|The Cowboy And His Guitar (standard:westerns, 1839 words)|
|Author: Joan (Michalke) Ritchey||Added: Jun 25 2008||Views/Reads: 2248/1664||Story vote: 0.00 (0 votes)|
|About a Cowboy and his guitar. The song he wrote and a surprise ending.|
The Cowboy & His Guitar By Joan (Michalke) Ritchey I wasn't a real cowboy. I lived in a small town on the Central Oregon Coast with my parents. We didn't even live on a farm. The only horses I ever rode were rented from a nearby horse stable. I did wear a cowboy hat and boots, felt at home in my Wrangler jeans and western shirt, and I loved playing the guitar. My 13th birthday present from my parents was an Alvarez guitar. It was a beaut. It had a dovetail neck joint, an Indian rosewood back and sides and Western cedar top. The mosaic rosette and redwood finger board under the six strands was awesome and although heavily lacquered I could still smell the aroma of the rosewood and cedar. I taught myself how to play my guitar with the aid of music books and some instruction from the high school band teacher. Hooking up with a couple of high school buddies - Larry on banjo, and Steve on fiddle - we played for school assemblies and talent shows. In our senior year we began making a little spending money by playing for picnic groups, weddings and birthday parties. Before long we were asked to go into Portland for different gigs, and I became lead singer for our group. We called ourselves the Hobson-Three. The three of us put ourselves through college playing for different group parties and functions, and after we reached 21-years old, in our junior year, we had arrived, landing a weekend job at a local bar and grill. We even cut a couple CD's and DVD's, along with being the featured band on our local radio station. We began writing some of our own western songs and we always closed our act each night with a crowd-pleasing song I had written, “A Happy Cowboy”. I am a happy cowboy. I love to rope and ride. I carry with me always, My guitar by my side. I am a happy cowboy. Nothing would I change. With my guitar and my song, I'm in Heaven on the Range. Near the end of our senior year in college we were approached by a man whom I had noticed in the audience several weekends in a row. After our show one Saturday night, he interviewed the three of us and asked what we thought about coming out to Nashville, Tennessee and auditioning for a “new comer's” spot at the Grand Ole Opry. The auditions were to begin in July. We graduated in June. Things were falling into place. You never saw three more excited guys and our parents were proud of all of us. Our auditions were set for the third week in July. My two buddies had commitments during the first couple of weeks, so they decided to fly back to Tennessee. I wanted to see some of the country so I left a week earlier. Our plans included the three of us driving home together on the return trip. I had my sleeping bag with me and at night I found a couple rest stops or all-night grocery store parking lots where I could catch a couple hours sleep. In Colorado I became pretty sleepy one evening just after dusk. I rolled down the windows and reached over to turn the music up on the CD, shook my head to get rid of the grog's and looked straight into the blinding lights of a big semi-truck. I heard the earsplitting air-horns and the pulsating sound of the Jake-brakes, and then total blackness engulfed... At 6 o'clock the next morning, Mr. & Mrs. Hobson were awakened to the ringing of their front doorbell. They opened the door and stood Click here to read the rest of this story (135 more lines)
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