It was as if
I were witnessing
a classic Hollywood western.
There I was
stuck in Lubbock
on that windy as hell day,
so I dropped into
the local drinking establishment
to guzzle some whiskey
for a spell.
It wasn't long before
she drove up
riding the prettiest Harley ever,
all chrome and polished black
with the sweetest sound
a bike could make,
it purred like a kitten.
She leaned that baby
up against the wall outside
& strutted like John Wayne
(some would argue Marlon Brando)
into the cantina
where she bellied up to the bar.
Every male jaw in the joint
was dropped
watching her down
three shots of Cuervo,
pay the check in hard cash,
a big bill,
and saunter right back
out of the place
like she owned it.
She was mesmerizing,
fluid motion,
tight jeans,
a rattlesnake sway.
Every man stood at the window
to watch her kick her stand up
& disappear
on that long black ribbon
into the falling sun,
breathtaking...

As I have stated before, my father, for twenty years was a game warden for what is now known as The Texas Wildlife Commission. He taught my brother and me a lot about hunting, fishing, and tracking, although I never developed a real liking for fish.
I was fourteen years old the first time he took me on a deer hunt near the south end of Texas' Yellowhouse Canyon, not too far outside of Lubbock, Texas. A rancher friend of dad's gave permission to hunt on his two hundred plus acres.
After about two hours of hiking we finally saw one, about one hundred and fifty yards from us.
Oh, how majestic he was, about an eight-point buck. Dad handed me the 30.06 rifle. Sitting on the ground, with my elbows braced against my knees, dad said, "take the shot when you're ready, but if you wait too long, he will run!"
After it was over, and packing the rifle in its case and closing the trunk lid of the car, dad put his hand on my shoulder and said, "Son, you did well!"  I never pulled the trigger. I yelled at that beautiful animal, and he took off as if he were shot out of a cannon.  You see, he posed no threat to me. Looking at him through the sight I realized that all he was wanting to do was survive.
I didn't want, or need, a hat rack.

In memory of "Cecil the Lion."

copyright: richard riddle-July 30, 2015

May 13, 2016
1:00 a.m.
"Grasping for straws, again!" It's amazing to me, that when we start aproaching  my age, how we start reflecting on events that, at the time of their occurence, were not important. Case in point:
Lubbock, Texas, September, 1953, if memory serves. During that time local television stations, at noon, always had a 15 minute newscast, followed by another 15 minutes of "public service programing, featuring upcoming events in the surrounding communities. This time of year, it was always the "South Plains Fair."
My brother, Bill, and I belonged to a volunteer service group that was scheduled to appear on such a program aptly titled "Hospitality Time." Also scheduled was a country western band that was to perform at the fair. I can't recall the name other than they were associated with a circuit called "The Louisiana Hayride",  similar to the "Grand 'ol Opry", both very popular on the radio, you do remember 'radio', don't you?"
Prior to the telecast, we got into a conversation with one of the musicians, who 'plunked' on his guitar while waiting for their call.He turned out to be the lead singer. Not being a country music fan, I  didn't pay much attention to them, after all, it was "just for the Fair." After they finished and were leaving, he turned to my brother and me, and said, "nice to meet you." It wasn't until a couple of years later, when I realized that we had met, and talked with, Elvis Presley.
copyright: richard riddle: 05-13-2016

"Dressing up" in Lubbock, Texas, means you're wearing clean underwear!

copyright: r.riddle September 19, 2014 10:12am

It was summer, late 80's,  Lubbock, Texas, age prevents me from recallng the exact date and time. It was my father on the phone, asking if me and my wife, Karen, would like to go with him out to the airport to visit with my Uncle Jack(Major, USAF ret.). Jack called him and said that he and a 'friend' were flying in private plane to Houston, and would be stopping in Lubock and would be in around noon. Jack was the youngest of three brothers, and my favorite. Shortly before eleven, dad picked us up and off we went. I asked dad if he knew who was coming with him, and he said "no, have no idea."
Sitting in the coffee shop, looking out the windows, we saw this Cessna land, and taxi over to the gate. "There they are", dad said, with some anticipation. In a few minutes Jack and his 'friend' emerged. The 'friend" was tall, slender, grayish hair, crew cut. He looked familiar, that 'friend' as they entered the room, and then came the introductions.
His name was "Deke" Slayton. One of the original seven astronauts chosen by NASA (National Aeronautics and Space Administration) to participate in the original Mercury program in 1959,and was later the pilot of the docking module when they docked with the Soviet Soyuz capsule in 1975. He was a bomber pilot during WWII, and later became a test pilot. Jack was a glider pilot during the war, and upon retiring from the air force went to work for the FAA(Federal Aeronautics Administration) as Supv. Flight Control Operations, in Albuquerque, New Mexico. They had known each other for a long time.
Needless to say, Karen and I nearly "slid out if our chairs", for it's not everyday when you find yourself having a casual cup of coffee and conversation with someone who considered such feats as, "just doing his job."
"You never know, who you're going to meet..... on any given day..... at any given time."
r.riddle: 10-16-2016

