Witnessing History

Democracy. Democracy is a very interesting and wonderful word. What does this word mean? It’s quite simple, really. It means that all sides get to be heard, state their positions fully and clearly, and then all who wish to cast their vote get equal hearing, and the final result of that debate is fifty percent plus one. What we are witnessing today is democracy in action, and it is what this country was founded on.

The process of democracy, however, isn’t always pretty. The debate can be tedious, lengthy and exhaustive, but debate we must. If we believe in democracy, then having the right to vote is paramount. The event today has been much anticipated, and I have watched as much as I can with a great amount of attention and curiousity. It somehow reminds me of previous committee hearings of such magnitude, and I feel strongly that these types of hearings are essential when there is any type of dispute, such as the ones we currently have had with Florida and Michigan.

The key aspect of the proper and respectful process of democracy is that rules must be followed, as well. History shows us that many leaders and their followers have undermined and subverted the wishes of the majority and have worked to essentially ignore the wishes of the voters, but the Democratic National Committee, representing the will and the right of the voters who have already cast ballots in two disputed states, have taken the dramatic step of making certain that these two states, while living with the consequences of violating party rules, will get the opportunity to seat their delegates and have a stake and a representation in the upcoming Democratic National Convention.

I will state clearly and forcefully that I will figuratively fight to the death for the Clinton campaign and its supporters and followers to vigorously challenge and argue for the right to seat all delegates in Michigan and Florida and ignore all of its opponent’s points and authorities, but I also must vehemently demand that those same people respect the ruling of this committee and now focus their attention toward the future and the larger contest yet to come.

We can only take a moment to rejoice and reflect on today’s committee rulings, because there is very serious work to be done as we wind this primary season to a close. I can only hope that all participants in this election process on both sides will reconcile and come to a place of unity, beginning to work together for a greater cause and to keep our eye on the ultimate prize, the White House and a significant increase in the Democratic percentage in the Congress of the United States.

Why Not?

It happened again. Earlier today I was setting up in the conference room at a law firm in which I had never been. As I sat there awaiting the arrival of the doctor who was to be deposed and the plaintiff’s attorney, the attorney who would be taking the depo came in and said, “Are you the doctor?”

The same thing goes through my mind every time this occurs…yes, I am the doctor (Doctor of Court Reporting). Of course I politely said, “No, I’m the reporter.” But I just don’t want to anymore. Why can’t I be the doctor for once? After all, aren’t I the one in the room with the skill no one else has? And for that matter, aren’t I the only one on the floor and perhaps the entire building with my skill? And let’s face it…I may be the only person in the five-block walk from my office that has my skill.

I realize that the title of doctor is reserved for very few. I think we can all agree that a medical doctor deserves the title. After all, isn’t the name doctor meant for them? Then there are chiropractors who get to be doctors, and I have to say that the ones I’ve met in depositions don’t seem very medical to me. But okay, I’ll concede the point.

Then there are doctors in a variety of very non-medical fields that get the honor of being called doctor, people who have taken the time to study and earn one additional degree beyond a Master’s. I have never begrudged them their due, but why just them? There’s a lot of them, and although there are many geniuses and men and women of great talent in their group, there’s honestly a lot of people with nothing that would distinguish them from others in their field, except they turned in a paper. Okay…a damned good paper, but a paper nonetheless.

And now we get back to us, the lowly, ignored, taken-for-granted little court reporter who is easily the hardest working person in the room. And yes, we sometimes get paid well, but we deserve it, don’t we? We’re the hardest working person in the room! Plus, let’s not forget that in the room with the attorneys, the witnesses, the judge, perhaps, the bailiff, the clerk…well, let’s face it. Everyone we encounter, we’re the only one with the skill, savvy and license to do what we do. And we do it well, if I say so myself.

How does this sound? Mark Brickman, DCR. Doctor of Court Reporting. Sounds pretty good to me. And why not? We deserve it! And who’s going to argue with that? As I tell people who snicker from time to time at a mistranslate on my realtime screen, “Let’s trade places. Let’s see how you do sitting here in my chair.” I have yet to get anyone to switch places, and now that they’ve stopped giggling at my near perfect transcript, they’re thinking “that guy should be a doctor!”

So let’s put this idea on the front burner. Let’s not wait for someone else to recognize our amazing skill. Wasn’t it us who fought to have our profession recognized as a profession and not merely a secretarial job? Yes. Haven’t we been fighting for years to establish ourselves as permanent fixtures in our courthouses around the country and not be replaced by tape recorders? Yes. Well, I say who would even dare to replace a doctor with a tape recorder? No one. That’s who.

Unity Meeting for Bay Area Delegates

A well attended meeting took place last night at the Hotel Sofitel on the San Francisco Peninsula sponsored by Green 960, the Air America Progressive Radio affiliate in San Francisco. This wonderful event was the brainchild of Susan Pfeifer, Obama CD12 delegate, whose contact with Green 960 Program Director John Scott paid major dividends. Moderated by Green 960 local host Angie Coiro and national talk show host Thom Hartmann, the atmosphere of conciliation and unification was the tone of the evening. Adding to the feeling of togetherness was the fact that the room was donated with a great spirit of democracy by the hotel.

Two local stars, Obama delegate Jeff Nibert of Pleasanton and Clinton delegate Rebecca Prozan of San Francisco, spoke eloquently in support of their chosen candidate, although both, at the behest of Thom Hartmann, began the program by switching roles and speaking in support of the other candidate. The crowd was quite responsive as Nibert and Prozan each did a wonderful job demonstrating that as Democrats, our ultimate goal is to reclaim the White House, and that we are supremely blessed to have two terrific candidates, one of whom will be the next president of the United States.

The audience, which I would say was at least 250 people, was a mixture of all age groups, from children all the way up to vintage. From the applause and reception of the two delegates as they were introduced, it seemed that the crowd was dominated by Obama supporters, and to my observation, Obama supporters seemed to more openly display buttons, t-shirts and earrings, while Clinton supporters seemed to be a bit more subdued.

Although the obvious benefactor of the evening was the Democratic Party, the event would not have taken place without Green 960, the Air America affiliate which has made a strong showing over the past couple of years. Its presence and stature has been on the rise since it appeared on the radio scene several years ago, and it provides a strong voice for the progressive community in the Bay Area, which had been sorely lacking. The fact that the radio station would take the suggestion of Delegate Pfeifer and run with this project speaks to what kind of role they wish to play in our community.

As I stood in the back of the ballroom for the duration of the evening, I was struck with one thought. I noticed that the crowd trended older, and this not having been my first Green 960 event, I appreciated the diverse nature of the audience of Air America. There were quite a few people that I would fit into the activist category, men and women who were perhaps considered hippies or even out of the mainstream in the ‘60s who have been waiting for this moment in history, suffering through the Reagan years, maybe distracted by raising children and making a living in the ‘80s, and getting refocused during the last eight years.

These people are passionate, engaged and have the enthusiasm that we’d all love to see young people catch. They have been newly fired up with the promise of change and the concept of hope that Barack Obama and this race overall have brought back to this country and which speaks so loudly to each of them.

The overall feeling in the room last night was very positive, and one was left with the feeling that our party is in good hands. I saw a number of people walk in with signs, particularly a couple of Clinton “count the vote” signs or something similar, but those signs ended up either sitting on the floor or leaning up against the wall in the back of the room. This was not a rally for one particular candidate, and the tone that was set last night by our wonderful hosts made certain that we all walked out of there knowing that we’re going to be okay, that Obama will most likely be our nominee, and if somehow Hillary Clinton were to procure the Democratic nomination, we would still fight to accomplish our objective, to defeat John McCain and the Republicans in the fall.

If I Say It, It Must Be True

If I Say It, It Must Be True
By Mark Brickman

We live in a world that was once unknown to us. It started about eight years ago when George W. Bush told us that he would be a compassionate conservative and would add some Democrats to his administration. He said it, so history shows that he was telling the truth. Once he became president, he sponsored the blue skies legislation to clamp down on polluting corporations, the healthy forest initiative to protect our open spaces and precious old growth trees and put forth faith-based initiatives that provided much needed education to the youth of our country and young people overseas. It is fabulous that he labeled his agenda so transparently so that we know what good he’s doing for our great land.

Now we have a new generation of politicians, ones that make pronouncements and statements designed to alert us to their amazing accomplishments. For example, I am so happy that my miscomprehension and lack of thorough digestion of the news is clarified on a daily basis. I had no idea that states that hold caucuses are not representative of true democracy. I didn’t realize that some polls just don’t hold water while others are sacrosanct, and I am gratified to learn that votes that our nasty media seems to suppress are being tallied by people who know how this primary process really works.

In the spirit of complete immodesty and frankly making certain that I toot my own horn, I wanted to make sure that I disclosed a couple of things about myself recently. I have been on a diet and daily bike riding regimen and in the last three weeks have lost over 40 pounds or thereabouts. I haven’t been on a scale, but I feel strongly that that’s what it would show. As a matter of fact, I am capable of easily riding upwards of fifty miles at a time. As far as my job, I am considered the top producer, and feel certain that the owner looks to me for my incredible leadership qualities. I am sure that I’ll be soon snapped up by a Fortune 500 company and given a huge promotion.

Although I work full-time, I also spend about forty hours a week working in my local Obama office. I also donate my time at a soup kitchen for the poor, putting in about thirty hours there. In my spare time, I mentor about ten students who plan to work in my field, and that leaves barely enough time for me to tutor six high school students in the afternoons. I love to drive my sports cars through the neighborhood, and sometimes take them on cross-country trips and disappear for days on end. I also find time to put in some volunteer time at an old-age home, where I cook dinner for about 200 people every night.

