All Entries in the "Reflections on Disorder" Category

Ben Gray Loved to be a Cowboy

When my friend Charley arrived in Montrose from the Midwest to take on a job with the Bureau of Land Management in 1975, the first person he met was Ben Gray.

Back then the town was still the Wild West all the way down to the cinch. There were high stakes poker games at Hadley’s, an occasional Friday night fistfight at the No Delay, cattle drives on Townsend and a host of characters determined to keep things that way.

Right down Main Street was the Chipeta Hotel and Bar which where other cowboys drank other beers. That was Ben’s favorite haunt in those days. It was a place that honored his shenanigans, a place to plot against the rest of the planet.

And so was the scene when Charley parked his pickup in the alley behind Chipeta’s his first evening in town. As he got out of the vehicle, he noticed a man in a ramshackle pickup backing out of a space across the alley. He kept backing and backing until he collided with Charley’s truck.

“Looks like a dinged ya.” said the driver, rolling down the window to survey the damage which amounted to a twisted bumper and a smashed headlight.

“You meet me here tomorrow at seven morning and we’ll settle up,” said Ben as he drove away.

“Sure,” thought Charley. “I’m the new guy in town and now the person who wrecked my pickup is laughing his way home to dinner while I stand out here in this cold alleyway.”

Tomorrow morning’s sun came up and Charley was back in the alley feeling a bit naïve, hoping for his scheduled appointment. In a few moments, Ben arrived, pulling a wad of cash from his Levis.

“What do I owe you?” he asked.

“I figure $400 will cover the damage,” offered Charley, still a bit surprised.

Ben counted out four $100-dollar bills and gave them to Charley.

“My name’s Gray, Ben Gray,” he said. “Now I want to buy you a beer for your trouble.”

Tendencies to paint Ben Gray as larger than life are not too far off. He was born Benjamin Franklin Gray on August 16, 1927 and disappeared in May of 1978. People still talk about his escapades today remembering him fondly as Bennie or coolly as that sonofabitch. Either way he was the classic anti-hero, squeezing his face in a game of liar’s poker or helping some little kid up onto a horse.

“I remember when daddy won a D-6 Cat in a game of liar’s poker,” said daughter JoJo Gray, owner of the Windmill Restaurant on East Main. “Then there was another time when he came home, unsnapped his shirt and what seemed like a fortune in one-dollar bills came floating to the kitchen floor.”

Ben’s eccentric nature did not evolve by accident. His father Joe had his own way of approaching life as well. Sid Pope, who now lives in Ridgway, remembers Joe Gray from his high school days in Olathe.

“I was working Saturdays at Merle Buzzard’s Co-op, a spot frequented by Joe. One morning he showed up wearing one cowboy boot and one sneaker with a rope for a belt,” laughed Pope. “He wasn’t trying to get attention. He just came to town without thinking much about his attire. In later years when he could no longer get a driver’s license he knocked out the windshield of his pickup, hitched up a team of horses, and continued his rounds.”

They were just shoes and pickups after all.

Ben, who loved being a cowboy, once ran a foot race (heavily wagered) against a Cadillac and won. He figured he could be at the other end of the block before the car hit its stride. He was right. He had made it from Stockmen’s Café to Cascade before the Cadillac could get out second gear.

“That story circulated for years making Ben more than just a local legend,” added Pope.

Ben Gray, one of 11 kids, started rodeo at age 14. Even then, he had a powerful upper body and bandy legs. By the time he was a young adult he had won a roster of accolades including Saddle Bronc Champion at the National Western Stock Show.

In 1947, he married Barbara Brooner and over the next few years they had four daughters (Nikki, Carol Jean, Bonnie and Marla (JoJo) and one son, Thomas.

“I married him because I liked him,” said Barbara. “It sure wasn’t because he was rich. He enjoyed being a character,” she said. “We took a Harley-Davidson honeymoon to Grand Junction. That was a long time ago. I never was much of a horse person. I never liked horses but I played along.”

That was a big year. He had just won the saddle bronc prize, his first child was born and he caught a wild horse that he named “Jigs” (“The best horse I ever rode”) after chasing him for eight days.

