My Western Ways
Updated: 27 minutes ago
I WAS REALLY INTO TOY GUNS as a youngster. I remember going to our local 5 & 10 department store (Kresge's) in Birmingham when I was eleven years old to buy a Winchester Buffalo rifle set.
It shot plastic bullets fifteen feet. It came with rolls of green caps that provided authentic sound effects (more of a snap) and ended with the scent of spent gunpowder. Wow, how awesome that was!
I had seen it advertised on TV and had to have one.
My mother dropped me off in the back parking lot where I climbed the cement steps and entered the store through their revolving glass door. I remember visiting the fish in the aquarium section first; I had spent considerable time there in previous years. The fish I bought struggled to last even a week in my family’s large tank. During that period, I flushed many “floaters” down our bathroom toilet. The truth was I had lost interest in fish because of this. I walked over a few aisles to the toy department, where I had my sights set on the new Mattel Winchester replica rifle.
In my fantasy world, I was clearly a cowboy at heart. Side guns in my hip holsters and a Winchester long rifle were fundamental requirements to my world. I was not into military toy rifles whatsoever.
I wasn’t really into the Western look like some of my friends. My wardrobe consisted of my wide striped, colorful T-shirts and blue jeans that were obviously meant for a much taller kid (my mother’s doing). I owned a cowboy hat, but I didn’t think it was quite right. I’m not sure why. I usually would leave it on my dresser when I went out in public. However, I did wear it in my backyard when I was trying to impress my neighbors.
After buying the Mattel rifle with birthday money from Grandma Carpenter, I remember walking down Old Woodward through town to my dad’s office (he was a family doctor), where I would hitch a ride home with him for our fully attended family dinner.
I kept the rifle in its cardboard display carton half-covered in a Kresge shopping bag. In 1960, walking through crowds with even a play rifle was a stretch, so discretion was warranted. I think the people I passed on the sidewalk knew I was excited about my newest acquisition from the smile I was carrying.
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The above flashback comes to me as I continue reading Louis L’ Amour Western novels and short story collections over the past few years.
The gunslinging past in the Wild West is the topic of many of his stories. Strong female figures in many of his stories add further intrigue and romance to the plots. His females are mostly redheads and smart as whips.
Curiously, many marshals were once gunslingers known for their quick draw. I have learned that skill was usually the basis for the frequent challenges by younger cowboys wanting fame as a gunslinger. Saloons and cattle rustling are the backdrop in so many of his stories. Indians were blamed for many massacres on white settlers.
I’m guessing my fascination with Western ways was related to my age and the early characters on TV, which included The Lone Ranger, Gunsmoke, Wagon Train, and Bonanza, all part of my media world in the 1950s and 1960s.
I am amazed I was not introduced to Louis L’ Amour’s writing as I moved into my mid-teenage years. Heck, I was a fan of The Hardy Boys; it would have been quite a natural progression. Instead, I dropped the toy guns, didn’t read much, and soon directed my attention to the female persuasion.
L’ Amour has an easygoing style. The reading is enjoyable, his protagonists are likable, and the plots are straightforward. He excels in the short story genre, which I find refreshing to read at my age.
He just needed a few more blondes.
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