img042Saturday seemed to come very early that day in October. After the home football game we all went to the usual Friday night dance and then on to the Rainbow for burgers and coke.  By the time all of this transpired it was close to midnight. We were told by Coach after the game that we had better show up for football practice at 8:00 AM Saturday morning and be dressed in our practice uniforms. That seemed strange at the time, even though the Coach had chewed us out with some very choice words, some of which cannot be related in this post, for sure! We were just ready for the usual Friday night fun after the game and did not think too much about the fact that Coach seemed unusually unhappy with us. So off we went to have fun even though we had a bad taste in our mouths over our loss to a team we were supposed to beat.

I managed to get up just before 7:30 so I did not have time for breakfast. I grabbed a piece of toast and hurried to the locker room to get dressed for the Saturday morning practice. None of us could understand why we were supposed to wear our uniforms since Saturday practices usually involved warm up, stretching and running some drills. Well, this was no usual Saturday practice!

Once on the field Coach called us together and again reamed us out for our poor play the night before. It seemed he was still mad or maybe even more so. He said, this morning we are going to find out which ones of you lazy guys really want to play on this team. So, give me 50 (yes 50!) laps around the outside of the football field and while you are running and sweating think about what a lousy job you did last night. OMG, 50 laps, we were sure we would all be dead before we made it 50 times around the outside of the field.

So we started out. If we were going too slowly Coach would let us know. Each of us begin counting, realizing that this was no idle threat, but punishment for the way we played or at least for the way the Coach thought we played. At first our overall conditioning worked pretty well, but by about lap 25 we began to come unglued. Their was lots of retching of the pancakes and syrup some players had for breakfast. Those of us who did not get breakfast may have been the lucky ones as we did not get sick, we just totally ran out of energy sometime just after lap 25. Around and around we went, each lap taking a toll one way or the other. About 2 hours passed, the fast runners were done and trying to recuperate on the sidelines while the rest of us plodded along hoping some how this torture would end soon. Finally, some folks just quit and most of us finished by cutting the corners whenever the Coach was not watching. We were sitting on the sidelines trying to get some breath when Coach hit us with the final blow, TIME TO SCRIMMAGE!!

We could not believe our ears, scrimmage?  What was the Coach thinking of, was he kidding. No, we were supposed to line up to scrimmage. We somehow picked ourselves up from the grass and lined up. One team running the offense and the other trying to stop them. Over and over it seemed we scrimmaged until almost noon. It was ugly, brutal, dirty, bloody, sweaty and just plain unnatural. Bloody noses were common in those days as our helmets had no face guards. This seemed to especially true on this terrible Saturday as tempers were on short fuse and there were some fights as well. Sometimes we wondered if Coach liked the sight of blood, if so, we spilled plenty that morning. Finally it was over. We limped back to the locker room, stripped off our uniforms, some took showers and some just left as fast as they could. I remember lying on the floor when I reached home with my face under the couch for the rest of the day. I think I went to sleep, but I do not remember much of the rest of that day or the night that followed. They say, “that which does not kill you will make you stronger”, not sure about that saying as I remember that day. High School football in Wild and Wonderful Wyoming in those days was not the well-run, well-coached endeavor it is in most places today, that is for sure!  How about that funny photo??

Another Bad Day for the Terraplane

The summer was about to end. If we wanted to go to the high country to campout and fish for some big trout we needed to get going soon. Fall comes early to the high mountain lakes and before long one might find ice on the water bucket in the morning. So a trip was planned to go to Fish Lake, a lake high above Dubois on a very rough road off Union Pass. In those days, the road into the lake was mostly ruts and mud holes. Difficult enough for four-wheel drive machines, seemingly impassible for a four-door sedan. For some reason I went with my brother-in-law in his Jeep. He was really good at driving that machine and could traverse any road any where it seemed.  My father came later in the 1939 Terraplane (see my previous post for a photo). After what must have been a harrowing trip he arrived at the top of the long, steep hill above the lake. The running board (look it up) and one fender were worse for the trip and were sort of hanging by a thread to the rest of the vehicle. My father seemed pleased he had gone where no other man in a sedan had gone before. So down the long hill he went to the edge of the lake. 

All was fine for the two days we stayed at the lake, fishing and enjoying the late summer sun and the high mountain air for what we knew was the last time that year. My father caught a large trout which pleased him greatly and somehow seemed to be his reward for the crazy journey he made to get to the lake. I also suspect he was enjoying the “folk hero” status and comments of the several four-wheel drivers who could not help but be surprised that he made it to the lake in a Terraplane. So all was well and the time passed quickly as Sunday afternoon came and it was time for everyone to head for home. Then the trouble began!

