by Ed Nelson
I laughed and wished him well in his writing. His delivery of that line was sort of spooky.
I got lucky and caught a ride with a long distance hauler who took me to Craig, Colorado. In those days Craig was a small town that was little more than a crossroads.
When Chet the truck driver let me off he joked that I should be careful, not get lost in town. With a grin and a wave he took off like all the other people in my life recently.
Chapter 3
My first goal was to exchange my last and only money in the form of a twenty dollar bill to smaller bills and change.
The First Bank of Colorado was right there so I went in. I was fifth in line, and the tellers were really friendly. As a matter of fact, they were so neighborly that I had only moved up two spaces in fifteen minutes. No one else had come in, so I was last in line, and when the door behind me opened, I turned to look.
It was two men, and they had guns out!
“Stick’em up' this is a robbery," one yelled.
He pushed his way to the front of the line and handed the Teller a pillow case and said, “Fill it up!”
The other came up beside me and said, “We are taking it all, give me your money.”
I probably did the wrong thing. He thrust his handgun close to me. Without thinking I grabbed his hand and turned the barrel away from me. His finger was in the trigger guard. I about ripped his finger off as I turned the gun.
He let go of the gun, and I had it. I never thought. It was all happening so fast. I pointed it at his chest and pulled the trigger. A loud Bang and he went down.
The other guy was turning towards me, but I was facing him so the gun I held was already aimed in his direction, so I pointed at his chest and pulled the trigger. Another Bang and the robbery attempt was over. I had just killed two men in about three seconds. It all happened so fast the other people in line had not time to move.
I stood there feeling numb. About that time, heck broke loose as the Burglar Alarm was set off by a teller. The bank guard came out of the back room where he had been using the bathroom and immediately got the drop on me.
This was easy since I was standing there with the gun hanging down trying to process what had just happened. The tellers got him straightened out as the Police came charging in and had the drop on me again.
Again, the tellers got it all straightened out. I surrendered the handgun to the police, which I learned later was a M1911A 45 caliber semi-automatic. The cops found the robbers get-away car, with engine running around the corner.
They closed the bank and set me in a conference room. A male teller brought me a glass of water and closed the door behind him. I promptly got the shakes.
I was pretty well settled down when the FBI showed up two hours later. The agents were very nice to me, and I appreciated that they didn’t pull their guns on me, like everyone else had. It was more like a conversation than the grilling I expected.
After getting my version of events they told me that it agreed with what all the others had told them. They then proceeded to tell me that the two guys, brothers by the name of John and Ernest Johnson were wanted for bank robbery and murder in three states.
They had robbed nine banks and killed six people, wounding four others. These were bad people. I was eligible for the reward because it was, dead or alive, and there was no doubt about the dead part.
The rewards totaled twenty-five thousand dollars! The agents had the paperwork and helped me fill it out, and attested to the facts. The bank was kind enough to let me use their phone to call home.
Boy was mum surprised and relieved to hear from me. I assured her all was okay, so then she started to get mad because I had only sent one postcard.
So I dropped the bank robbery on her, and she got all shook up and even madder when she learned that I had almost got killed. Then I told her of the reward. She got very quiet. I ask for Dad's checking account numbers so the money could be deposited there.
“Mum when you get the money lets pay off all our debts, buy a new house and a new car.”
“It is your money!”
“I know but what do I need all that for, let’s do some good for our family. And I only mean our family, don’t let Uncle Wally get his hands on it and drink it away. Maybe you can let Dad go on one big toot, but that is all.”
“Jack doesn’t need to go on a toot; he will be too busy house hunting and buying new furniture.”
“Your call Mum, I just want to help the family.”
“It is appreciated; now don’t wait so long until you let us know how you are doing.”
“I won’t Mum, talk to you later.
When I got off the phone, the Bank President wanted to talk to me. “Ricky, our Board of Directors has authorized five hundred dollars on top of the reward you have earned. Do you want it sent with the other money?”
I thought for a moment, and then replied, “Could I have it in cash?”
“Do you think that will be safe,” he started; then coughed.
“I remember what happened to the last person who tried to take your money. Of course, you can have the cash. I will be right back.”
After he got back with my money he said, “The FBI has asked that you stay in town for several days in case something else comes up.”
“I guess I have no choice, is there anywhere I can stay?”
“I checked and there aren’t any hotel rooms available. I did make a phone call and a member of the local school board, Clint Easterly is willing to put you up. He’s here in town and will be stopping by in a few minutes.”
Chapter 4
It was a very short few minutes, because just then Mr. Easterly walked into the room.
“I hear there is a young man who needs a place to stay.”
The Bank President Mr. Weber introduced me. I told him I would be very pleased to have a room as I was getting tired of sleeping out. I was willing to pay for it, but he would have none of that. In short order, he had me in his pickup and headed out to his ranch.
I met his wife Sally, who treated me like a long-lost son. I had a bath before dinner and put on my only clean clothes. At dinner, I mentioned that I had to find a laundry mat in town. She laughed and asked if I had looked in a mirror recently.