You see? If I say it, it must be true. On the other hand, when something just doesn’t seem possible or even plausible, maybe we should all learn to question what we hear. It is part of our democracy to question anything and everything, and that is not rude or insensitive; that is our right. When we hear anyone, our representative or potential leaders representing things that just sound too good to be true, maybe they’re just that. Had we and the media looked more critically at what George W. Bush said leading up to his first appointment as president and once he assumed the presidency, maybe we’d have a different country today.

Let’s not make the same mistake again and again. I don’t take anything I hear for granted. If I wonder whether something is accurate or factual or is a complete fabrication, it is my responsibility as an American to find out what’s what. It’s time for us to wake up and not simply accept everything that we’re told, particularly when it’s labeled or wrapped in a nice little package.

McCain Boxes Himself into a Corner

How would you enjoy being the Republican candidate for president, the supposed party of the military and the troops, and choosing to take a position against the new GI bill, which provides increased benefits and a promise of an education to military men and women emerging from their stint in the military? How would you like to align yourself with a president with the lowest approval rating in the modern era and against 75 senators who voted to pass the new GI bill, many of whom are Republicans? And how much would you love to be outclassed by your opponent, who is on the right side of this argument, even though you try your best to belittle him and accuse him of naivety?

Well, welcome to the life of John McCain, the presumptive Republican nominee for president, who seems to be on the wrong side of a number of issues. This one just won’t go away, and for many reasons. One of those reasons is that the presumptive Democratic nominee, Barack Obama, won’t allow it to go away. It is a winning issue for Barack, and he is seizing on this issue because it demonstrates how completely out of touch John McCain is.

The real irony is that McCain is an experienced military man of valor and renown. He has shown, though, that military experience is not the only requirement and qualification to be commander in chief. Additionally, McCain himself has said in previous interviews that military service is not a requirement to be the president, and many of his Republican predecessors, namely Dick Cheney and marginally George W. Bush, have steered clear of military service.

Barack Obama has made it very clear that he is strongly in support of the troops currently serving this country and those that will serve in the future. He has drawn a distinction, as most of us have drawn, that we can support the serviceman and woman without supporting the mission they are performing. His eloquent arguments in favor of this bill have scored some major points with the electorate on both sides of the aisle, and at the same time poked some huge holes in the McCain argument.

McCain claims to be against the new GI bill because it will encourage military participants to leave their service to take advantage of the increased benefits. Although I don’t agree with that argument, he certainly has the right to make it. But it apparently doesn’t hold water because, according to the Congressional Budget Office (CBO), 16% additional men and women will join the military simply because the new GI bill exists http://www.crooksandliars.com/2008/05/10/on-gi-bill-mccain-really-is-full-of-it/.

McCain’s problem is that he has changed his position on quite a few things over the years, and even more recently, his positions on some rather prominent issues have been called into question because he originally came down on one side and now is solidly on the other, and his reputation as someone who will take whatever position that proves his conservative credentials no matter what he said previously has become a problem for him. Should he ultimately decide to support the new GI bill if it becomes law, he will look like a hypocrite, and if he continues to lobby against its passage simply to make Obama look out of touch, he will only show his own stubbornness and unwillingness to properly and correctly analyze an issue, particularly one that he claims to be so intimately familiar with.

So would anyone wish to be John McCain on this issue and be stuck with the position that he’s so loudly pronounced? I doubt it. Barack Obama has got to be feeling pretty good about being right on this issue, voting with the majority of the Senate, and maybe most importantly, taking time out of his demanding campaign schedule to come to the Senate floor to argue for the bill’s passage. John McCain, in a strikingly defiant demonstration of his confidence that his reputation as a military veteran will speak for itself, didn’t even bother to show up to vote.

The Art of Taking the High Road

Life can be pretty tough, especially if your name is Barack Obama and you’re running for president of the United States. There are so very mean and scary people out there, and like life for all of us who aren’t running for president, we have to learn to cope with people. Most people are actually pretty nice, or at least respectful even if they’re not your friend, but some people can be downright vicious or tell people they’re your friend and stab you in the back.

Such is life on the campaign trail. As Barack travels from state to state, region to region and town to town, he stands before huge crowds that are loving, supportive and enthusiastic , but outside of that venue, on the streets, on the radio, on some networks lurk the insidious cloud of racism, hatred and the dissemination of vast amounts of misinformation.

Barack Obama has done something that seems almost impossible in this day and age. He stands up every day with a consistent message that is both upbeat and optimistic, and with the knowledge that his detractors are out there in the world waiting for his next stumble, scrutinizing his every word and mischaracterizing his message and meaning, he plows ahead. How does he do it?

Barack has learned to take the high road, something we all should do in our lives. It is also called turning the other cheek. He has discovered that anger, overreaction to adversity and trying to convince someone who’s already made up their mind incorrectly is not the way to go. Instead, he exemplifies a true leader, one with a level head, one to be truly admired and emulated, a person that is unwavering and steadfast and even comfortable explaining where he comes from and how he got there.

He is the kind of person this country has been yearning for for a long time. Despite a year or more of incorrect depictions of his faith and religion being completely mischaracterized and lied about, he gently explains that that is incorrect. When he is accused of being best friends with ‘60s radicals, prominent Muslim crusaders or former clients, he simply allows the facts to come out about what the truth is. When his race is constantly mentioned as a reason he can’t win or why he’s winning, or that he somehow plays the race card all the time, he sits back, takes a deep breath and allows his attackers to look petty or like they are in a fight all by themselves.

A lesser man would have succumbed to the pressure a long time ago. He would have said enough is enough and gone on his own crusade to change minds and influence opinion, the way his opponents have. But this is just not his style. He really sets the tone of this entire campaign by educating his audience, by patiently answering questions when asked and by rising above the rhetoric that is a major part of most candidates’ agendas.

His management skills are incomparable. His talented staff of professional campaign managers are both politically savvy and mindful of their candidate’s wishes and demeanor. When they speak publically, they are speaking for Obama, also taking the high road and never overreacting to what’s going on around them or taking the bait and allowing their boss to lose credibility.

Barack is in a hotly contested race on two fronts, and he has managed to slowly move from one by simply and masterfully beginning to change our focus on the other. While the Clinton campaign is changing the delegate numbers required for nomination, challenging states that they agreed wouldn’t count and pleading with voters and media alike that they deserve to change the rules, and while Hillary Clinton is trying everything in her power to stay in the news, even fabricating stories of dodging sniper fire and now invoking incorrect timelines and assassinations, Barack is staying clearly out of the fray. It is as if the Clintons are having an argument with themselves. Their opponent has moved on.

He has saved the best for last, but he thoroughly comprehends the enormity of the fight ahead. John McCain is no shrinking violet, but his message is vulnerable. He is already showing signs of being a desperate man, and like the Clintons, has altered or outright changed his message too many times to count. His recent repudiation of his handpicked religious endorsers is evidence of his lack of judgment, and the almost daily firings of his corporate lobbying campaign staff is proof that he is being packaged in a similar manner to the previous Bush Administration.

But Barack, in a style reminiscent of the leader that he is, sticks to the issues, pointing out the real distinctions between himself and McCain, and just like his previous Democratic opponent, he allows all of the obvious missteps, gaffes and extreme hypocrisy to be pointed out by others, knowing full well that he must rise above the politics of distraction and pettiness that has plagued campaigns of years past.

I have watched Barack Obama with fascination for over a year now. He never ceases to amaze me, and I respect and admire him more than I can really say. I continue to be impressed at how prepared he is to lead the country into a very bright future, and whenever I sit and ponder what may be down that uncertain road or just around the corner, I discover that the Obama campaign has figured it out and is managing it already.

Barack Obama has mastered the art of taking the high road. He has been a quick learner, and though he still has a lot of work to do, and although he knows that a high percentage of people still don’t know him and think he’s either one religion, another religion or both at the same time, he perseveres. We don’t find him on networks that smile when they interview you, pretend to clarify your positions for their viewers and then parse your words to the point that your message is no longer accurate or the way it was meant to come out.

In short, he gets it.

Obama: The First Green President

Everything these days is going green, which many times is just a slogan, a meaningless label or a minuscule effort. It can also be a significant step in the right direction toward energy independence, toward a major effort to affect global climate change, to slowly move gross energy consumers into smart and more keenly educated energy partners.

We desperately need leadership in this country to show us the way, and this effort will ultimately lead the world, which is suddenly and rapidly catching up to this country’s drastic consumption of our planet’s natural resources and is burning up the limited energy resources that are available to us and the rest of the world.

I call on Barack Obama to be our first green president. I want him to not only identify himself in this way, but he needs to lay out drastic methods and plans for this country to reorient our entire economy toward green jobs, retooling the auto industry to use alternative forms of energy and get much higher fuel efficiency, and we require him to call on each one of us to learn how to be more energy efficient, to perform simple functions within our own homes, businesses, schools and communities that will combined make a tremendous difference in the environment in which we live.

The Shell station nearest my home here in the San Francisco Bay Area is (are you sitting down?) $4.74 for regular unleaded. The price is now two cents away from $5.00 per gallon for premium. That is absolutely disgusting and unacceptable, and not only can Barack let us know how unacceptable that is, he can demonstrate a major difference between he and John McCain, who aligns himself with lobbyists from energy companies, and is tied at the hip with our current presidents, Bush and Cheney, who are both from the oil industry and must be in hog heaven right about now when they look at their trust accounts bulging from oil investment profits just waiting for them to get out of office.