My father loaded up the Terraplane and started up the steep hill to get to the road out. About halfway up the hill the rear tires began to spin, throwing rocks and dirt in the air. Two more tries to no avail and the hill was becoming more difficult to climb as the wheels spun loosening the rocks and dirt of the steep slope. So now what?  My brother-in-law decided he must help in some way, so he hitched his Jeep to the front of the Terraplane and up the hill the two vehicles went. Well, one Jeep was not enough to drag the heavy car up the steep and so back to the bottom again. By now everyone at the lake was over by the hill watching and commenting on the predicament. Well, if one Jeep ins not enough, how about three Jeeps all pulling the helpless Terraplane up the hill. It was a sight to behold. Three Jeeps all hooked together pulling with all their might were dragging the Terraplane up the hill. It was touch and go for awhile, but the Jeeps did the job by using their lowest gear and making sure the ropes are tight between each Jeep.  The top of the hill was finally reached and no one was hurt.

I still have a movie of that event that plays in my head. While it was a crazy time, it was also a tribute to the resourcefulness of a group of Wyoming sportsmen who would never think of leaving anyone behind, no matter how ridiculous the situation. Perhaps this wonderful spirit of caring for those you may not even know is one of the things I miss the most about Wild and Wonderful Wyoming.


The people just two generations ago were tough, or maybe those that survived were tough and the others did not make it too long in those rough and tumble days of the late 1800’s. The great movement west was made up of many types of people, perhaps most of them were just hoping to find a new beginning of freedom and opportunity. My grandfather, Elmer, was one of this type of westerner. His life started in Iowa in 1877 and following the death of his mother when he was just five and his father at age 10, he was thrust into the world at an early age. Pasted from relative to relative he soon found his role was mostly that of an indentured slave, a boy expected to work long hours to earn his board and keep. By the time he was 16 he had had enough of the drudgery of the labor he was expected to do and decided it was time to go on his own and to try to make a new life for himself.  Perhaps at the back of his mind was a hope he could strike it rich somehow and comeback to the girl he left behind a rich man. So away went Elmer, working his way west. He ended up in Billings, MT and worked there at various jobs for a dollar a day.

In the meantime the girl he left behind finished high school and did some additional work to earn a teaching certificate.  She also headed west to take a teaching job in Loveland, CO.  Many love letters were sent back and forth between the two so far apart.  Perhaps Elmer begin to worry that the love of his life would grow tired of just writing letters and might find some other young man to love. At any rate, November came and Elmer decided he must get to Loveland some way to see Carrie, the girl he left behind. November is not the time to decide to WALK from Billings, MT to Loveland, CO, some 400 miles or more depending on the path taken.

So, Elmer struck out on the long journey in spite of it beginning to be cold. He started on a bicycle but the cactus thorns soon wrecked that plan as riding a bike with flat tires is not a good situation. An early fall blizzard soon made walking very difficult, but he was lucky to hitch a ride on a wagon loaded with coal. The driver complained of cold feet all the way down the road. Finally they came upon an abandoned cabin and sought refuge from the storm inside. Once in the cabin they found that the boots of the driver had frozen to his legs. Unfortunately he died in a few days. Finally a rescue party looking for the coal wagon arrived and Elmer was able to continue his long journey hoping to get beyond the snow that covered the road ahead.

After several days of walking, another storm hit and Elmer was caught in a blizzard again. Exhausted and hungry he finally stumbled onto a farmhouse. The lady refused to allow him to come into the warm house and offered nothing to eat. Elmer collapsed in the barn until the storm passed.  After catching a ride on a freight train for part of the way and a long time walking, he finally made it to Loveland and reunited with Carrie. Following a winter-long engagement they returned to Iowa and Carrie’s family, the Barnards, and were married. The depth of his love for Carrie had kept him going somehow through the impossible journey all those many miles. 

After several tries at farming and operating a general store in the town of Oral, SD, just east of Hot Springs, a town that was founded by Elmer and others of his family, Elmer, Carrie and family moved to Riverton, WY in 1916. Like many others they came on the promise that land could be homesteaded and that the town was booming since it had grown quickly after its beginning in 1906 as a land rush town. Hardy pioneers had claimed lots drawn in a lottery in the new town that had been roughly surveyed in the sagebrush just prior to the land rush of 1906. Elmer seemed always looking for new adventures. Has various ventures included a flour mill, truck gardening, coal mining and he even dared to try his hand at oil and gold exploration and subsequent development. With a large family of 4 boys and 3 girls there were many mouths to feed, but many hands to do the hard work involved in  these ventures in these early days in Wyoming.

Climbing another “mountain” seemed to be the recurring theme of many of the early pioneers who were always hoping to find a way to improve their lives and those of their offspring, in spite of the many hardships they faced in those Wild and Wonderful Days in Early Wyoming.

