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At ten my heroes could be

seen on the screen of the

Chief theater every

Saturday afternoon ...

That summer my "Trigger" was

"Twinkle" ... an old plowhorse

that paid little attention

to my direction and damn near

killed me more than once.

At eleven my father was a hero ...

He set me up in business

with an archery set ...

"If you get any rabbits,

you can sell their skins."

I spent weeks hunting and

finally made the kill ...

then felt terrible and

had no buyers.

At twelve my idols were

rodeo riders ...

I'd catch a bus to Sidney

and sneak into the chute

areas to watch the show.

Once a friend took my picture

with Casey Tibbs ...

the highlight of the year.

My longest lasting idol 

was Hank Williams ...

I remember standing for hours

outside the Omaha Auditorium

to assure a front row seat ...

and the disbelief at getting

his autograph after the show.

I spent that summer

writing country songs ...

Sad tales of woes I had

never experienced.

At fifteen I took a bus

to California and the

entire state became my dream.

I wandered the beaches of Carmel

and fell in love with the

Pacific Ocean ... I explored

Los Angeles and that city

became my goal.

At sixteen I bought an

old Pontiac, that had

seen better days, and set out

for Nashville, Tennessee.

The entire Grand Old Opry

sat on a golden pedestal.

Time has not diminished the

warm memories of old idols ...

but most of them are gone ...

or tarnished from sitting

out in the air too long.

They have not been replaced.

... and I envy the enthusiasm 

I have known.

Dick Sutphen, 2018