Soon it was four more kids accompanying him on his way to Lake City, Blue Mesa and Silverton. His daughter JoJo remembers it all quite well.

“At one point daddy owned 6000 acres and permits for a whole lot more,” she said. “He always got us up real early. If you were working with him, it was way before the chickens got up. We’d eat breakfast at Gay Johnson’s (truck stop restaurant that used to be in Montrose) and be up on the Blue by daylight.”

She remembered driving the pickup up Sonofabitch Canyon at five years old because she was too young to handle a horse.

“I was the flagger when we moved cows,” she smiled. “Daddy had a very mathematical mind. He was a warm and friendly person but just don’t forget to shut the gate! He sure did enjoy getting around the rules and he’d jump at the chance to make a little money if he saw a situation as an easy proposition. He did business with a handshake.”

Known for the heralded Ben Gray Omelet, lunches on the trail were not quite so extravagant.

“Daddy’s favorite lunch was cheese whiz, cold weenies and red licorice…no foolin,” laughed JoJo.

“Once he bought a herd of sheep in New Mexico in April. The price had been right but he had no permit to graze in Hinsdale County until July so we walked the sheep,” she explained. “We had to do three miles per day to be legal on the highway. Two miles forward and one back. All the kids helped, especially with the lambing and we didn’t have school for two months!”

JoJo said her father taught her “you gotta be strong and be happy.”

Ben loved his association with the movie industry where he was often a main livestock supplier for films shot in Western Colorado. Donning a beard, he had several parts in “Tribute to a Bad Man” with James Cagney and acted as a consultant of sorts for “How the West Was Won”.

“If people noticed him he was happy,” said wife Barbara. “It wasn’t like he was out for their attention. He just followed the philosophy: Be who you are and do what you like to do.

In 1964, he opened Ben Gray’s Silverton Rodeo with 10-cent pony rides for the kids and staged shootouts from the rooftops for the train people. My sister Nikki and brother Tom were the wranglers. Later the production evolved into Ben Gray’s Wild West Show that played on Blue Mesa for years to come.

Whether he was cutting hippies’ ponytails or hanging deer meat on the Log Cabin Bar’s porch for friend, Tub Carl, Ben lived life with passion. Sipping a Moscow Mule at the corner of the bar at the Red Barn, he would survey the situation as neither a saint nor a sinner.

One time owner of the Chipeta Bar, Don DeJulio, was a good friend. He remembers Ben riding his horse into the bar on a busy Saturday afternoon since “that horse of mine needs a beer”.

“I poured some in the tank and the horse drank it,” said DeJulio. “Moments later some tourists wandered from the bright day into the dark bar and had a horse’s ass right in their faces.”

DeJulio went on to say that most of the Ben Gray tales could not be reprinted.

“He’d raid the kitchen and help himself to a bite then tell the cook: Oh, don’t mind me. Once he rode his horse all the way down the narrow, steep stairs at DeJulio’s (Restaurant on North Townsend) because “It might be fun”.

“Ben once wrote me a check for $50 on a bar napkin and they cashed it without a word at the First National Bank,” said DeJulio. “Back in those days they knew everyone.”

“Sometimes my dad would just drive along and honk, waving at the trees,” remembered JoJo. “There was never a day in my life where I wasn’t proud to be his daughter.”

– Kevin Haley

MORE NEWS TO CHEW ON…

Candidate Negates Effects of Global Canning

Damage to the Ozone, due to increased global canning in the autumn, has been crudely exaggerated beyond the limits of even the radical, liberal agenda according to a three-time candidate for Gunnison dogcatcher who blames the whole mess on the whales.

Giant Dinosaur Turd Park Limits Access

A controversial decision to cut back fall tours at the popular Giant Dinosaur Turd National Monument has created a potentially explosive situation that could ruin Thanksgiving plans for many of the state’s homeless. The problem: An environmentally fragile eco-system there cannot handle the throngs.

GORILLAS CONTINUE TO HOLD OIL EXECUTIVES

“We cut off all their heads but they just grew back,” say primate captors who accuse petrol freaks of price gouging. “Next time we’ll try salt or the head of a match,” they said in a taped interview Friday.