When I first started to drive, I paid 28.9 for gas. I remember when gas was approaching a dollar, and to think that it will be pushing $5.00 soon is just absurd. I have already begun driving slower, planning more efficient trips and keeping my eye on the thermostat in my home. I have tried to recycle more, watch my family’s water consumption and tried to use reusable bags when I shop. I have started riding my bike more to run local errands, and this has helped me in more ways than just saving on transportation costs.

I want to hear our next president speaking today about these things. George Bush hasn’t asked one of us to sacrifice for anything in this country. We are slowly sinking and deteriorating from this country’s debt, trade deficit and our overuse of natural resources or pollution of them.

We need to put people back to work in this country making things that used to be made here, with high quality, a high amount of American pride and a community spirit. This can be done by adding green jobs, new careers and training that will teach new workers about our new economy, one that may cost a little more upfront, but one that will pay major dividends down the road.

Finally, I want to hear Barack tell America that it’s getting way too fat. We need to stop smoking, stop abusing alcohol, stop looking to pharmaceuticals to cure every ailment that we can cure or curtail ourselves by changing our lifestyles. We need to get off our butts and stop watching so much TV, get out and walk, exercise and begin programs that will make us all healthier, happier and make us less dependent on doctors, medication and make us less prone to diseases related to obesity like cardiovascular and heart disease, cancers, diabetes and will keep us out of the hospital and will keep our healthcare costs way down.

The time for a green president is right now. Is there anyone out there that finds that their costs in all of these areas haven’t gone sky high? Is there anyone who makes so much money that they don’t care about this stuff? I didn’t think so.

Be Offended. Be Very Offended

I thought I’d heard it all, but politics is like baseball. If you think you’ve seen everything, just watch it a little bit…you’ll see something you’ve never seen before. In this presidential campaign season, we have been subjected to stories of candidates being linked, rightly or wrongly, with supporters, prior acquaintances and of course religious affiliations. For John McCain, this one takes the cake.

We have known that Senator McCain sought the endorsement and public acknowledgement of the Reverend John Hagee, the evangelist and Christian pastor from Texas with an apparent following of 17,000. McCain has been forced to deal with controversial and hateful pronouncements by Hagee when comments of Hagee’s have been made public, things like calling the Catholic religion “the great whore” and announcing that New Orleans deserved God’s wrath of Hurricane Katrina because it had planned a Gay Pride Parade.

The latest comments to come out about Pastor Hagee are so offensive that one must just shake one’s head in their enormity. Last year, during a sermon citing a passage in the bible, which is as open to interpretation as any other, Hagee preached that the passage’s meaning was that God gave the world Adolph Hitler for the purpose of forcing Jews to Israel. The ultimate irony of this statement is that Hagee has also determined that when Armageddon comes, which is apparently the belief of many evangelicals around this country, the result will be the destruction of the State of Israel, obviously meaning the incineration of the Jews that live there. This is one of many links to peruse for further information. http://blackstarnews.com/?c=135&a=4509.

One cannot help but realize that there is a similarity in this story and the Reverend Wright issue, which has plagued Barack Obama for the last couple of months. The obvious difference is that Barack did not seek his pastor’s public endorsement, nor did he appear at an event for the purpose of pronouncing to anyone who would listen that this is his guy. John McCain, who seems to have difficulty defining himself and his religious affiliation, obviously wishes to raise his stature and notoriety with this country’s millions of evangelicals.

The sad truth is that McCain most likely did not realize the depth of this pastor’s avowed hatred and outrageously unacceptable comments spanning many years, but his lackadaisical and haphazard separation of himself from Hagee’s previous remarks without repudiating the man has been not only surprising, but tells us a lot about John McCain. These latest comments coming to light now demand that McCain tell Americans in no uncertain terms that he is disgusted by these comments and no longer seeks the endorsement of such an out of touch man so full of hatred for others not like himself and his followers.

Anything less than a full denunciation of Reverend Hagee will demonstrate for all of us, Jews, Christians and any fair-minded American, that McCain is more interested in attracting voters that follow this pastor than he is concerned with offending millions of American Jews and decent minded people all over this world.

The Double-Talk Express

As we’ve seen time and time again since his run for president in the late 1990s, John McCain refers to his campaign and his euphemistic bus and airplane as the “Straight Talk Express.” In his run for president in 2000, having listened to him on the stump and on numerous talk shows, I believed the label. I actually felt at the time that if McCain changed his position on abortion, he’d be a pretty appealing candidate. He seemed to have a vivacious personality, a tremendous resume and was definitely the intellectual superior to his rival, George W. Bush.

Now we jump eight years later to this election, and there is no doubt that McCain has learned from his prior run for president, when his campaign was outmaneuvered and literally crushed by his previous opponent, the Bush machine. The sad thing is what he learned was how to mimic the negative aspects of the Bush/Cheney regime and now feels that it is more successful to label or characterize issues how he wishes them to be perceived, not what his actual position is.

John McCain has already had his Hillary Clinton moment when he described his experience walking around Baghdad as if he was walking around Paris. Just like Hillary, McCain forgot that all events are videotaped. He has actually become the king of flipflop, and this video is as good as any to demonstrate that. http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=GEtZlR3zp4c

I actually got the term “Double-Talk Express” from my favorite talk show host, Randi Rhodes, who is on Nova-M radio, found at www.novamradio.com. She apparently has numerous postings on this double-talking propensity of John McCain.

John McCain’s recent campaign has tried to convince us that he’s on the side of the people, but his campaign is completely run by lobbyists who represent corporate interests from gas and oil companies, insurance companies, communications companies, but even more disturbing, they represent the interests of Saudi Arabia, Myanmar and one previously represented Ferdinand Marcos. When pressed on this, McCain either says that the American people don’t care or challenges Barack Obama to check his staff for conflicts of interest.

Although he promises to run a negative-free campaign, he seems to consistently mention Reverend Wright and his link to Obama, yet his religious affiliations that he actually publicly seeks are far more frightening and demonstrate tremendous hypocrisy. His wife will not release her tax returns, although we know that he flies around on her private jet. We can only assume that he doesn’t want us to know what additional conflicts of interest exist pertaining to her investments.

John McCain has been confused on the political players and religious sects involved in the Middle East, but he claims that national security is his strong suit. He claimed to be proud to cast his vote against the Bush/Cheney tax cuts for the rich because they were discriminatory against the middle class and now calls for them to be made permanent as part of his campaign platform. He has several times declared that he must receive more education on the economy and has proven it several times, but at other times pronounced that he will be the better candidate on economic issues.

He has responded to questions about whether most Americans are doing better or worse under the Bush regime that he feels they’re doing better, but when pressed on the issue equivocates or actually disagrees with his own assessment and acknowledges that the American middle class is suffering under the Bush Administration over the last seven years. He was the first candidate to propose the tax amnesty on gasoline for the summer, but he seems to have no economic foundation to back up his assertion that it will dramatically benefit the driving American public. Let’s not forget that he originally said that it would be acceptable to him to have troops in Iraq for another fifty or a hundred years, but last week changed his mind and said that he’d have most of them out by 2013, the end of his supposed first term.

It has become painfully obvious that we can’t take the words “straight talk” seriously. Like his predecessors, George Bush and Dick Cheney, we must from now on view all McCain statements with extreme scrutiny, and when he promises to protect our environment, we have to presume that he means he’d ease regulations on gross polluters. When he says that life is improving in Iraq, we should realize that means that all hell is breaking loose, and when he tells us that he will run a clean, transparent and completely positive campaign, we should expect that he’ll play old-time politics, do all of his mischief behind the scenes and encourage all of his cronies to do his dirty work while he smiles at the camera and says that he’s asked them to behave themselves.

The bottom line is that the next few months are going to be a challenge, but if we prepare ourselves with all the ammunition that we can and ready ourselves to fend off the barrage of hit pieces, unsubstantiated attacks and unfair references that will come our way, we’ll soundly defeat McCain and the Neocons and Right Wing in the fall.

Gracious In Victory

Today is Monday, one day before the Oregon and Kentucky primaries, and a very fateful and historic day for the Barack Obama campaign. It is a day after Barack spoke to a crowd of 75,000 people on the shores of the Willamette River, a setting symbolic in its pristine beauty and openness. It is also the state that will mathematically secure this nomination for Barack, and although we may not hear him declare victory tomorrow night, this country, including Obama supporters, Clinton supporters, McCain supporters and the media know that the Democratic nominee has been selected.

While even the most cynical political pundit or staunchly conservative Republican strategist concedes that Obama has essentially secured this nomination, Hillary Clinton and her campaign marches on, and it is obvious that Obama supporters all around the country are growing increasingly more frustrated to see the Clintons continuing to claim that they are still in this and consistently changing the finish line or the metric under which the nominee is chosen.

I must say that I am equally frustrated, but there is a great amount of satisfaction in winning. During this transition period, though, we must focus our attention exclusively on Obama and figuring out our best ways to support him, provide our most positive reinforcement to him and not do anything to thwart his efforts in any way to clear his path toward the nomination and give him the best chance to defeat John McCain in the fall.

I am a member of numerous mybarackobama.com groups, and there have been dozens of recent posts accusing Hillary or Bill Clinton of a myriad of crimes, indiscretions, subterfuge and the like. Simply put, we must move on. Raising negative issues about the Clintons is non-productive, and is simply not helpful to the Obama campaign. Digging up info on Clinton is absolutely delicious in its irony and satisfaction to us, but at this time in history, we will demonstrate a tremendous amount of class and graciousness by keeping these pieces of information under wraps and locked away in the vault.

