Category: heroes

It’s an 80’s Kind of Thing

Last week the world witnessed what has now become something of a commonplace event, the launching of another Space Shuttle.

Despite the rather aging and ailing technology used to get the shuttle off the ground, it’s sort of amazing how well that ship has flown over the years. Yes, really well, even considering the two terrible tragedies of the Challenger in 1986 and Columbia in 2003.

As the shuttle Atlantis lifted off on July 7, I couldn’t help but be both proud and sad. Proud that another shuttle successfully made it to orbit. Sad that it’s the last shuttle to fly.

As a kid from the 80’s, the Space Shuttle program was something of magic and dreams and technology and good ol’ American pride. I loved to watch each and every launch and applauded as that little dot disappeared into the endless blue. Then several days later it would appear again and our astronauts would come home and by god, we did it again!

Remember when the shuttle landed in New Mexico’s own White Sands in 1982? I sure do. That was a good day, seeing my home state on the big stage. We got the shuttle and got ‘er home safe too!

Sadly, over time and two tragedies and budget cuts and over-administration, the proud NASA tradition has faltered, yielding way to private space programs and astronauts hitching rides with other countries who have the time and money to keep a space program running.

It’s the end of an era which makes me more than a little wistful.

Here’s wishing the crew of the final Atlantis flight an easy, uneventful flight home.



The first shuttle launch, a ship called Columbia, in 1981.




Reuters/NASA photo from The Atlantic Monthly.


Dyin’ or Revivin’?

Last week I received an email by the good folks running the literary competitions at my local county fair. After notifying me that my story won a prize, they invited me to come out to the fair next weekend to read my story aloud on stage as part of their literary event.

Well I was just pleased as punch to say yes. What a wonderful opportunity.

This past Saturday, I had some time on my hands while I sat in a chair waiting for my hair to turn that color that only my hairdresser knows how to make.

I started thinking about this event next weekend and planning. I need to spend some time practicing reading my story aloud. Practice is everything in a public speaking situation.

I wondered if I’d be asked any questions about the story. I thought I should try to think up what I might be asked so I could be ready with good answers.

One of the first questions I thought of was, “what was your inspiration for this story?”

I had to spend some time thinking that through. It’s a story that’s been rambling around in my mind for a while, and I’ve taken several stabs and getting it out, to both greater and lesser success.

Mainly, I was inspired by the fact that upon reading the guidelines for the competition, I noted that there was a “Western” genre available to compete under. This is not something I often see, so that really got my creative juices rolling.

My absolute author-hero is Larry McMurtry. I adore his way with description and dialogue, and his western novels are a cut above.

I have a collection of short stories that McMurtry edited. It’s western stories written only by writers raised in the west.

When I saw that my county fair offered a Western category, I knew there was no doubt that I had to write a western story.

That said, what I wrote isn’t truly a classical western. Technically, the western genre implies a story set in the 1800’s, the so called “Old West.”

If you read any of the literally thousands of short stories that Louis L’Amour wrote, you’ll find within his formula a common theme. The great conflict in his stories is of man against nature which includes cattle grazing the land, the weather and water. In fact, water rights always seem to play a big role in L’Amour’s short stories.

I guess that the western genre has declined so much because these concepts seem hopelessly old fashioned.

But are they?

Until his untimely death last year, my dear friend who farmed cotton and chile on his family’s farm in La Mesa was fighting with the state of New Mexico over water rights. This problem was such a vital aspect of his life that it was mentioned in his eulogy.

Yesterday I watched a televised show where renowned French chef Eric Ripert spoke passionately about the “farm to table” movement, and visited a Virginia farm where the owner was doing something revolutionary.

He was not overgrazing his land.

He spends time calculating how many head of cattle his land can bear and then actively rotates pastures to be sure that his cattle never overgraze. His land flourishes, his cattle are healthy and he’s seen as an innovator.

This is not innovation. Louis L’Amour wrote stories about this very idea over 70 years ago. This concept is also something they taught me in my collegiate FFA organization**. It’s called “being a good steward of the land.”

And so, to bring this back to my point…

I wanted to write a western story because although I keep hearing that the western fiction genre is dying, I’m seeing that the topics driving most true western stories are still essential and vital to today’s world.

And so maybe Westerns aren’t dying. Maybe, much like the land, if tended to and nourished, the genre can continue to flourish with a modern sensibility.

Writing a western story set in modern times that won an award at my local county fair is so deeply satisfying to me. It’s my affirmation that the Western genre is alive and well inside at least one little girl who was born and raised in the west.

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Further proof: The Western genre gets back in the saddle





**”I believe in the future of farming…”


Love Your Librarian

There was this lady named Erna Fergusson who opened up the world for me.

Erna was a New Mexican, one of our best. She was born and grew up in Glorieta and later spent time in Washington DC when her father was a Congressman. Erna was a worldly woman dedicated to capturing in writing much of the history and tradition of the indigenous people of both New Mexico and Latin America. She was a teacher and later helped found the Albuquerque Historical Society.

In 1966, the Albuquerque/Bernalillo County Library System opened up a library branch bearing Erna’s name.

A few years later, here’s where I come in. My maternal grandmother, herself a schoolteacher, taught me how to read at a pretty young age. I took to reading like the proverbial duck to water.

My mom, also an avid reader, brought me to the library named for Erna Fergusson and showed me how to check out books. The world was suddenly my oyster! The scent of library glue, the perfect little rubber stamps and the shelves and shelves of books…well I was hooked. Obsessed, really.

