All language subtitles for Everything.In.the.Song.Is.True.2016.1080p.BluRay.x265-RARBG3_English

(applause)

[Announcer] From Bellvue, Colorado:

Gary McMahan.

(applause)

These songs are like your kids, ya know?

You love 'em all, but
most of 'em stay at home

and never do nothin'

(laughing)

But every once in a while you have one

that gets up, runs out the
door and before you know it,

and he's out there making you proud

and sending checks back to dear old dad.

And this song was, it's a true story

about a ranch in Wyoming,
and it was first recorded

by Chris LeDoux, back in the early '70s,

and it's been recorded
about 300 times now,

by a bunch of good cowboy
and cowgirl singers.

It's called: The Old Double Diamond.

(applause)

(country western music)

X Now the old Double Diamond, X.

X lay out east of Dubois, X.

Min the land of the buffalo. X.

X And the auctioneer's gavel
rapped and it rattled, X.

X as I watched the old Double Diamond go X.

X And won't you listen to the wind X.

X mother nature's violin. X.

X Now she's selling out,
and I'm moving on, X.

X but I'm leaving with more than I came X.

X 'Cause I got this saddle,
and it ain't for sale, X.

X And I got this song to sing X.

X Got a new range to find,
and new knots to tie, X.

X In a country where cowboys are kings X.

X I turn my tail to the wind, X.

X and the old Double Diamond, X.

K disappeared into the sage. X

(musical yodeling)

(applause)

(yodeling)

(dog barking)

(yodeling)

Nice. Nice, Belle.

There's nothing like
a yodel to convey blue

or happy, and the reason
I put yodeling in my songs

is the old Western songs had 'em,

and a yodel is constructed
of mainly vowels.

(yodeling)

A lot of people have a real
weak falsetto, ya know?

And can't do a yodel with a weak falsetto.

You gotta have a real
falsetto, like Mickey Mouse.

Come here, Pluto, come on boy.

(laughing)

Down, Pluto, down, boy!

Anyway, you develop your
falsetto by singing falsetto,

like The Cattle Call.

(strumming)

(falsetto yodeling)

And then you learn to
switch in and out of it.

Now, a trained singer can't yodel.

Their voice goes (vocalizing scales);

They've lost the break in their voice.

They actually have to retrain

a break in their voice to yodel.

(musical yodeling)

And then if you practice it
long enough, you can do it fast.

(uptempo yodeling)

(acoustic picking)

Jeff Nourse is probably
the cowboy's cowboy.

And I admire Jeff for
his artistic abilities.

The guy can do probably
anything he sets his mind to,

but he was just a hardscrabble
kid from New Mexico,

ya know. Neither one of
us have ever been rich

or anything near it, and we
kinda get along on that level.

Yeah, I grew up north
of Magdalena, on a ranch

that my granddad started,
along with my uncle,

way back in the teens.

So I'm basically fourth
generation doing this.

It's what I've always loved to do.

(country western music)

[Gary] There's a line in
a song that Jeff and I wrote

about his Uncle Fred, where it says,

"A good cowboy knows what to do,

but a good cowman knows why"

Jeff first learned from Fred,

who was kind of a PhD in cowboy-ology.

As a result, Jeff not
only knows the what's,

but the whys, and it was
sure a great way to start

if you're gonna make
your living running cows.

[Man's Voice] Show's over.

The ranch north of Magdalena
was about 50 miles from town.

And back then, the roads were terrible

and trucks were not very
good back in those days.

This was in the '50s.

There's a livestock
driveway between the Arizona

state line and Magdalena.

It was a big shipping point for cattle,

for years and years, it's
one of the biggest ones.

So each ranch would
just drive their cattle

into the driveway, and they'd
drilled a well every 10 miles,

so you'd just move them into town,

hold 'em at the edge of
town until the rail cars

were ready and you'd made
the deal with the buyer,

and then take them on
in to the stockyards,

and strip the calves and weigh 'em,

and load 'em on a train.

And then drive those cows back home.

And they didn't wanna go.

They wouldn't leave
their calves, you know,

after, you know, if a cow
and a calf get separated,

they wanna go back to the spot
that they last seen that calf

so those cows just wanna come
back over the top of you.

The Uncle Fred song is
about this very thing,

driving those cattle to town.

I learned a lot from him,
and there's a line in there

about stories around the campfire,

and he was a great storyteller
and a great teacher,

and he'd ridden with Poncho Villa,

I mean, he'd done a lot of stuff.

Not by choice; He was in jail in Mexico,

and Poncho Villa came through town and

said, "Alright, here's the deal, guys."

You can go with me, or we'll
just blast you right here.

So he says it was a real easy choice.

(somber music)

So yeah, he rode with him for a while.

Everything in the song is true.

It all really happened to him.

(applause)

I'll do you one Gary and I wrote together.

I started writing it,
and then Gary came along,

stayed a few days, and we
worked on it for a year or so.

(laughing)

Then we finally finished it,

finally finished it on the telephone.

But anyway, it's a true story,

where I grew up, in Magdalena, New Mexico.

And it's about my Uncle Fred.