PS As far as I know I was born in my grandfather’s home on North Broadway Street in Riverton, WY. My step-grandmother operated a midwife business in their home for many years.


High school football in Wyoming in the late 1940’s and early 1950’s was a “serious endeavor” played under some difficult circumstances. Late fall in Wyoming is really the beginning of winter in many years, adding weather to the list of troubles with HS football in those days.  Cold weather, dirt football fields, hard rubber long cleats, no face guards and questionable protection with skimpy pads in our uniforms all added to make it necessary to be tough. In spite of all of these conditions, we played with enthusiasm and desire to do our best under in any situation.  In some ways the MUD BOWL game between Riverton and Lovell played in November of 1949 at Lovell typifies the state of the game in those days. 

The night before the 2:00 PM game it snowed at least 9 inches in Lovell. Heavy wet snow that immediately soaked into the dirt football field.  What to do? The Lovell folks brought their tractors and snow plows in the late morning and cleared most of the snow from the field just before the game. Some attempt was made to put lines on the field which as it turned out was mostly futile. By game time the sun had been out all morning and the temperature was climbing to somewhere near 40 degrees. As you might imagine the football field was ankle deep in mud, especially in the low spots near the center of the field.

In his great wisdom our Coach was concerned we might be stiff from the cold and therefore would not play our best. So he insisted that we lather ourselves with analgesic balm expecting that the warming effect would help us stay lose if we were cold. Analgesic balm came in big jars in those days and was lathered on with tongue depressors.  We must have smelled like menthol from many yards away.  Unfortunately we were on fire by game time when the bright sun warmed the November air to at least 40 degrees.  Not on fire in the sense of playing our best game for sure as it was hard not the think about the burning sensation in all our limbs by the time we trotted out on the field.

By game time the mud was to the top of our cleats.  We could tell it was going to be a very long game and worse a very long day. The game began and the opening kickoff was short and before any of our players could get to it, it fell to the ground and stuck in the mud. By the time our player reached the ball he was smothered by Lovell players. And so went the game. Passes went astray and landed in the mud and 4th down kicks landed in the mud before anyone could reach the ball. Running in the mud was mostly a joke and up until just before halftime there was no score. The linemen were throwing mud in each others faces and it was hard to tell which side the players were on as everyone’s uniform was covered with mud.

Lovell put a new player in the game just before half time. A wide run around the end on clean cleats worked and none of us could catch him as he ran for a touchdown. The extra point was a joke as the kicker could not get his foot to the ball as it was stuck in the mud. I don’t remember much about half-time, except I just wanted the game to end.  In those days most of us played both on offense and defense so I played all 60 minutes of that crazy game. We returned to the field after the half as conditions continued to worsen. The mud seemed to get deeper, especially in the middle of the field where most of the plays took place. It began to feel as if the mud was getting to our skin and maybe inside too.

It seemed we might be able to score in the second half. We had several chances but could not get everything right in the mud to cross the goal line. It was shortly after one of these unsuccessful attempts to move the ball much pass the 50 yard line, that the insult of all insults happened. I can still see it in my mind after all these years as if it were yesterday.  The Lovell High band had not ventured to go on the field as usual during half time. They were standing on the side lines at about the 40 yard line all through the game.  It was Lovell’s ball and they showed pass as they came to the line of scrimmage.  There was not much of a pass rush in the mud as it was difficult to get enough traction to move forward. The ball was centered to the passer and we wondered where in the heck he was going to throw it since no one could make it off the line fast enough to get very far downfield. As we looked to see where the ball was going, it was going towards the band! INCREDULOUSLY THERE WAS A PLAYER WAY DOWN FIELD WHO CAUGHT THE BALL AND WALKED INTO THE END ZONE FOR 6 POINTS.  WHERE DID HE COME FROM? THE ONLY ANSWER WAS FROM THE BAND WHERE HE HAD HIDDEN THE PLAY BEFORE!  Well we screamed and hollered to no avail. We had either been cheated by the hometown refs or by gross incompetence!  The game ended Lovell 12 and Riverton 0. A game I will never forget as hard as I try.

After the game we took showers with our uniforms still on hoping to get some of the mud off before packing them to take home. We scrubbed the analgesic balm off of our blistered skin and thoroughly beaten crawled back to the bus for the long ride home.  In our hearts we knew we were right and had played to the best of our ability, but it was a bitter pill to swallow and still chokes as it goes down today.  Maybe those setbacks were good in that they taught us to get back up after being knocked down and try harder next time. 


