Highways Classic The Southwest's greatest landscape photographer, David Muench, combines pure photographic skill and love of nature to forge a creative vision uniquely his own. David Muench's Arizona is both a photographic celebration of Arizona's landscapes as only David Muench can capture them and a thoughtful call to preservation. It's truly a timeless classic... from one of America's best-loved photographers. America's premier landscape photographer, David Muench was honored in 1997 with the Lifetime Achievement Award from the North America Nature Photography Association.

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144 pages. Hardcover. More than 120 full-color photographs. Available September 1997. #ADMH7 $47.95