Of course, I hadn’t. Well, it appeared that I was now six foot and one-half inch tall. My pants and shirt sleeves were both too short. I needed all new clothes! Fortunately, I now had the money.
The next day Mr. and Mrs. Easterly took me into town; our first stop was at the local newspaper. They wanted my description of what happened during the bank robbery.
The reporter, a Mr. James Olsen, asked me so many questions, like where I was from and about my family that I felt more intimidated by him than the FBI.
When he first introduced himself, he chuckled as he made a point of telling me he wasn’t a photographer.
I laughed and said, “You must be asked about Superman a lot.”
“You have no idea, but I have learned to live with it.”
The laugh we shared got us off to a good start, but I still felt overwhelmed by the sheer number of his questions.
Mr. Easterly let me fend for myself during the interview, but later told me I did okay. Not much praise but I had the impression that an “Okay” from him was actually a lot. He also promised to mail a copy of the article to my parents.
The next stop was at a newly opened Sheplers. They specialized in western gear, so I ended up with cowboy boots, several pairs of jeans along with cowboy style shirts, a belt with a large brass buckle and a straw cowboy hat.
Other than the fact, I had only ridden on a fairground pony when I was real young I was a rough riding cowboy. I mentioned that to Clint, and he told me he had the cure for that.
I thought he was going to put me on horseback.
Well, he did that, but what he meant was that he raised and provided Brahma bulls for the rodeo. He gave me the basic’s and loaded me on back of one. I think he thought I would go flyin
g. I was as surprised as he was when I stayed on.
It seems I had the natural reflexes and balance required. He gave me some pointers on waving my hat and showing off on the ride by waving my arms and hat during the eight second ride, which I did without any problem. After riding two more bulls that morning, he said he had never seen such a natural as I had turned out to be.
He had me up on a horse and also taught me how to saddle and care for one. It all came easy and was fun, except for the half dozen times I was thrown off by both bulls and horses. After three days of this, word came from the FBI that I wasn’t needed anymore and could move on.
Clint asked if I wanted to join him as a helper on the rodeo circuit and several other projects as a wrangler (fancy word for helper and dung shoveler.) Those bulls needed a lot of wrangling!
Since he was headed towards California, it made sense. He was giving me a ride and paying me. The pay was for spit, but since he helped me, I would have done it for free. Our first stop was outside of Denver to provide riding bulls for a rodeo. The rodeo was a lot bigger than I thought it would be.
It was more like the Ohio State fair than our local Logan County fair. He had talked me into joining the American National Bull Riding Association Junior Division, so I could enter the events.
I thought it would be neat to tell my friends in school about entering. When I won the Junior Division at the rodeo, it was more than neat.
The prize was one hundred dollars, and they gave me the neatest big silver buckle for my belt, a trophy and a blue ribbon with the rodeo name and date on it.
We boxed the trophy and ribbons up and shipped them to my parents. They would be surprised! We then headed up to a rodeo in Cheyenne Wyoming. Wouldn’t you know I won first place and another one hundred dollars?
I packed the trophy, and mailed it, then headed down to Fort Collins Colorado for the third rodeo. It was almost anti-climactic when I won that one, but their first prize was two hundred dollars.
I now had more money than I ever had dreamed of. I started talking about becoming a professional rodeo rider. Clint told me not to get too big for my britches.
I had enough points in the Junior Circuit to enter the Grand National Junior in Dallas at the end of August. Again, he helped me with the forms but let me know that I would now be going against the real riders, and that I would have to step up my game.
Heck I was happy to hang on, how could I step that up?
We went out to a dude ranch in Nevada near Reno. They were filming a show which was part of the Mickey Mouse Club. It was the Adventures of Spin and Marty. There was to be a segment about rodeo. We were providing the bulls.
When the child actor who was supposed to be the bull rider refused to get on one they were lost until Clint pointed out that I rode and even won some rodeo contests. They had me join the Screen Actors Guild and made me an extra.
It turned out a little more than that because the writers heard Annette say I was cute. That gave them the idea to have me in several episodes.
In the first episode, I won the rodeo and Annette swooned over me, much to Spin and Marty’s dismay. The next one I made headway with her, and they were getting more frustrated.
In the third one, the writers had me over stepping my bounds and trying to kiss Annette (Gasp!). They catch me in the act and toss me in a horse-trough. That was the end of my Disney career.
I didn’t get a chance to know any of the actors. They had their own trailers. As soon as a scene was finished, they would disappear with their chaperons, and that ended one boyhood fantasy. The scenes were shot out of sequence so, my work was done in two days. They had me in a black hat which I thought was neat, but they wouldn’t let me keep it.
Chapter 5
From Reno, we headed down to Yuma Arizona. Clint was providing the bulls for a movie down there starring John Wayne, Elvis Presley and Tab Hunter with a working title of, “It Never Happened.” My job was to clean up after the bulls, feed and water them.
I was doing that the second morning when John Wayne came out all hot and bothered.
“Where the hell is everybody, we got a scene to shoot,” he bellowed as only John Wayne could.