I’ve always had a special place in my heart for both libraries and librarians.

Where I live now, I have access to one of the largest library systems around, and I’m in utter literary bliss. I’m constantly amazed by the obscure and not-so-obscure items in find in the collection.

A couple weeks ago right here on this blog, I professed my love (again) for another of my favorite New Mexicans, Max Evans.That same day, I checked into my library’s catalog to see if they had any of Max’s books that I hadn’t read.

Sure enough, they had a copy of One-Eyed Sky, a collection of three Max Evans stories. Well, I ordered it up to be sent to me via interlibrary loan. It took a couple days, and the same day I checked it out, with much anticipation, I opened the cover and was greeted by a sight that made me nostalgic:



It may be a little hard to see, but I added a red arrow that points to a rubber stamped date of Nov 30 ’64.

All of the stamps prior to that don’t have the year included, but one can assume 1964 and earlier. The book has a copyright date of 1963, but I figured I’d get a later printing of the book from the library. Nope. This is a first edition and it’s still in my library and still in good shape.

Behind the paper due date page was this:



Then I just went all squishy inside. I always did love that pocket they used to glue inside the front of books along with the card for the librarian to stamp that lets you know the day the book is due back. Can’t you just imagine the librarian typing up the title on both pocket and card, filing it neatly in alphabetical order while adding Max’s stories to the library collection? Then the series of librarians who dutifully stamped that card while checking it out to eager readers (like me!) over the past forty-eight years.

Well, it all made me kind of misty eyed. There’s ol’ Max, our Max, a fixture in the Bay Area library all these years. I read that book cover to cover, devouring every word and got to the last page feeling nothing but gratitude.

Just makes me want to say thanks to that one librarian, and all the rest as well, for giving me the world.




Photos by Karen Fayeth, taken with the Camera+ app on an iPhone4.


Keep The Shiny Side Up

A few weeks back, I talked about my friend Johnny Nitro and his untimely passing.
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As grief will do, the sadness tends to ebb and flow. About more than I can bear today, not so bad tomorrow, then out of nowhere I’m down in it again.
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I guess that’s the thing about the blues.

Over the weekend I finally slowed down a bit from this crazy job and had some time to devote a few brain cycles to my actual life. Of course my thoughts went back to my friend Johnny.

There is a memorial for him coming up next weekend at The Saloon, San Francisco’s oldest continually operating bar. It’s a dive, but what a beautiful dive it is. The very fibers of the walls are soaked in beer and cigarette smoke and some of the meanest, dirtiest, rawest blues music in the world.
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Johnny played regular Friday and Sunday nights there, so there can be no other more perfect venue.

While I was Googling about, I found a tribute page to Johnny on Facebook. From there, someone had linked to a blog that he had been working on over the past couple years. There’s only about fifteen or sixteen posts, but all of them are pure Nitro gold.

I read this one and knew for sure I had to re-blog this. I know that if I’d asked Johnny for permission, he’d say yes, so with much love to my blues buddy, please enjoy his words.
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Johnny was on a riff talking about what it’s like to be a musician on the road. You’ll pick it up from there:

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The show must go on! Everybody’s heard that old adage before. Well, if that’s gonna happen you’alls gotta get there. Sometimes you gotta use a little creativity in that department. Case in point: Once long ago on the way to a gig, we was drivin’ this old Ford station wagon from the 1970’s that belonged to the bass player. Everything was loaded up on top and in the thang! (We were probably loaded too!) And wouldn’t ya know it, the throttle cable broke, snap, and the gas pedal wouldn’t work. Well, we coasted into a gas station and I opened the hood for a look! Sure ’nuff, it was the throttle cable! Here we were miles from the gig and no parts store in sight. Oh boy! What to do? Well, after the panic subsided I started a closer inspection of the broken cable to see if there was a way to fix this one. As I gently pulled the broken cable out of its tube, I noticed it was very similar to a low “E” string from my guitar. I quickly grabbed a spare one and checked the length. Yep! The guitar string was long enough! I lubed up the string with oil from the dip stick, slipped it into the tube, managed to tie it to the loops on the gas pedal and the carburetor… and voila! It worked!! Well, we made it to the gig with plenty of time to chase groupies (remember those?) and the “E” string worked so well that Cowboy, our bass player, drove it jury rigged like that for three our four weeks while the new part was ordered from Detroit!

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Now that’s a bit of bluesman handyman skill right there. I’ve heard a lot of stories over the years how guitar strings came in handy for quick fix its, but I have to say, that story is the best.

In another story from the road, Johnny talks about how to get along with your fellow bandmates while trapped in the car together. He wraps up the story with this:


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And one last thing: When they ask YOU to drive the van, drive it all crazy – and then they’ll never ask you “Drive” again.

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Which made me laugh out loud for a couple reasons. One, Johnny drove all crazy on a good day. And two, I can just see Johnny pulling this. That’s pure Nitro right there.

I can’t say I’m actually looking forward to the memorial next week. I don’t know how to exist in the world where Johnny isn’t playing The Saloon on Sunday. That’s how I always knew if the world went topsy turvy I could find my way back to level.

On Sunday I’ll walk in there and he won’t be there.

And yet, he will.

Finally, here’s a special Johnnyism that I believe I should add to the signature line of my emails at work:


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As always this is Johnny Nitro saying “keep yer tits to wind and keep the shiny side up!” Ride!

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Riiiiiide.





Photo by Scott Palmer, taken at the 2000 Rumsey Blues festival.