I believe strongly that history will not treat Hillary Clinton and her campaign very kindly, but we must leave the culmination and ultimate disposition of the Clintons at this moment and point our attention to our candidate. He faces a very determined and mean-spirited opponent in the general election, and as much as we are tempted to continue battling Hillary Clinton, that fight is over. Let’s turn the page and allow Barack to more effortlessly pivot into his new position as the Democratic nominee for president.

In the meantime, we do have a job to do. Thousands of Clinton supporters will be doing the same thing, except their pivot to Barack Obama is a much tougher, more challenging and in some cases almost feels like an impossible task. We must welcome them to this campaign, be gracious and even magnanimous in our patience and understanding of their profound disappointment at no longer having their candidate, and giving them time to learn what it is to get fired up, excited and energized and yes, ready to go.

Not in My Country

As exciting as this presidential race has been – and it’s been the most exciting presidential contest of my lifetime – there is something quite sinister about the way it’s been waged by a couple of candidates, and their name isn’t Barack Obama. Whatever happened to sticking to facts and actually touting your own attributes instead of spending more time pointing out the supposed negatives of your opponent?

In the old days, Hillary Clinton and her surrogates were telling us that she could bring in the vast majority of Hispanic voters, and that’s all we heard. We heard that all the way up until the Texas primacaucus, and then that came to an abrupt halt. That actually had a little merit, but in actuality, Barack held his own with Hispanics, and all of a sudden, he just wasn’t black enough. In South Carolina, Bill Clinton and Geraldine Ferraro both played the race card, and as African Americans flocked to Barack Obama in droves, there went that argument.

We’re now living through a new metric, that Clinton can bring in poor white and white working class voters. Even if that may be true, the manner in which the Clintons and their spokespeople have carried on about their appeal to uneducated or under-educated white workers and how they would never consider Barack Obama is just disgusting. It smacks of racism, and additionally disingenuously presumes that Obama couldn’t even win over those Democrats if and when Hillary Clinton is no longer on the ballot.

Then we have John McCain, whose wife swears up and down that he’ll run a campaign free of negative accusations, but apparently the candidate himself isn’t willing to live up to that promise. It seems that every day, he brings up Reverend Wright and other past associations of Barack, no matter how obscure the reference, and today jumped on the outrageously unfair slam by George Bush during his address to the Israeli Knesset.

There is no stronger supporter and advocate for the State of Israel in this country than Obama, and yet if you listened to Bush and his heir apparent, John McCain, Barack Obama is prepared to sit down and negotiate with avowed terrorists that are not even recognized representatives of countries and will essentially sell this country down the river and of course that he doesn’t know what he’s doing.

What has happened to my country? Is nothing sacred anymore? As tumultuous as past presidential contests have been, I don’t think we’ve ever been witness to such obvious divisiveness and outright hatred and prejudice. The Clintons have been redefining this race almost weekly, and have changed their strategy as rapidly as the wind blows. They have made unfair and untrue attacks a staple of their campaign, and although Barack has weathered the storm as well as can be expected, they should have never stooped so low and have now lost the respect of the vast majority of this country.

As far as McCain, I don’t honestly expect much from him, but he seems to have taken his lead from the Clintons and feels that going negative is the way to go. His stating a slur as merely an example and then saying that he wouldn’t bring it up after saying it doesn’t pass muster. He’s desperate. The Republican Party is desperate, and they, along with the Clintons, have felt that they have no choice but to destroy Barack Obama. Sadly, the only thing they do is belittle themselves and cause decent and informed people to witness their behavior and reject it out of hand.

As much as I’m immensely proud of Barack and delighted to see that he’s risen above the attacks and has run a fair campaign while keeping his integrity, I am ashamed of the other candidates as they try their best to bloody their opponent. It is patently obvious that if they had something else to tout, they’d do so. All they apparently have left is to destroy anyone that gets in their way. They will pay a dear price for their failure to run a more positive campaign, and the obvious beneficiary is us, the American people. We will finally get the type of candidate that we’ve longed for and deserve.

A Diamond in a Pool of Rubies

Let’s face it…this campaign is blessed with high energy, highly skilled and politically savvy and remarkably intelligent supporters and workers. In this instance, I suppose it takes one to know one, if I may toot my own horn. There are a few, however, that may just stand out above the rest, and that is frankly difficult to do. I consider that the people that I have met through this campaign to be one of the most important things that I have been fortunate enough to have happen in my adult life.

I met a gentleman from Northern California in the Reno, Nevada Obama office when I was there for my first visit just weeks before the Nevada caucus. I had no idea who he was at the time, but as the dozens of exhausted but spirited campaigners returned to the office from neighborhoods around the northern part of Nevada, this man suddenly sits down to an electric piano and starts playing and singing, much to my amazement and intrigue.

I have to admit that at first, I couldn’t quite understand what he was doing. Was a concert going to take place? No. Did he have a huge following among the people slowly returning to the office after a long day? Well, not really. He was playing simply because he loves to play, enjoys entertaining people and has a message that strongly resonates through his beautiful music.

So what did I do that late winter evening in Reno? I sat down and listened, and what I heard really pleased me. This man was good. Damn good, actually, and the complexities and texture that is weaved into the music, which he writes himself, along with deep, soulful and expressive lyrics moved me, I have to admit.

Who is this guy? His name is Sky Nelson, and I was and am impressed with him. I bought on of his CDs, then signed up to be on his email list, and occasionally receive updates on his appearances, concerts and what he’s up to. Most of his appearances are in Sonoma County, an hour and a half or more from my home, but this past Saturday night, my wife and I ventured up to one of his concerts, and once again, he mesmerized us. It seems that he’s been busy writing more beautiful music, and his concert theme was empowerment and self-appreciation, and between songs, which he played on piano and guitar, he shared some stories and encouraged the audience to share some of theirs.

Why am I letting you know all of this? Simple! This man is a huge Obama supporter, works very hard on his campaign, and has traveled to other states, including canvassing in Pennsylvania. He featured a new song, “We are the ones we’ve been waiting for,” heralding the words that we have all heard come from Obama himself, and the words in that song are powerful and meaningful, just like the other songs that Sky performs with passion, intensity and honesty.

If you’d like to hear what I’m talking about, there are several ways to gain access to Sky Nelson’s music. His website is www.skynelson.com. His myspace page is myspace.com/skynelson, and his music can also be downloaded through itunes.com.

He describes his music as “positively beautiful music with a cutting edge, and he credits James Blunt, John Mayer, Billy Joel, James Taylor, Paul Simon and Sting as just a few of the artists that influence his music. I can say quite honestly that his music and talent is yearning to be heard by a larger audience, and I invite you to find out whether his lovely music and sensitive words find a home with you.

The best aspect of Sky is that he is truly a nice man. Whether he’s playing to one person in the Obama HQ in Reno or in front of a gathering of loyal, engaged fans, he is the same performer and presents the same honest, message-laden and hauntingly beautiful melodies that leave you wanting just one more song and wondering to what heights this talented composer and lyricist will eventually climb to.

Let's Follow Barack's Lead

We are at a point in this campaign season when we can all take a deep breath and be relatively comfortable that Barack has this nomination all but sewn up. But it’s not over yet, and instead of rubbing the Clintons’ face in it, let’s quietly sit back and let them fade into the sunset.

One thing that I have learned – and it’s taken some time for me – is that the Obama campaign knows what it’s doing. They seem to have an innate ability to look down the road and know what to do. I trust them and now feel comfortable with their decisions, and the reality is that they have been more right than wrong. As Barack always says, his bet has paid off.

As we go through the last few primaries, it is very important that we maintain our composure, display our maturity and most vital, show some humility as we attempt to heal some significant wounds that have developed over the past few months as this campaign’s opponent in conjunction with the media have been on the attack against Obama and have raised questions and caused a lot of confusion.

Although this has been a very difficult and tumultuous period in this primary season, it has actually served to strengthen Barack and allowed him to hone his skills, preparing him to face the tough challenges that lie ahead.

As we know and feel so strongly, this is our time in history. We have the candidate we have been waiting for, but we have to keep in mind that a significant number of Democrats have been spending an equal or even longer amount of time backing a different candidate, and we must respectfully give them time to reorient their focus, lick their wounds and discover in Barack what we have seen for a long time.

So we must not gloat, boast, belittle or even strut. Amongst ourselves, we can quietly celebrate, but we have a lot of reuniting to do, and as former Clinton supporters come our way, they will be assisted by all Obama supporters warmly welcoming them into the fold. We must be armed with as much information available for them as to why Barack deserves their support, and it must not at this point include any negative information on their former candidate of choice or her husband, Hillary or Bill Clinton.

If we hear that any Clinton supporter will now consider voting for McCain, please remind them that the next president will most likely nominate one if not two Supreme Court justices, not to mention that Barack will end this war and occupation of Iraq. There are obviously benefits too numerous to mention of a comparison between Obama and McCain, but if pressed, we must gently encourage former Clinton voters to acknowledge that McCain is essentially a third term for George W. Bush.

So let’s take the high road, follow the lead of Barack, who has shown such incredible intestinal fortitude and decorum, and provide a friendly harbor for former Clinton supporters to re-dock their ship in a welcoming, encouraging and understanding place where they will feel that their needs are met, their concerns are assuaged and their issues are addressed.

Once together and united, we will present an unbeatable, unstoppable and historic force against John McCain or whichever Republican candidate we ultimately face in the fall. Let’s sit tight and patiently allow former Clinton supporters to regroup and turn their attention and allegiance to the Democratic nominee, the next president of the United States, Barack Obama.

Cattle Drive Installment No. 5

For a Once-in-a-Lifetime Experience – Part V
By Mark Brickman

Where was I? Oh, yes. My cattle drive adventure. This is my final installment, and as you can most likely tell, there were so many episodes and stories from this trip, I don’t know how I’m going to condense them into my last article, but I’m going to give it my best. I made a commitment to keep this to five installments, so here goes.

