I'm still in an Arizona kind of mood. Here is Commodore Perry Owens, a "lawman" of the Old West, specifically of the Graham-Tewksbury Wars in nineteenth-century Arizona, for your blog-reading pleasure.
Those Old West characters surely knew how to make an impression, didn't they? This reminds me of one of my favorite stories.
My grandfather was a motorcycle policeman from about 1920 until sometime in the mid- to late-1940s, when he left my hardworking grandmother with a passel of children to marry some old rich widow and jet around the world. For her part, Grandma never married again, and she continued to work hard, raise the kids, and she never once said a single word against her ex-husband in the hearing of her grandchildren. Grandma was a real lady and a singular character, through and through. As the grandchild who drove her around in her later years, I had the opportunity to really listen to her and to appreciate her keen wit and wry humor.
Grandma was a member of a senior citizens' "kitchen band" called The Checks and the Squares, because they all wore gingham outfits. She played the spoons, while others twinked rubber bands on pots, rang glasses, and one man did those delightful old-fashioned bird whistles. The group entertained "the old folks" at the convalescent home on a regular basis and one day I picked Grandma up to take her home. We were waiting at a red light when a motorcycle policeman pulled up next to us. We both looked over at him. The officer was wearing a spotless khaki uniform, precisely creased jodpurs tucked into black, shiny, high boots, and reflecting sunglasses inside of his helmet. He looked sharp as a tack.
I couldn't resist. "Grandma, doesn't he look fine!"
"Yes, and he probably thinks so, too."
That's the closest Grandma ever came to saying anything about my grandfather.
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