Study: Obese People Often Fat

A recently completed study conducted by the fettered government has discovered that persons considered obese by accepted world health standards are often overweight too. What does this have to do with aerial tattoos?

Are Ethnic Foods Subverting the Real America?

Sushi or Stromboli? Pad Thai or Empanadas? Schnitzel or Burritos? Are foods from other cultures drowning out local cuisine and diluting the good ol’ red-meat American burger experience?

Sneffels Denies Trade Rumors

(East Dallas) Mount Sneffels today vehemently denied trade rumors bombarding the high country. The chatter has risen to high decibel levels since June, suggesting that the landmark over-achiever would be gone by fall.

But outlandish scenarios continue to fly like an incontinent raven on a blind date with a trash dumpster. Most likely, say insiders, Sneffels will be swapped for a crest of younger mountains from either the West Elks or the Maroon Bells. Earlier speculations connecting the 14,150-foot peak to lesser ranges such as the LaSals (in Utah), the Fossil Ridge Mob or the Sangre de Cristos have been scuttled by common bloggers. Some are gambling that the mountain will end up out of state while others say an international transaction is on the horizon. Either way a void appears apparent.

Sneffels, according to agents, has fallen out of favor with the San Juans who might be looking to embrace a youthful contingent of rock. Last year several neighboring peaks complained that the often-decorated mountain crumbled in a tight situation and did little or nothing to accommodate wildlife or encourage snowmelt. Missed tackles, poor shot choices, camping out in the penalty box and the inability to run out fly balls has created a climate of mistrust, even resentment at alpine levels.

“Rebuilding has always been a rough time for mountain ranges,” said Mango Zach Goldman, agent for the mountain. “Sometimes old friends get swept under the alpine carpet and a sort of progress ensues making it difficult to tell the forest from the trees. It all started with arbitration and no-trade clauses back in the 70s.”

Although Sneffels is not considering retirement, close associates say the mountain might accept a lesser roll in which it does not have show up for early drills or to play every day once the season has commenced.

The most likely arrangement is that Sneffels sits out the winter and moves on in the spring. The most probable destination: The Nepalese Himalayas. Trades have been discussed involving Naya Kanga peak from the Langtang Tigers or possibly the bookend giants, the Chulu peaks from over in the Annapurna Range. Kanga brings power from both sides of the field while the Chulu boys offer speed and staying power at over 6000 meters.

“Sneffels is worth more than another run of immigrant domes,” said Guy Guy, former coach for the Fossil Ridge Rangers, a minor league elevated mass. “A lot of these foreigner mountains are overly sensitive to the elements. They are volcanoes ready to blow up at the slightest provocation,” he said. “He’s still rock hard after all these years.”

“A little shake-up is what we need in the San Juans, countered a highfalutin Uncompahgre Peak, who has lorded over Sneffels for centuries. “These mountains are just getting a little too comfortable with the present arrangement. Maybe it’s time for Sneffels to take a knee. The last time we saw her thrive on the power play was 15,000 years ago. No bat speed. Five fouls and you’re out! The old “comin’ ‘round the mountain when she comes” pretext doesn’t compute in these Cenozoic times.”

Uncompahgre says a high elevation house cleaning is in order.

“I’m the big dog in town,” he continued. “And I don’t mean just in elevation either. There’s only room enough on this sierra for one of us.”

As the saga winds down for the off-season, the question remains as to how the lithosphere might realign with these continental drifts, or trades, looming. Sneffels has continued to wallow in denial, adopting a pouting, no comment demeanor while analysts measure seismic hot spots, watching for signs of the smallest fault in the mountain’s stoic exterior.

– Small Mouth Bess

“Friends are the envy of angels”  – Eve in Rules of Civility.

Toole To Attempt Pantyhose Crossing of Black Canyon

(Montrose) Enlightened daredevil, Melvin Toole, will once again attempt to traverse the mighty Black Canyon but this time he’ll be employing a lifeline made from pantyhose.

The tightrope of sorts, strung between a western observation point and a well-grounded picnic table on the east side, has been fabricated by the discarded undergarments, most of which were recently liberated from local second-hand shops and the local dump (landfill).

