An exemplar of mid-20th century of Americana is cowboy singer Marty Robbins–in our home, my father’s 33 LP “Gunfighter Ballads,” originally from 1959 (I think we had a newer edition), spun many an evening, filling our house with the sounds of “Big Iron” and “Cool Water.” However, the song from the album that most affixed itself in my memory is “El Paso” … the story of a young cowboy who murders a rival in a fit of passion, then at the end of the song, returns to El Paso, dying in the arms of his love Felina, knowing his sin.
Today, September 26th, is Marty Robbins’ birthday. Born in 1925, Martin David Robinson, a cowboy crooner (and NASCAR driver), was one of my father’s favorites, epitomizing the poetic and musical side of the Wild West and its mystique. As I learned from Dad and others, the mythos of the gunslinger is built on the stylized literature and movies of a bygone era of the 1900s, but the fact that Odysseus never really faced a Cyclops doesn’t make Homer any less compelling. (Yes, there really were gunfights, so don’t take this analogy too far….)
While gunslingers have entered the halls of legend, a truer side of the Wild West is that of the cowboy. A silhouetted figure on horseback set against waning desert sun is more real than we may realize today. As I wrote in Dryland Lament, the cowboys I have known in my life (Ch. 7) were a compelling lot. Let’s take some time (a week or so?) to set aside the movie images and delve into the realities of cattlemen and ranchers, both past and present. More to follow….
