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
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