To answer our first cliffhanger, what is the High Rock Hilton? It was a shack in the middle of absolutely nowhere…ah, but was it nowhere? It was once a very infamous spot. For there, in the middle of nowhere Nevada one can still see wagon wheel ruts in the hardened mud. This is where the several trails coming west converged and where hearty souls were making their bold trek west to seek their fortune or their new life.

The good and trusted route was through what was known as High Rock Canyon, but legend has it that rumors began of a shortcut through…you guessed it! Little High Rock Canyon, but it was a dead end. To this day, the insides of caves that line this spectacular canyon have engravings of travelers who carved their messages to tell others of their stories and experiences.

At the mouth of Little High Rock Canyon, there is a tiny shack. It’s an odd place to come across such a structure, and someone, most likely many years ago, has emblazoned “Little High Rock Hilton” across its front.

Boredom was a constant issue out on the plains. Cows just aren’t interesting to me. I don’t know why. The afternoon that we stopped at Little High Rock Canyon was particularly pleasant, however. It was perhaps our warmest day, about 60, and the flowers, vegetation and streams within the canyon were gorgeous. I was on a small nature walk with several of my fellow buckaroos when we came across the one cow that actually did spark my interest.

Her name was -- are you kidding? Cows don’t have names…not in real life they don’t. But somehow a young little baby calf made it on our cattle drive. I had watched from day one this little calf struggle up and down the mountains, constantly falling behind and getting nudged and pushed along by its mother. It really got to the point where we were all watching out for her.

So as we walked through this natural wonder, we came across our trail boss, who was also walking with some people, and true to form, he brought us back to reality. As we took in the splendor of this little cow walking through the beautiful canyon with its mother and commenting to the trail boss what a heartwarming sight it was and what should we name her, he commented that the most appropriate name would be Big Mac. You get his meaning, I’m sure. Buzz kill!.

The nights were getting colder and more unforgiving, but every day we were getting closer and closer to the final day. I couldn’t wait. My knees were killing me, I was not sleeping at all and my enjoyment of horseback riding was not increasing. In short, I was dying to get home. My new friends from New York were a constant source of entertainment, however.

One afternoon, as we were having our typical day of riding through an open range where the cactus literally was up to our knees, we came upon a very tall hill off to our left side. Against strong warnings to him, one of the New Yorkers decided he and his horse would enjoy a good afternoon climb. I looked up to the top of this mountain, and it was easily 500 feet above the ground below. I’m certain he wanted to impress everyone and scream from the top to declare his manliness.

Unfortunately for him (and his poor horse) the slope was just too severe, and horse and rider fell backwards and tumbled back down the mountain. It was awful. I truly felt bad for the horse, because he hadn’t been given a choice. As I had said, there was a doctor in our group, and the initial prognosis was a broken pelvis. The horse, unbelievably, was fine, although filled with disgust for all New Yorkers (just an assumption on my part!).

Rallying around their kosher compadre, the buckaroos from New York were begging the trail boss to use his emergency walkie-talkie to call for a helicopter to airlift the injured rider to Reno for medical intervention. After confirming with our resident doctor that it wasn’t an emergency, that he wouldn’t die (although he was in absolute agony) it was decided that he would continue on and be driven to Reno upon the completion of our ride, another full day. I did call back to New York upon my arrival home, and yes, he did have a broken pelvis. This doctor knew pelvises and freezing to death equally well.

I could go on and on about my admiration for horses and what they do, but I’ll leave it at this…they are amazing, graceful and agile creatures. Although I had to fight with mine (both of them) to turn to go down outrageously steep grades several times, once beginning their descent, they were flawless and fearless. The one time, however, that I completely lost control of my horse (Tank, the first one) we both had to have a time out.

We were in an area where it was every man (and beast) for himself. This happened more than once where the climb down very steep, rocky and endless terrain meant that horseback riders and cows were basically on their own and would regroup at the bottom. This particular time, however, my horse was dangerously picking up speed and I couldn’t slow him down.

I’m obviously thrilled to be alive, but I still am in amazement that I survived this one. With incredible reckless abandon, Tank was traversing the rough ground with no fear, but at a scary speed, and all of a sudden, he went to jump over a large boulder without realizing that there was an incredible drop below it, at least ten feet if not more. As he jumped over the boulder, I became completely airborne. It was miraculous that I somehow came down somewhere in the vicinity of his neck and held on for dear life.

Moments later, when we reached the bottom of that hill, both Tank and I needed a moment of reflection. It seemed to me that he was as amazed that we were still in one piece as I was. For the only time while I was riding Tank, he walked as if he had all the time in the world, and I allowed him the time to get his thoughts together while I thanked God for not making me a permanent feature to the Northern Nevada landscape.

As I mentioned before, Tank became somebody else’s problem, and the day that it snowed, I watched with awe as that rider from New York rode Tank as if they’d been together their whole lives. As we crossed over the frozen bridge, a cow decided to make an exit stage left. She climbed a snow bank and over she went. I had no idea what was below this bridge, but I surmised that there must be a substantial drop below. I felt bad for the cow and silently bade it goodbye.

But to my absolute amazement, Tank and his rider blindly and quite foolishly, in my humble opinion, jumped the snow bank and disappeared over the side. If I could have moved my lips, I would have screamed, but I could only observe this odd occurrence and wonder how I’d explain that we had a rider and horse missing. Well, typical of this strange trip, as I approached the end of this long and frozen bridge, up popped the wayward cow with Tank and his rider in tow. I could only shake my head in complete disbelief and admiration.

At the end of this harrowing day that would bring two hypothermia cases, temperatures so cold that it literally froze my tube of Carmex and tested the stamina and resolve of rider and horse alike, the fabulous cooks, who had had to drive their chuck wagon and truck over a hundred miles to reach our ending point, greeted each of us with a mug of hot soup, which could only be seen as a miracle. I loved these women.

Speaking of the cooks, one of the great rewards that so few ever enjoyed on this cattle drive was their amazing creations. Their cooking under such rugged conditions astonished me, but for those few souls that stayed up late (and I was one of the few who did every night because I knew sleep was an impossibility) were rewarded with peach cobbler, which was placed in the fire after dinner and cooked to perfection. It was truly a special treat that almost nobody but a handful of us got to enjoy. Somehow I felt entitled to receive this special gift.

On a trip with 26 buckaroos who were on the experience of a lifetime, one of us had already taken the trip before. There was actually a man on our trip who had so enjoyed what I so dreaded that he wanted another shot at it. I admired him, and observed him many times effortlessly riding through the days with confidence and swagger. Ironically, about day eight of our trip, as we were riding through the open prairie 50 plus miles from the nearest road, a truck pulled up to ask if I had seen this man, and I pointed straight ahead.

Several minutes later, I watched as this man handed off his horse to one of the professional cowboys so he could step into the truck for the long drive back to our beginning. As it turned out, this man’s brother had suddenly passed away somewhere Back East and he had to attend to his family. A feeling of sadness had come over me.

As we gathered at breakfast on the last morning of our cattle drive, the trail boss warned us that about halfway through our day, we would come to a point where we would be able to actually see our ending spot at Soldier Meadows Ranch, but that we shouldn’t get too excited because at that point we still had six miles to go.

As I quietly and at this point all alone reached the apex of this final mountain and looked straight ahead, I indeed did view our final resting spot. And I at this point doubted the veracity of our trail boss. It seemed to me that Soldier Meadows Ranch was just about a mile away, and I was determined like nothing else in my life to dismount my horse and never mount one again. My knees were killing me beyond comprehension. Ironically, I had come through this trek relatively unscathed, but I couldn’t stand it anymore.

After struggling with myself for a couple of minutes, I decided to dismount and walk my horse for the remainder of the trip. What a mistake! I walked and walked and walked, and from the ground, I couldn’t see anything but cactus and endless nothingness. Once again, miraculously, after about an hour, a truck and trailer appeared out of nowhere to query whether I was okay (this must have been an odd sight) and offer me a ride the rest of the way. Guess what? I accepted. Thank God!!

Here at Soldier Meadows Ranch, we partook in a terribly cold shower, had a hearty and wonderful meal and shared our stories and experiences with each other and the great people who ran the working ranch. At awards time, Sam won the award for “Most Improved Buckaroo” and I won one of the “Bloody Horseshoe Awards” for having fallen off my horse many days before. I was proud of myself, and Sam was already wishing he could call his chiropractor for the world’s longest house call.

The following morning, we split up into groups of five or so and climbed into trucks that had arrived to drive us back to Spanish Springs Ranch, about a five hour drive. This would take us through the Black Rock Desert, Gerlach, Nevada and back into California. I couldn’t wait to get home. As it turns out, our truck was driven by the buyer of the horses for Spanish Springs Ranch, and he went around the truck asking which horses we had ridden for the past nine days.

Upon hearing that I had been on Tank for the first three days, he said, “Oh, old Tank…his knees are so bad. I think this’ll be old Tank’s last trip. I think it’s time to put him down.” So I’m thinking you gotta be kidding!! I depended on that horse to climb up and down the steepest mountains I’ve ever seen. And he had bad knees? Oh, no. That gave me pause.

And as we drove on a dirt road covered with snow that was lightly falling, I was deep in thought. We had just a few more miles to go, and someone yelled, “Stop the truck!” The driver dutifully stopped, and we followed the person who wanted to stop out of the truck to…you’ll never believe it! A body, laying there in the snow just off the dirt road with his hands folded over his chest and wearing just jockey shorts and shoes and socks. Now I’d seen everything. The man who yelled to stop had been a sheriff in the Tahoe area, and after we all conjectured what could have happened and the retired sheriff took a whole roll of film and ruled it a homicide, we drove on to our final point so we could report our find to authorities.