My father and I were in Fort Wasakie one evening for a meeting with elders of the Shoshone. I was about in the 7th grade as I recall and tagged along with my father.  He was working as a Boy Scout Executive in those days, promoting scouting all over Wyoming. After his talk to those assembled about the good things scouting does for young people, several of the elders stayed and visited with he and I.  Somehow the subject of tribal history came up in the conversation and this very old Shoshone elder began telling stories of times long ago that had been handed down by word of mouth for many generations.  His eyes widened when he related the story of a race of pygmies that often raided the tribal villages. He said the pygmies would carry away any small child that had strayed too far from the teepees. It seemed the villagers feared the pygmies and were very unhappy about the loss of their children as one would imagine.  At some point in time the tribal warriors decided enough was enough and gathered together to seek out the pygmies and destroy them. His story continues saying that eventually the warriors surrounded the pygmies in a meadow with very tall grass. They set the grass on fire thus destroying the pygmies.  

Stories of pygmies in Wyoming have been handed down as tribal history from many other tribes. In addition there have been several discoveries of mummies that were claimed to be  pygmies in locations around the state.  One famous mummy was found in 1932 and later was examined by experts. However, differing opinions were given after the tests. Was the mummy of a small baby or a very old man with a height of only fourteen inches?  This mummy seems to have disappeared.

More interesting stories about pygmies in Wyoming can be found on the web including a review of the subject on Wikipedia.  It seems the Shoshones had a name for the pygmies, Nimerigar and other tribes had a somewhat different view of their relationship with the pygmies. 

The conversation in Fort Washakie that evening also included some discussion about the Dunwoody caves as a possible location long ago for some sort of weird and dangerous creatures. A study of the petroglyphs in that area certainly makes one wonder. A current vogue is to claim aliens from outer space visited these areas where rock art depicts strange beings that do not look like humans as we see ourselves anyway.  Just another interesting story from Wild and Wonderful Wyoming. 

Dinwoody Rock Ar


I was twelve years old. My father had taken me on a trip to Dubois from Riverton and we were returning home in the late afternoon. We were driving along about 40 miles an hour, rather typical in those days, down the two lane road from Dubois. Suddenly my father pulled off the road at a turnout and stopped the bright red 1939 Terraplane Hudson sedan. The Terraplane was rather unusual looking for those times being very streamlined with a swooping rear section. 

My father says it is your turn to drive. I protested but to no avail so I went around   the front of the car and sat in the drivers seat. I managed with some difficulty to get the car moving (no automatic shift in those days) and we headed down the road at about 40 miles an hour. All was going pretty well for a time and then the trouble began. A very large gasoline truck came up behind us and seemed quite impatient to pass, but there was no place to pass in that section of two lane road. Soon were approaching  the bridge over the Wind River.  In those days you had to navigate a 90 degree turn to get on and then again at the end of the bridge  to go back down the two lane road. I went into panic mode!!  The gasoline hauling truck was nearly on my bumper and here just ahead was a 90 degree turn which I was sure I could not navigate at 40 miles an hour. So I tried to slow down, all the time worried about being run over by a big truck. BAD NEWS, I pushed in the clutch instead of the brake, both pedals being close together in those days. The Hudson responded by going faster, or least is seemed so to this totally-panicked 12 year old driver. So I tried my very best to turn the 90 degree corner at 40 miles an hour instead of maybe 20 mph-BAM!!-I hit the right side of the bridge and then bounced over to the other side of the bridge and scraped along that side as well. Both sides of the Terraplane were mangled pretty badly.  The GOOD NEWS is that the bridge was one of those old-fashioned types with heavy steel trusses on both sides rising above the road making it a drive-thru. I say good news because the drop into the river was at lease 25 feet or something like that. The other good news is the gasoline truck did not ram us from behind as its driver had slowed way down to make the Screen Shot 2015-08-23 at 11.54.58 AMcorner.  The last piece of good news is that my father could not punish me much for this fiasco since it was his idea.  I have a feeling my mother took care of his punishment.  Only in Wild and Wonderful Wyoming did driving lessons start at 12 years of age on the main two-lane road from Dubois to Riverton.  

 The photo is of a 1938 Terraplane as I could not find a photo of a 1939 Sedan.










The Kindom of Zando and its magnificent Castle on the Hill is envied by King Bullato of the neighboring kingdom of Grottlyn. Plotting to take over this prosperous and happy kingdom he arranges to kill King Allandro. Princess Adriana is made the Queen and with her secret love, the handsome Duke Arden as her general, must quickly develop a plan to thwart the evil King Bullato’s intentions.  The Army of Zando soon begins a long journey over the High Pass, across the Enchanted River and down to the Dunes. Beset by horrible creatures and incredible odds, the would be lovers must complete their heroic quest to save their beloved kingdom.







TO PREVIEW THE EACH OF THE PIECES AND THE OTHER MUSIC GO TO:     If you wish to download you may do so for the dirt cheap price of $1.00 (or more if you wish).  HAPPY LISTENING !!!!

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