"Dressing up in Lubbock, Texas, means you're wearing clean underwear!

copyright:rriddle September 19, 2014 10:12am

i’m not ready for this to happen.. i still need you. please don’t move on without me. what about everything we went through together? was i just a phase? please just tell me that everything is going to be alright between us. i’m begging you... you make me so happy and you’ve made my life so much better by just being in it.. you can’t leave me alone after everything you’ve helped me with. you haven’t responded yet..i can only hope you say we will meet up again soon and talk like we use to back in the day but something deep in my gut says that you’re moving on and you no longer have time for me to be in your life anymore. i don’t know what you are to me anymore: my best friend? my big sister? cause you know how much you mean to me and i’m scared to see that i don’t mean as much to you as i thought i did. i’m terrified. i didn’t see this conversation coming. you told me “i’m here for the long haul little baby shark” but it breaks my heart to say that something so pure isn’t going to be true anymore. you called me the name you came up for me and i don’t take the use of that name lightly. i can only hope that one day, you will come back. that you’ll miss me enough to want to go to lubbock or just hang out like we use to.. i’m not ready for this day to come. if i go back to bed, i don’t think i’m ready for the message i will wake up to.

Starting out with
nothing, as I did
but a very
nebulous idea of
what was cool
and a high degree
of anxiety
I was dropped
headfirst and
soft side down
into West Texas.


Hordes of blonde
Amazons with bows
in their hair
and their massive
Topsider-wearing gods
driving along
in new cars
of foreign makes.

In this small-town.
This tiny Paris or
New York City
they were important.
Anyplace else they
would have been considered
hicks.

I was like a baby,
a blank page
as it all went by.
I was in awe of
Travis and his
Mohawk
and his bedroom
you reached through
a trapdoor
in his Grandparents'
garage floor
and down a ladder.

I was 18 and in awe
of this 16 year-old
West Texan
who had absorbed
more than I had
or so it seemed.

I was like a blank
page filling quickly
a baby lusting
loving, hypnotized
by babyfat West Texas
girls with
part of their heads
shaved like
fresh lobotomies.

Girls that hung out
with Mohawk Travis
who thought this
nerdy black guy
was cool.

Mods...
The Lubbock Texas
people in black.
A fad of many
started by
homosexuals.

So many
confused sexless-girls
and their skinny
non-****** boy-things
having late-night
get-togethers
fueled by methamphetamine
which was brought
in by outlaw bikers.

Bikers that would stomp
these people
like kittens if
they ever actually
crossed their paths.
But that never happened.

Two different worlds.
Although I wound up
hanging in places
they separately frequented.

Mods...
So snooty and
faux-gay and the perfect
targets that
just begged to
get beaten up
but it never happened.

These Texan young
people in this
fishbowl college
town, trying to
snoot us all with
how cool and
avant-garde they
were.

They
got the dance clubs
packed with
college ******
that were
taking on the
clove cigarette and
black v-neck
sweater mannerisms
of this tiny group
of about a hundred
confused jagoffs
who lived in
back issues of
Interview magazine.

I'd hate to think
that I was without
a girl in the
outside crowd
because I was black, but I
don't know.
I don't know.
Maybe it was
because I was so
desperate and sad.

The dusty flatland
magnifies the
little lizard into
a Gila monster so
I'm Godzilla with
my frohawk and
engineer boots.

My searching for
something, something
I needed to be
a creative need
a statement made
something not so
quiet so boring.

West Texas College
town Redneck-rich
peckerwoods with
their tanned noses
in the air,

smearing
**** on the dorm
bathroom walls or
letting their
***** solidify on
the carpets and
in the sinks
because the
school has *******
and Meskins
to clean it up.

Life is fun
when things are
just handed to you.