He saw me and told me, “Get your butt over to costuming now. You are not being paid to stand around.”
Well actually, I was being paid to stand around with the bulls but when you’re fourteen and John Wayne yells at you; you move!
It was just around the corner of the set and since my dress met the requirements, they strapped a prop gunfighters rig on me, mounted me on a horse and gave me my direction. Now if I could really ride it would have ended up differently.
My job was to be in the back of the pack of bad guys and when I hit a mark in the sand, I was supposed to slide off my horse away from the camera. Well, it worked until I tried to slide off the horse. My boot caught in the stirrup and the horse started to drag me.
My weight was enough the horse tried to turn away from me. In doing so he dragged me right in front of the camera. He went about a hundred feet down the road and figured out I was too much to drag and stopped. Then I worked myself free.
When I stood up, there was Wayne and the Director followed by the rest of the cast and crew. Wayne wanted to know if I was okay, the Director wanted to know if I could do a retake if they didn’t get the shot.
I guess my mouth hung open because they all started laughing at me. Elvis accused me of being a scene stealer. He was laughing, so it was okay.
Clint showed up about then and it came out that I wasn’t even an extra, but a bull wrangler. When I confessed that Wayne’s yelling got me in the scene they all thought it was a hoot.
Since I had a Screen Actors Guild card for being on the Mickey Mouse set they decided to use the shot as it was to dramatic to pass up. This was during the time when they had to do the stunts instead of using computer aided backgrounds.
The next few days I bummed around with Elvis, and we both were taught Western gun handling with real Colt 45’s, and how to quick draw. We even got to go out in the desert and plink at tin cans. Elvis was a little upset that I could hit them repeatedly and make them ‘walk', and he couldn’t. We got along anyway.
The shooting ended for the week. Elvis and Tab Hunter asked me to go to Tijuana with them. Since Clint was heading home, I told them yes. Clint reminded me that I was entered in the National Junior Bull Riding Championship and not to forget to go to Dallas. I promised him I would go. We parted company on a good note.
We arrived in Tijuana early on a Saturday night. We walked around eating food from the street vendors. I stayed with corn on a cob as the most likely not to give me stomach problems. It worked, but then neither of the others had problems, at least of that sort.
What I really remember of Tijuana was the buses, the stop signs, and the shoe shine boy. I had never seen so many people on a bus.
When I say on the bus, they were old school buses, which ran up and down the main road. Those who couldn’t afford or too cheap to pay would hang from the frames of the open windows on the outside of the bus. Some would climb and sit on the roof. It lent a new meaning to being full.
The Stop signs were something else, of course they said, “Alto'” Spanish for “Stop," what was different was the bottom of the sign’s. They said, “Drink Seven Up," apparently the Seven Up bottler sponsored the Stop signs!
We were followed by street urchins our whole trip. One finally through persistence got to shine my boots. They gleamed when he was done. I gave him a US Dollar, a gross over payment. I really regretted it two days later when all the stitches on my boots had dissolved.
I had to walk over a mile to buy a new pair while the soles flapped with every step. I have no idea what was in his polish, but it was potent. However, that would be several days in the future; we were in Tijuana tonight to have fun.
I found Elvis’s and Tab’s idea of fun was to go to a cantina and drink too much, flirt with the pretty girls (at least they were pretty to them after d
rinking, I didn’t care to drink, and I didn’t think the girls were that pretty), then get in a fight with their boyfriends. It was one heck of a brawl. It was the three of us against about eight of them.
We were holding our own until we heard the police whistles. Everyone headed for the backdoor. I was the only one of our three that made it out. The others got jammed up in the doorway and hauled away by the police.
When I got out the backdoor, I followed the guys I had been fighting. They jumped up on the roof of a low standing shed. We all hunkered down. It is a wonder the cops did not hear the giggling above them. Anyway, the cops moved on.
The boy next to me said, “That was a good fight gringo.”
“Yeah,” I replied, “It was fun.”
“It is a shame we can’t bail our friends out. They will have to spend the night in jail.”
“If you show me where the police station is, I will bail everyone out.”
I was led to the police station. Everyone was stuffed into the drunk tank. For Elvis, Tab and three Mexican boys, it cost me fifty dollars. The Police took group pictures of Elvis, Tab and me with them in various poses.
They recognized Elvis when they saw his ID. Tab was a little put out that he had to tell them who he was.
I was nobody, but they included me in the pictures anyway. When it was done everyone shook hands and declared it a wonderful night. I loaded my friends in an International cab and headed back to the US.
Fortunately, we had all managed to hang onto our ID, so we made it across the border okay.
We checked into a suite at the Coronado Del Rey a fancy hotel in San Diego. The next day was a bad one for Tab and Elvis. I worked on my tan. They both swore eternal friendship to me for bailing them out of trouble.
Well, they did avoid a night in jail but the cops sold the pictures to Variety magazine, the trade journal for the movie industry. Wayne mailed a copy to my home and signed it to me with a note saying, “Wish I was there.”