It did turn out that this man had died from exposure to the elements after getting lost and foolishly walking in the wrong direction. How did he get naked? Well, that’s what hypothermia will do to you. His brain had tricked him into thinking he was burning up when he was actually freezing to death.

So that’s it. I feel like you’ve taken this cattle drive with me, and I thank you for that. It was touted as a “once-in-a-lifetime experience,” and they were right…it will only be once, but these experiences will never be forgotten. I do admire horses tremendously, but I will never ride one again. I like to quit while I’m on top.

Cattle Drive Installment No. 4

For a Once-in-a-Life Experience – Part IV
By Mark Brickman

Where was Sam? You may remember from our last installment that we had stopped for the night where the tents were set up and the chuck wagon was parked. It was pitch dark except for the light of the truck illuminating the open expanse. I was ecstatic that Sam had made it back to the campsite safely, but where the heck was he for two hours? The word to stop for the day did not filter into Sam’s ears for some reason, and he kept on riding with the cows. It wasn’t much farther, but just beyond our campsite was an amazingly steep drop-off, and just beyond that was a corral.

To hear Sam tell the story – and I really believe he believes this – he got back to camp around midnight. It was probably 9:00, but it was late enough. Sam told me he held on for dear life, couldn’t see a thing, leaned over and prayed that his horse could keep his footing. When a wrangler spotted Sam at the corral, he offered he and his horse a ride back to camp in a truck. Sam happily accepted the ride. The horse had no opinion.

When we left our campsite at about 6:00 the next morning, it was only ten minutes till we reached the cows, who had spent the night penned up. As they were released so that we could start our day’s journey, I couldn’t believe the slope of the hill that Sam had come down the night before. He wasn’t kidding about how steep it was.

It wasn’t long before I settled into the monotony of a cattle drive. Cows aren’t smart animals. I know that’s a shock. But they can walk in a straight line, and some are faster walkers than others. As the day wears on, the single file line can stretch for several miles. Oddly enough, occasionally a cow will freak out for no reason and take off, literally run for his life. I don’t have the slightest clue why, but I witnessed this happen several times.

The first time I saw it, thank goodness I wasn’t the closest rider. I watched as the poor rider who was closest chase the cow as it ran away, and quickly learned that riding on horseback behind the cow doesn’t bring back the cow. You must gallop faster, circle around the cow and cut her off at the pass. Several days after this episode, I got my chance. It was my finest moment of the trip. I had the opportunity to run my horse, get past the speeding cow and get myself, my horse and the cow back to the line in one piece. In a very short amount of time, I had become a rather skilled horseback rider, and I was proud of myself.

Now, if you remember my horse, Tank, this fabulous riding experience wasn’t on him any longer. On day three, Tank was mercifully taken away from me, and I can’t say that I was sad to see him go. But the circumstance of his departure left me kind of melancholy. In the early morning hours of day two, one of the New Yorkers on our trip, a very experienced horseback rider, did something that we were instructed not to do; he attempted to get on his horse in the morning when the horse was agitated, thinking he could calm him down.

Well, that was a mistake…his horse somehow threw him off and stepped on him for good measure, and the result was a painful ride in the chuck wagon truck to the hospital in Susanville. We all learned a sad lesson that morning, and there was a pall that hung over us as we prayed that his injuries weren’t too severe. This would also break this particular cattle drive company’s apparent perfect no-injury record.

So on day three, as we were breaking for lunch, a truck pulled up, and out popped the injured rider’s wife, who had accompanied him to the hospital. She reported that he had needed some kind of surgery, but would recover within the next several days, and she wished to continue with the cattle drive. There was only one problem…she didn’t have a horse. Just then, a wonderful thing happened. One of the wranglers asked if anyone was willing to give up his horse for the day so that this woman could ride. I was only too willing to let Tank go, but she couldn’t ride Tank; he was the size of a house, so one of the other New Yorkers gave up his horse to her and he took Tank. I wished him good luck – well, both he and Tank good luck, and I awaited my truck ride to the spot where we’d end our day.

It’s amazing that the truck ride was only about a half an hour, and there was actually a fountain at our stopping spot. It was here that I witnessed for the only time the tents being put up and the dinner being cooked by the two cooks (who were both taking time off from their regular jobs as cooks in a Lake Tahoe Italian restaurant), and I also, for the only time in nine days, got to wash my hair and change my clothes. It was truly a blessing and a gift that I felt was well deserved. That night I was assigned my new horse, Star, and he and I would spend the rest of the trip in relative blissful harmony.

Tank, on the other hand, wandered all over the place every night, and I was so thrilled that it wasn’t me that had to go rescue him. Remember, he couldn’t be tied up to anything, and one night he was dragging a tree behind him that was like twenty feet long. It was pretty hilarious.

As I touched on last time, there were about six people from New York on our trip. They were unique in that they had traveled the farthest, were Orthodox Jews and kept very kosher. This dietary restriction is hard enough in New York, I’m sure, but in the wilds of Nevada, it would seem nearly impossible. But they had a workable solution…they brought their own food. No kidding! And the cooks literally created a separate fire and cooked their meat separate from the rest of us. It was incredible.

These people from New York brought a very special flair to the cattle drive. On one hand, they were expert riders, which was impressive, and they were eccentric to the extreme and as fun as anything. They also brought a suitcase full of booze, and although I don’t drink an ounce of alcohol in my real life, I partook every night at the campfire and it helped to keep me warm inside. The temperatures were dropping each day, and most nights it was in the 20s and low 30s by bedtime.

One day, we were crossing the only highway we’d see on this whole trip, the highway between Gerlach to Cedarville, and a car would come by every ten minutes or so. The guys from New York (still, of course, one rider short because of the injury) decided to pull their neckerchiefs, as they’re called, up over their faces and stop the next car, ostensibly to scare the hell out of them and have a good laugh. Since this was a spot where we were waiting for the whole herd to arrive so that we could cross the highway as one group, I was a witness to their antics.

As the first car approached, they rode out onto the highway and attempted to stop the car, but the driver must have thought he was being robbed and took off, challenging them to get out of the way or he’d run them over. That wasn’t successful. The next car actually stopped to see what they wanted, and when they told him that they were on a cattle drive and that they were all from New York, the driver expressed total disbelief. Simultaneously, these guys whipped out their wallets and produced their American Express cards, and the driver, who probably recognized that real cowboys wouldn’t possess American Express cards, greeted them warmly and we all had a good laugh.

It was at the end of this day that the temperature had noticeably dropped. It was getting down there at night, but the days had been relatively comfortable. But this afternoon was easily in the 30s already. It was frigid. At the end of our day, we arrived at an abandoned silver mine, and the rumor was that we were awaiting something, either the keys to get into a building or who knows what? As we were waiting, out of the corner of my eye, I saw one of the wranglers, a professional cowboy, riding at incredible speed in my general direction.

As we watched this spectacle, my horse and myself, the rider was coming ever closer. His horse was out of control, and I actually didn’t know what to do. It seemed that they were determined to come right at me, and as they got within a few feet, I zigged and my horse zagged, and down I went, face down into a small prickly cactus bush. Ouch! To tell you the truth, it didn’t hurt too much, but as I lifted my head up, the reaction of everyone around me wasn’t too good. They told me I had a face full of blood, and the worst thing of all, I didn’t know where I was bleeding from. Another thing about being in the middle of nowhere is that there are no mirrors.

Fortunately, within the next several minutes, the truck with the chuck wagon arrived, and I walked over to the side mirror to check out the damage. I had a decent sized cut on my nose, but compared to what could have happened, I would live. The fall that I’d had several weeks before I left for the cattle drive was much more severe, and quite frankly, almost left me too injured to go on the cattle drive. That would have been a damn shame. Right!!

As we huddled around the campfire this night, with the temperature hovering well below freezing, I listened as one of the buckaroos (one of us), who happened to be a medical doctor in his day job, explain the perils of hypothermia to all of us, and then one of the wranglers told us that it looked like snow tomorrow. The news just keeps getting better.

As I awoke to “boots on the ground” at 4:30 the following morning, it was followed by “Merry Christmas!” I lifted the flap to my tent and couldn’t see anything but snow. Yes, it had snowed at least a half a foot overnight, and everything was white, even our horses. Don’t forget that we must tend to our horses before ourselves, and I felt so sorry for my horse. There he stood freezing, shivering, and if that wasn’t bad enough, he still had to carry me all day. I wouldn’t have been happy about that. It was a miserable morning, but it just got worse.

This day we were crossing over our highest elevation 7,200’, the elevation of Donner Summit. At one point, we crossed a bridge which was completely frozen over with ice, and I saw several cows do the splits. That was hilarious, I have to admit, but I couldn’t relax because I didn’t want my horse doing the same thing. And he was completely weighted down since I was actually wearing every stitch of clothing I had brought on this trip, except for one shirt and one pair of underwear I was saving for the ride home.

It was on this day that I witnessed hypothermia firsthand. One rider completely flipped out, the woman from New York, and took off riding at full blast into the open wilderness. One of the other wranglers took off after her, and he reported later that it took him at least a half a mile or more to get her to stop. She was completely out of it. Another rider, a man from Oakland, I remember, just completely passed out and sat slumped over on his horse. It was a day that I would like to forget, but one that is forever etched into my memory.

