My Partner and Pal

Once we met in a cow corral
Far on the great gray plains
Kind luck dealt me a red-haired pal
With desert sun in his veins.
Over the sand of the fenceless land
We rode in a world of two,
Loping and roping and swapping lies,
Damning each other with laughing eyes
Under the western blue.

- Charles Badger Clark, Jr.

A good number of years ago, on this historic day, through much travail and many tears, there was birthed into this world a wild-eyed, runt of a young’en. He grew tough and mean under a panhandle sun, chewin’ on leather and kickin’ scrub. Eventually this rough, ragged sprout would grow up to become one of my all time favorite cowhands, Chad Allen (C.A.). Now I’m not gonna go trottin’ out numbers. If you want to know how many journeys around the sun he’s made, you’ll have to ask him yourself. That is, if you can find him out in the South Texas no-man’s land he now calls home.

However, to this I can testify: I’ve personally seen him ride distances that would make a young buck slump in the saddle, rest peacefully in conditions that the devil himself would find unaccommodating, whip men half his age, and still have the energy to two-step till his partner broke from blisters. He’d tell you in a heart-beat that he doesn’t have the gift of gab, but I’ve never seen him miss the mark when makin’ a point. Overall, he’s a good cowboy that I’ve always known to ride for the brand. He’s faithful to watch your six, defend a lady’s honor, and tell the truth whether you want to hear it or not. He is a patron and protector of all things Texas. And most of all, he’s my friend (if you could learn to like my guitar playin’ as much as he does, then you can be my friend too).

So today I want to pay tribute, and say happy birthday to a true cowboy gypsy. My hat is off and my glass is raised in celebration of my partner and pal: Chad Allen Patton.

Gypsy

A Sad Song in Music City

Ya’ll know that I love Texas, but outside the great Lone Star State there is one other place that I consider my gypsy home: Nashville, TN.

My grandfather, the late W.B. Houchens, used to tune in to Nashville’s Grand Ole Opry on Saturday nights, and taught me from childhood to love the sounds of a steel guitar and a great sad song. When I was in my late teens, our family would load the wagons at my grandfather’s behest, and take an annual trek north on the trail that led to Music City. It was his love for country music (especially LIVE country music), and it was his adventurous (some would call it “restless”) spirit that instilled in me the desires and values that I now summarize with the name Cowboy Gypsy. There’s no way to measure how much my life has been shaped by the music, the traditions, and the lifestyle he loved, that is exemplified in the culture of Nashville.

As you can imagine, I was saddened to hear about the recent flooding that destroyed numerous lives, homes, and businesses throughout Middle Tennessee. A sad song is being sung in Music City. In the last few weeks, a number of my friends that reside in and around Nashville have told me incredible stories of destruction, desperation, and daring rescue. It is very difficult to see the pictures and videos of all the familiar places that you know and love in that great city, now engulfed in water.

Next week, a couple of cowboys and I are going to take a little gypsy trip up to Nashville to witness firsthand not only the damage, but also to experience the strong and resilient spirit of these Tennesseans who have been through so much in these disastrous days.

One of my all time favorite cowhands, Chad Allen, and I made a visit to Nashville back in February (his first visit; as for me, I’ve lost count), and he was thoroughly impressed with the city and its hospitality. Which, if you’ve read earlier stories about C.A. then you know how un-impressed he can be about all things “not-Texas.” It was one of those trips that reminded me why I’ve so heartily embraced my travels as a necessary ingredient of life. I was able to introduce my South Texas partner to a number of old friends, and we were able to make a few new ones. We had a good visit with RCA recording artist, Chris Young, upstairs at Tootsie’s World Famous Orchid Lounge. We spent an hour or so chatting with Tuff Hedeman, one of the world’s all-time greatest cowboys, and also ran into a couple of other “famous” cowboy folk whose names would most likely mean absolutely nothing to you.

There’s several funny stories from that trip that I’ll share with you in the future, but for now just trust me when I tell you that it was action packed. I’m sure that next week’s adventure will be nothing short of the same.

I would like to encourage you to plan your own gypsy excursion to Nashville in the very near future. If you need a good tour guide, let me know, and we’ll go together (For that matter, load up and join us next week). I encourage you to visit the various shops and bars of Broadway and spend a little money. See the historical sites. Listen to great music by gifted musicians, and put a few dollars in their pickle jars. Boost the local economy. Donate, if you haven’t done so already. I’d appreciate it, and I’m sure Tennessee would too.

The Cowboy Gypsy

The cowboy lies on the canyon floor
And sees a lone star shining more
Than all the others in the sky

He wonders what the star has seen
The rivers blue, the pastures green
And then he wonders why

Can't a cowboy cross the desert sand
Like a star go search this land
On a fine horse he could fly

I'll see the cities made of steel
And touch creation till I feel
My cold heart come alive

I'll ride my old horse till he's spent
Until this cowboy is content
A gypsy till I die

I'll chase that star from sea to sea
So saddle up and ride with me:
The Gypsy, that is I.

Don't Go Looking For Texas in Georgia

A couple of months ago, one of my all time favorite cowhands, Chad Allen (C.A.) decided to come join The Gypsy for a little excursion. He jumped on a plane in the south Texas town of Laredo, and flew to Atlanta, where he arrived half drunk (nothin’ unusual about that) and eager to see some city lights. I picked him up at the airport, and asked him if he was hungry. I was just asking to be hospitable, since I’ve never known him to answer such a question in the negative. He responded by saying he was anxious to see what the Deep South had to offer by way of barbeque. I informed him that if he were going to be comparing it to the smoky mesquite flavors of Texas he would be sorely disappointed. And he was.

I took him to a little joint that most would consider good barbeque. Name withheld to protect the innocent. I mean, how were they supposed to know that C.A. was comin’ to town, and that not having beef brisket on the menu was somethin’ akin to callin’ his momma a woman of ill repute. That poor gal taking the food order didn’t know what hit her.

I swear it took him 20 minutes to order. Just stood at the counter and stared at that little girl. He was convinced they really DID have some brisket in the back, but were just hiding it from him. Line was backing up to the door. C.A. just stared.

And stared…and…stared.

Well, I finally got him settled down to a plate of ribs and chopped pork. The ribs he liked. The pork he swore up and down was really turkey. “What’s up with these Georgia folks tryin’ to pull a fast one on a fella from Texas?” he said through a full mouth. Did I mention that he was half-drunk? Well to be honest, I think by this time he was whole-drunk. Nonetheless, he endured the good ribs, bad “turkey,” and the ugly stares of the city folk that had never seen cowboys in their midst (I think I did overhear one patron mention something about the ‘missing link,’ But I digress).

Dinner finished and bellies full, Brother C.A. was ready for a good time on the town. So I took him down the road to a late night establishment. C.A. kept wantin’ to know where the “cowboy bars” were, to which I had to continually remind him of his whereabouts. We pulled into the parking lot, exited the vehicle, and started walking toward the door. As soon as we entered, the big fella working the door exclaimed, “Sirs, you must take off those hats!” Oh dear Lord…here we go again!