According to aides, it his imperative that the material be strung ultra-tight so as to avoid bowing and dangerous slack spots. A fall from this altitude would spell trouble for the 101 -year-old who once crossed the San Miguel River with an infinitesimal, strap-on beanie turbine windmill hat in 2011.

“That was a close call,” explained Toole, reaching out to us all from his doublewide overlooking the glaciers of Tierra del Fuego. “I didn’t have the proper torque but a tail wind came up and glided me to the other bank. Damn good thing my team had the big girl pantyhose stretched across the park’s cavity notch.”

Later in 1983 Toole successfully negotiated a crash landing onto Pea Green Grange Hall wearing nothing but high-top Gene Taylors and a parachute. Sadly, the ripcord failed at the last minute and the aviator landed in an organic onion field plot just inches from his target.

The Department if the Interior, which has sanctioned the event, will be selling tickets. An assortment of elk cheeses and prairie dog sausage, as well as a glass of sagebrush wine are included with admission price.

This could be the last major jump by Toole but, according to supporters, if he makes it across without incident he may try going back the other direction in 2021.

– Dolores Alegria

Polka, Olive Oil Life Enhancing

(Gunnison) People who regularly dance the polka and consume olive oil will live longer says a study conducted at Western State Universe here. The conclusions come as no surprise and the future is clear: We need more polka bands and we need to plant and cultivate healthy high-altitude olive trees along with the more traditional crops of onions and marijuana.

Researchers agree that long life expectancy in polka-friendly segments of Eastern Europe confirms their findings. They add that people in the Mediterranean region, whose diet is all but synonymous with olive consumption often live beyond the age of 100. Low stress, diet and rodeo participation were also factored into the formula that, of course, was measured in mule deer time.

Gluttony Replacing Travel Among Americans

(Grand Junction) Eating to excess is slowly replacing the desire to travel according to statistics compiled by the US Department of Health and Aimless Wandering. In January more than 52% of those tested gained weight while only 23% had the huevos to get on an airplane.

“It’s just that it’s easier to buy a package of Twinkies or eat at fast food emporium than it is to go anywhere,” said Melvin Toolski of the federal agency.”

Toolski added that most people become disoriented when faced with packing for even a short trip while what he called Tar Baby Security at the nation’s airports has made air travel chronically unpleasant and all but impractical.

“And this is not some cheap standup joke about airline food either,” he quipped.

Private Prisons need warm bodies! We already link education and health to monetary profit. Why not incarceration too? Invest today and share in the wealth. Plea bargains a dime a dozen through the end of the month. Ne clients: Can’t pay your bail? Grab a blanket.

CHURCH IN HOT WATER WITH IRS OVER CASINO OPENING

(Wimpton) The Chapel of the Full-Tilt Reformed Blinding Light Unicorn Salvation and Ante-Coastal Fellowship may forfeit its tax exempt status due to the opening of a high stakes casino on its 30,000 acre survivalist fortress here.

According to investigating Treasury Department officials tax exempt and gambling don’t mix well.

“Who ever heard of a non-profit black jack table,” said one IRS agent. “It’s virtually impossible even with the watered down games that these jokers have been pushing on their congregation since the Puritans hit the pulpit.”

The fellowship, which operates out of the trunk of a Buick LeSabre registered to a Rev. Phillip Pharisee, plans to appeal whatever decision is handed down on the grounds of religious freedom.

Traditional gambling interests in Las Vegas and Atlantic City have already threatened to align themselves with the church in light of the potential increase in customers.

“If we could crack the Sunday go-to-meeting crowd we might survive the onslaught of riverboat, Indian and low stakes shanty casinos that have cropped up in every fishing village, reservation and former mining town across the country,” said one poker-faced spokesman from Nevada.

“Imagine the profits from the fish fry/bingo contingent alone,” he mused.

Lobbyists for the gambling industry have long sought the relaxation of laws prohibiting children and the mentally ill from wagering paychecks and pumping slot machines.

“Let’s face it,” said the source, “eternal life is a gamble and there’s no better time to start counting cards than the present.”

A decision on the matter is expected Friday. Already Pharisee has threatened to relocate his fortress and his Buick to Russia, “where at least they have religious freedom”, if the IRS forces the issue.

– Uncle Pahgre