Sam and I somehow were surviving this cattle drive, and despite some harrowing experiences, we would live to tell the tale. By the way, on that snowy morning, one of the wranglers had gotten so drunk the night before, he was still sleeping in this sleeping bag out in the open, covered with snow and oblivious to the whole thing. On another night, two men from the BLM (Bureau of Land Management) drove up, had dinner with us and drank enough to have to stay the night. One of them didn’t feel well, had to go off to throw up, came back and announced that he was feeling a bit better. In the morning, we all realized that he had, without knowing it, thrown up all over the side of his truck. Oh, well.

If you would like to receive the first three volumes of this article to kind of catch up, please email me at markbrickman2002@yahoo.com and I’d be happy to send them to you. In the meantime, let me ask you this: What is the Little High Rock Hilton? What did I foolishly do when I saw our ending point? And lastly, was there really somebody that died? Stay tuned, because I’ll answer these questions and many more in my final installment.

Cattle Drive Installment No. 3

For a Once-in-a-Lifetime Experience – Part III
By Mark Brickman

When we left off, I was watching as the dust cloud magically revealed Sam and a truck full of Asian people. Who were these people? Okay…I’ll tell you. They were a Japanese language film crew arriving to document a cattle drive and why a bunch of crazy Americans would do one, I suppose. What a sight! I was so relieved to see Sam. I wanted to hug him so bad. I almost forgot myself and got off my horse.

Once back on his horse, Sam joined me in the rear of the herd and we rode off once again. It was a clear day of about 50 degrees, and the ride and scenery were beautiful. It became apparent to me that my horse, Tank (remember him?) wasn’t content to walk calmly like the rest of the horses. He walked like he had an appointment up ahead with an imaginary mare. I literally had to either stop or turn around and walk backwards just to keep him behind the 400 head of cattle.

At one point, after talking over my options with Sam, I decided to just allow Tank to walk at his pace to see where it would take us. Even though the cows were spread out single file over a mile in length, I soon found myself up at the front just behind the Trail Boss. After contemplating what to do next, I decided to ride up to him and ask his advice. I explained that my horse wouldn’t walk slowly like everyone else’s horse, and after telling him what I’d done to remedy the situation, he suggested I just let Tank gallop as fast as he wanted to and let it get out of his system.

I thought he was joking. Remember, I was already told not to run the horses. After looking closely at him to size up whether he was serious or not, I kicked Tank in the mid-section and off we went. Horses don’t have a speedometer, but I know he broke some of Nevada’s speed limits. It was scary, but exhilarating.

It wasn’t long before the expansive flat plain we had been on narrowed into a dirt trail just wide enough for the cows and riders to group together once again, as had been done in the beginning of our journey. It would be a while until I saw a cow, or human for that matter, again.

After galloping what seemed like fifteen minutes, but was probably only five, I attempted to slow Tank down, but with no luck. I had been taught that when pulling on the reigns didn’t work, to pull the horse’s head dramatically to one side, which would cause the horse to promptly stop. Tank would have none of it. He fought me with all his might, and I barely won the battle. He finally stopped so that I could jump off.

Once off my horse and standing quietly and listening to the stillness of the trees and trail, I realized immediately that I heard nothing. Nada! How could 400 head of cattle and about forty riders not make a sound? Had I gone that far in such a short amount of time? I was truly frightened! My immediate thought was that they’d either made a right or left and I chose to go straight. What should I do? I can’t go back, can I?
I chose to walk my horse for a while and listen for any sound that was familiar and comforting. It took forever for the first cow to appear, and boy, was I relieved! Tank and I climbed up on the side of the trail to watch the throngs of animals and dust go by. I caught the eye of the Trail Boss for a moment, but he said nothing; just smirked at me with a knowing glance.

For what seemed like forever, the rear of the herd reappeared and, having already selected a perfect rock for mounting my horse, rejoined Sam and the gang. Tank did seem to be satisfied that he could still run like the wind, and I was satisfied that I hadn’t died yet.

The trail over the next few miles became a canyon and began a gentle upward climb in elevation as the day wore on. We rode for a couple more hours, and when we suddenly entered a gigantic clearing with no trees and room to spread out, the news filtered back that it was lunchtime. I was starving, but I was convinced that I would stay on my horse. Sam, having felt embarrassed about needing to be rescued earlier that day, volunteered to corral the horses while everyone ate. I also don’t think he wanted to needlessly dismount for fear of having a repeat performance.

I rode over to grab a sandwich from the cook at the chuck wagon, which had driven miles to join us this afternoon, and quietly ate my food atop my horse. Soon I began fighting the urge to go to the bathroom. The really cool thing, and probably the most frequently asked question that I get, is where was the bathroom. The answer, of course, is anywhere you want. But I couldn’t fight it any longer, and I had to jump off. I didn’t realize how tired my legs had become in the past hours, and as I brought my right leg over Tank’s massive body to jump down, my legs buckled and I collapsed to the ground, to the amusement of everyone who had witnessed this unsettling event. I really just needed to go!

Once back on my horse, we rode and rode and rode. I think we must have gotten behind schedule somewhere along the line, because it was beginning to get dark. I don’t need to remind you that the street lights didn’t come on. It was so dark. I remember a partial moon, but it was not enough to illuminate the trail. Thank God for my horse, Tank. He was my eyes that night.

We eventually arrived at a large clearing where I saw the chuck wagon, the tents set up and the light of the truck that had been pulling the chuck wagon. In the darkness, someone of authority told me to stop here and they’d take it from there. I assumed that meant that the wranglers would escort the herd to their resting spot for the night.

As I rode into camp, I happily dismounted my horse, and knowing that I couldn’t tie him up to the picket line with the rest of the horses, I found a huge tree and tied him to it. I dutifully found the feedbag, filled it with oats, grabbed some hay and water and headed over to my new best friend. And yes, while everyone was milling around laughing, sharing stories and relaxing, I was standing there hand-feeding my horse. This just was not fun. He was an appreciative guy, though. I’ll give him that.
Once my horse responsibilities were complete for the night, I proceeded to find a tent. I hadn’t seen Sam since I arrived at this final resting spot, but I thought it wise to find a tent that we could share. We had been told that some tents would have two people and some would have three. I approached the first three tents and found them already spoken for, and the fourth had a lone woman in it, Helen. Not wanting to risk losing another spot, I asked Helen if she was all alone or if anyone else has claimed the rest of the tent. She said she was alone. I quickly introduced myself.

I told Helen I’d be right back, and I left the tent to go retrieve my bag, which contained my clothes and toiletries. They were lying on a canvas material that was spread on the ground. I quickly found my bag and headed back for my tent. Helen, who was a short woman from Palm Springs, welcomed my presence in the tent, and I was happy. Once Sam arrived, there’d be plenty of room for the three of us. The only problem was I couldn’t find Sam anywhere.

Helen and I heard the chow call and headed out to get in line for grub. Wow!! These women knew how to cook. Great food, but the only problem was once leaving the food line, I couldn’t see my plate or my food. I had a flashlight, but if I held it in one hand, I couldn’t cut my meat. I soon learned to hold it in my mouth so I can see what’s going on. Yes…I took it out of my mouth before I put the food in. I know I went on this trip, but I’m not that dumb.

People were turning in right after dinner, as was Helen, but I waited by the fire for Sam to appear. I was really getting worried at this point, but who should I ask? My horse? I don’t think he’d know where Sam was. I soon learned that there were always a few stragglers who, like me, didn’t like to go to bed early. Some of the late-night company I had and would have every night for the duration of this trip was five Orthodox Jews from New York, and I’ll have more about them in my future installments. In the meantime, I knew why I didn’t want to go to the tent early…I wouldn’t be sleeping. I finally gave up waiting for Sam, though, and went to bed.

After literally a few minutes, the flap to the tent opened and there was Sam. He said, “Ah, there you are. You won’t believe where I’ve been. Got room for one more?” And before I could open my mouth, Helen says, “Nope, sorry!! All full up.” And without any fanfare, Sam is gone. I wanted to go get him, but at the same time I was uncharacteristically selfish. This might be the only chance I had to actually get some sleep. I already knew that Sam snores, and I also knew he wouldn’t have any difficulty sleeping all night, every night.

Sleeping in a huge tent with plenty of room, a diminutive Helen and total quiet meant absolutely nothing. I lay awake the entire night without sleep. I was freezing cold, and with the combination of not sleeping, freezing and trying not to think about going to the bathroom, you guessed it…about every hour, I had to go to the bathroom. It was so awful. In my stocking feet, I was stepping out into the openness and trying to find a spot where I wouldn’t disturb anyone. I can’t believe that I had to do that many times this night and every night for the next eight nights, by far the worst experience of my life.

Where was Sam? What did five Jews who keep kosher eat? Was I stuck with Tank for the whole cattle drive? Did I ask the Trail Boss if he had a catheter? For this and much more information, stay tuned to our next installment. (If you’d like a copy of the first two installments of this article, you may email me at markbrickman2002@yahoo.com and I’ll get it to you)

To be continued…

Cattle Drive Installment No. 2

For a Once-In-a-Lifetime Experience – Part II
By Mark Brickman

As you may remember from our last installment, I went on a cattle drive in 1991. As we left off, I was assigned a horse named Tank. Let me tell you why the Southern gentleman wanted to warn me about Tank. I didn’t know what a registered quarter horse meant, but that’s what Tank apparently was. I still don’t know what that means, but I found out that Tank could run like the wind. Too bad we were told quite emphatically that we were not allowed to let the horses run. Tank would win gold in Athens if he was on Team USA.

