I was on the train, traveling by myself down to California from Oregon on the Coast Starlight. I had recently split up with my husband, and was taking a break from the—mostly discouraging—experience of dating, to visit my parents.
At dinner, I was seated with an old man. He was tanned and wiry. Wranglers, shirt tucked in, leather belt. One of those big 10 gallon cowboy hats. He nodded politely to me as he sat down, then took his hat off and put it on the seat next to him. There was silence for a moment.
I broke the ice. "Where’d you come from, and where you headed?" I asked.
He told me he was headed to Texas, coming down from eastern Oregon. “Got some sects of land out there, need seeing-to.” His two sons had wanted to come, but he’d had to leave them on the ranch.
"How old are your sons?"
"Oh, in their forties." He smiled.
"And they still live at home?"
"Of course, it's their ranch," he explained.
"How old are you?" I asked.
"Seventy-four."
"So's my dad," I said. "You do much riding?"
"Well, sure, and I rodeod for sixty years."
"Oh!" I said, excited. My father had rodeod himself, and trained horses, before I was born.
"Did you ever hear of the Camarillo brothers?" I asked. The Camarillo brothers were the best rodeo cowboys in the world.
"Of course."
I was thrilled. My dad had worked on his Aunt Katy’s ranch with the Camarillo brothers, Leo and Jerold, and their cousin Reggie. Their father Ralph had taught my dad everything he knew, and he went on to train his aunt’s famous quarter horse, Speedy Peake.
"They were my dad’s friends," I explained, "my dad was a cowboy too. He was good and won awards for roping in California."
"That's great," he said. "My dad rode the Chisholm trail. I'm going out to his ranch where my two uncles have their houses. I got kin all over Texas; my dad came from a family of fourteen, and my mother twelve. I got grandkids and great grandkids."
"How old are your uncles?" I asked.
"Oh, in their nineties..."
"Geez," I said, "I'm dating right now—I recently split up from my husband, and I just met this guy I like—he’s a physicist, but maybe I should find me a cowboy instead."
"Well, that might be all right," he said. "What you see is what you get with a cowboy, and they probably won't lie to you."
"Yeah, that sounds about right," I agreed. My dad was the only cowboy I knew, but I’d inferred from his stories that personal integrity was a valued cowboy trait.
“What’s your name?” I said, “I'm going to ask my dad if he knew you."
"Well, I was known as Windy," he said. "Windy Boymer."
Dinner was over. We got up and shook hands. Windy put his hat back on. "Nice to have met you, Windy," I said.
Windy tipped his hat. "Glad to know you, ma’am."
As I stepped off the train the next day, my dad came walking up to meet me. I'd told him about Windy Boymer on the phone but it hadn't rung a bell. My dad had been a good rodeo cowboy and horse trainer, and happened rather incongruously to be the son of a physicist. He picked up one of my bags and we walked alongside the train. I saw the old cowboy about to step back on. "Have a good one, Windy!" I called. He turned, hesitating, and then, as he recognized me, his face lit up.
"Why, hello there, sweetheart," he said, "you, too. And good luck on finding your cowboy."
"Oh, he's right here!" I said, motioning toward my father. Windy stepped forward with an outstretched hand. I looked at each of their faces in turn as they shook hands, and was struck by the similarity of their expressions. Couple of old cowboys, big grins, keeping it real. I was touched, and thought fondly nonetheless of the physicist.
As a young cowgirl, the Camarillo brothers were my heroes.
This is such a sweet story, thank you.
Just wonderful. I love Windy and your dad. You asked him his age with complete naturalness, and he answered in the sme fashion. Love that too. Perhaps you suspected he and your dad were contemporaries? This post brought back memories of Ian Tyson’s song about the young woman in love with the Colorado cowboy who “loves this damned ol’ rodeo as much as he loves me.” I can hear Judy Collins singing it…