I have too many unbelievable stories to share, so I won’t dwell on Tank, but I was told that Tank was an unusual horse; he couldn’t be tied up to anything that wasn’t permanent, like a barn, a truck, a 50-story building. It’s just a real shame that a cattle drive in the middle of nowhere doesn’t have any of these fabulous structures. In the next few days, I witnessed Tank pull a twenty foot tree out of the ground, and the night before we left on our adventure of a lifetime, Tank (and I swear I didn’t have anything to do with it) pulled a fence down that had been standing for sixty years. As I lay uncomfortably in my sleeping bag on Sunday night out in the open on a pitch black night anticipating getting up and beginning my adventure, the yell of “stampede” as forty horses were let loose from the falling fence being pulled out of the ground somehow did not do anything to lessen my fear and apprehension. Ironically, it was just the first of many nights where no sleep would come.

Our cattle drive came complete with a trail boss, a chuck wagon with two cooks, about six professional cowboys and two non-English speaking Mexican guys who set up and took down our tents (tents with no bottoms!). On Sunday night when the trail boss was introducing himself, he was very clear that when he says “boots on the ground” at 4:30 AM, we were to get up. He, in the most friendly and warm way – not --told us that if he found us still in our sleeping bags after 4:30, he’d throw a bucket of ice cold water on us. I believed him. The cowboys told us that we should believe him; he’d done it before.

So after my first restless and fitful night, and waiting what seemed like two nights to hear the trail boss call out “boots on the ground,” I got up in the pre-dawn darkness and went to go search for my horse, little Tank. It was the warmest morning that we would see for this cattle drive. It was probably 40, but in the middle of the night without sleep, it felt freezing. I approached the large white horse, unbelievably still tied to the picket line, and groomed and fed him. I should mention at this point that we were instructed that we’d have to groom, feed and water our horses before we fed and groomed ourselves.

As I stood in the dark waiting for my horse to eat his oats, somebody walked by and said, “Why are you feeding that horse? Tank is down in the lower corral. You better hurry!”

Panicking, I went in search of the lower corral. I didn’t even know there was a lower corral. Sure enough, there was Tank running around in the huge fenced in area by himself. He and I walked back to where the food was, and yes, the grooming, watering and feeding process was repeated. And as everyone else was sitting down to our first breakfast together, I was standing there hand-feeding my horse because his head was too large to fit a feedbag on. That was enjoyable!

The trail boss said we’d be leaving at sun up, and that gave me just a little time to figure out how to get on my horse. Tank was too tall! His stirrups were above the level that I could reach my leg up to get on him. So embarrassingly, while everyone was already on his/her horse, laughing and waiting patiently – even my friend, Sam – I was walking around trying to find a stump or a huge rock that I could use to get on mine. After about five minutes of searching, I found a bucket and used that. I made the decision at that point that I would just stay on my horse without getting off for the next eight days. That would be shortlived.

Sure enough, at sun up we departed. Not so bad. Not so bad. We left the relatively comfortable confines of Spanish Springs Ranch and headed off on a narrow trail to find our 400 head of cattle, what was promised to be about 15 minutes. We were split into groups of A, B and C, which would allow each buckaroo to ride in a different position around the herd every day, left side, right side or rear. I can tell you that the rear is not a good position to be in and certainly not my favorite place to be.

We did eventually find the cattle, which were waiting in a large corral on the outskirts of the ranch. It was at first very exciting to be riding along, but mostly behind the 400 cows as we traversed the narrow dirt trail. I of course rode alongside Sam, who rode proudly, but tentatively. At this point, the riding was slow, easy and quite uneventful.

After about another hour, the trail expanded, and we took our pre-assigned spots on the left side of the herd. Just as I was settling in for a morning of …well, yes, riding my horse, Sam said, “I have to go to the bathroom.” Being a very dutiful friend, I responded, “I’ll wait for you,” and we stopped moving forward and Sam got off his horse and sauntered into the bushes to the side of the trail. I was a bit concerned that the cows and other riders were passing us by, but this was the call of nature! It was a higher calling. As I waited for Sam to do his business, I determined that I was going to have to give up going to the bathroom myself because I couldn’t possibly get off my horse.

After a few minutes, Sam called to me and said he needed my help. Knowing that Sam was a big boy, I knew it wasn’t something having to do with his zipper. Thank God! Sam said, “I can’t get back on my horse!” This was becoming an epidemic. “He won’t let me back on.”

I said, “Sam, just calm down. He just doesn’t know you yet. Let him relax a bit, and then try again.” Sam did just as I said… for about thirty seconds. Then he tried again. His horse, Red, was being a bit stubborn. My first thought was to jump off my horse so I could help Sam, but then reality set in and I realized then we’d have both of us off our horses. That wouldn’t work.

Sam was attempting to calm his horse down by screaming “Dummy! Dummy! Dummy!” Red didn’t seem to take kindly to that kind of treatment. I was becoming kind of upset myself. I truly didn’t know how to help. Sam then said, “Mark, you ride on ahead. I’ll get on. Let me just stay here by myself and I’ll get back on.”

“No, Sam.” I can’t leave you here…by yourself. What if you can’t get on?”

“No, really. I’ll get on. Let me just be here by myself. You go on ahead. I’ll see you soon.” As I turned around and headed back to the trail, I didn’t feel good about leaving. The cows and all the riders were long gone by now, so I headed back in the direction that we were headed before being rudely interrupted. I couldn’t help but feel that I was leaving Sam to die. How would I explain that to his brand new wife, Brenda? “No really, Brenda. He begged me to leave him. I swear! No, that’s not true. He’s a fabulous horseback rider!!” No, I don’t lie that well.

It took me at least fifteen minutes to catch up to the rear of the herd, and I realized that they were stopping ahead for a mid-morning break. How fortunate. Everyone got off his/her horse but me. I told you…I wasn’t getting off my horse! For nothing or no one. But I was getting more and more worried about Sam. What if he didn’t catch up? When would I report him missing? I didn’t want to embarrass him, and equally important, I didn’t want to hold us up.

Literally as I ran through my private thoughts, I looked up and saw in the very far distance a cloud of dust way, way off. Could that be Sam? What is that if it’s not Sam? Lo and behold, the cloud of dust was getting closer, and the excitement was stirring within me. I quietly said, “Way to go, Sam! You go, boy!!” I watched the cloud of dust grow in size and knew that I’d feel a lot better in just a minute. But as the dust became easier to define, I realized that the large cloud of dust was being caused by a truck heading in our direction. I was totally deflated and disappointed. Did they see Sam? Is he still way back there trying to get on his horse? Does he have any life insurance? (No. I didn’t think that last one.)

As the truck’s approach became ever closer, I focused on the driver. Oh, my God! It was Sam. What? So here was Sam driving the truck, and even more unbelievable, with him in the truck were several Asian people. Was this my first mirage? I just couldn’t believe my eyes.

I rode over to the truck as it slowed down and greeted Sam. Before I could even ask him anything, Sam’s horse being ridden by a man I’d never seen before brought up the rear. I was flummoxed. Sam said, “I couldn’t get on the horse, so I started walking on the trail, and here comes this truck! So he stopped and said, ‘Need a ride?’” It was too good to be true.

As for the extra people in the truck? Well, you’ll just have to wait for my next installment.

To be continued…

My Cattle Drive - Installment No. 1

For a Once-in-a-Lifetime Experience
By Mark Brickman

Beware of any horse named Tank. Just the word “Tank” when used to describe a horse conjures up a frightful mental image. When the man with a deep Southern accent calls out, “Whoever has just been given Tank, come see me,” I quake in my new, soon-to-be quite used riding boots.

This is what I heard on a Sunday in November 1991 at Spanish Springs Ranch in the mountains of northeast California and about 100 miles north of Reno, Nevada, a part of the world I was not familiar with. I look back, now over a decade ago, and remember my apprehension as I drove up from San Francisco and into totally foreign territory for me, a ranch with real cowboys, lots of horses, a couple dozen strangers, and an unpainted canvas which would become known forever as my cattle drive.

So what is a cattle drive? Moving 400 head of cattle from Spanish Springs Ranch in Ravendale, California to Soldier Meadows Ranch in the Black Rock Desert of northwest Nevada, approximately 125 miles. The brochure made it clear that the trip was relaxing, fun and non-stressful. It offered the opportunity to just ride alongside the cows, or if we were of a mind to, join in and work along with the wranglers to herd the cows to their winter pastureland where the weather wouldn’t do ‘em in.

It really sounded relatively benign. I wasn’t a horseman; far from it. The brochure promised “For a Once-in-a-Lifetime Experience!” And as I look back and reminisce with some wonderful memories, but many more less than wonderful memories, I smile as I think “Yes, and I mean once!!” Only the most diehard and rugged among us would ever consider reliving that type of experience. The movie “City Slickers” with Billy Crystal in my mind seems like a fairy tale. I only wish that my experience had been just two hours with clever lines, an entertaining story line and a stirring soundtrack.

My adventure has its genesis with my friend, Sam, calling me one day around July ’91 to challenge me to go with him. Sam was and is 28 years my senior, and his lifelong dream had been to be a “Jewish cowboy!” I didn’t share his dream, but I always encouraged him to pursue his. He had always made reference to a dude ranch type of trip where one visits a working ranch in the beautiful countryside, rides the fences, puts new shoes on horses, experiences riding the range, hangs out and eats with the cowboys and would generally provide Sam with an experience that would satisfy that untapped desire that had always been burning within him. Why he had decided to pick the hardest road he could take was beyond me.

When that fateful call came with the request to join Sam on a cattle drive in November, I desperately searched my calendar hoping to discover an unknown root canal, a colonoscopy I wasn’t aware of, or any other plan that would provide me with an adequate excuse to turn Sam down. But with no such luck, my calendar was as empty as the shelf containing horseback riding awards.

To be continued…..