(acoustic guitar music)

X From the spurs Ed Blanchard Made, X.

X To the trademark felt,
that circled his head X.

X a cowboy from the old school, X.

X Whose amigos lay dyin' or dead, X.

X the old man from Magdalena. X.

X I was his button, he said. X.

X And the hungry roots
of my cowboy soul, X.

X were fed by my Uncle Fred X.

X recall cattle bawling
in the blowing sand, X.

X and riding night herd in the rain X.

X We'd drive our cattle into town, X.

X and load 'em on a train. X.

X The kids would keep the herd bunched X.

X out on the holding ground, X.

X while Uncle Fred would close the deal, X.

X at every bar in town. X

(acoustic music)

[Gary] Jeff and I have been
friends for probably 30 years.

We met on the Bell Ranch,
down in Solano, New Mexico.

And they don't do any
rides on the Bell anymore,

but Jeff's got his own ride
up on the Indian Head Ranch

over by Las Vegas, New Mexico.

(acoustic music)

At a trail ride, these
guys usually get there,

and you get your duffel
stowed, and you get camp made

and your tent, there, and then
you ride out in the mornings,

get on a horse and ride for a day,

and these are gentlemen's
trail rides, you know?

Where it takes like two mules
just to pack the whiskey.

And then everybody gets
back to camp that evening,

and usually a nap is in order.

And then the music starts.

And it isn't a formal show.

You're just sittin' around
the campfire with a guitar,

and it comes your turn
and you play 'em a song,

and then somebody else
plays 'em another song,

or does a poem, or tells a story.

You're just out there with your buddies.

(country western music)

X Well, this is a song about
some friends of mine, X.

X We all get together from time to time X.

X and talk about things we've
done and things to do. X.

Music's a big part of the trail ride.

It started out years ago with
just me and a couple of guys.

And it's turned into a, kind
of a music festival, really.

There's great players from
a lot of different places

show up, and a talented bunch of guys.

It is an event that a lot
of people look forward to,

and hopefully we can keep
it going for years to come.

(country western music)

X I got a friend there, too, X.

X She's a waiting up for me. X.

X She can do anything
that she has to do; X.

X she can love me; She can kiss me; X.

X she can cuss me, too X.

X That's the way it is with old friends X.

X Good friends are hard to find X.

And another thing that
happened to me along the way

was I met Brice Chapman,
and we was talking

around the campfire, at
the Indian Head ride,

Somebody had hired Brice to do a little

trick-roping down there.

And the first time I came
up to Brice and I said,

"Well, I see you got some of
them cheap-ass rope tricks

you're sellin, huh?".

[Jeff] X That's the way
it is with old friends. XX

(cheering)

But you might wanna take a look

at some of them cheap-ass rope tricks.

I need a quad iced vente,
three-pump vanilla latte.

(unintelligible response)

Yeah, and I'll take a
white chocolate mocha.

I cannot pronounce some of the things

that we're supposed to order, anymore.

There's a new language out there.

Who would ever have
thought a cowboy would say,

"Google it; Look it up
on the internet;" right?

X Out in Montana, where the sky is blue, X.

X lives a feller named
Slim, an old buckaroo, X.

X wears a big black hat, X.

X rides a horse that won't quit. X.

X He ain't no alloy; He's plum cowboy, X.

X and he can yodel, you bet. X

(yodeling)

A round bale of wheat hay,

and my truck's right there in the front.

[Man In Truck] What you doing, man?

Just solid work, that's it.

I love it; I don't know what
else I'd do if I didn't.

(clacking)

Alright, off to something different.

You can catch anything in the world

if you can get it to depend
on you for a free handout.

You set a snare for a pig or a possum

or a raccoon, he's gonna go in there

and he's gonna eat the free food.

People nowadays, they
don't know how to work.

I mean, that's just being honest.

And it's up to you, you need
to get your ambition bone

and whittle on it a little bit,

and make your own life in your own way,

and that's the American dream.

That's what cowboys, they
wanted the American dream,

they wanted to go work on a ranch

and then eventually save 'em some money

and buy their own herd
and buy 'em some land.

Well, that dreams not, it's not lost,

it's just the person with the ambition

picks it up and runs with it.

Get on this deal here, c'mon.

[Gary] Brice Chapman, he's a strong guy.

I guess he gets it from shoeing horses.

You know, he's horse-shoeing royalty.

(muttering)

His dad used to shoe the
Queen of England's horses,

and the Saudi Arabia,
they used to fly him over

to shoe those horses, and
Brice came right out of that.

And then he's carrying on the tradition.

Shoeing horses is a lost
art, because a lot of cowboys

can still shoe horses, and
there are a lot of guys

that go to farrier schools
and learn how to shoe horses,

but just doing it for a living, every day,

a lot of guys, they'll
find out that it's harder

than they thought, and
they'll just go ahead

and pay somebody else to do it,

and that's a blessing for our business,

because we've been doing it for so long.

[Gary] You know,
horseshoein' is the hardest job

on the ranch, and you're
right down under 'em,

where they can stop you.

So you have to get your bluff in on 'em,

and command some respect.

You have to know what
you're doing, technically,

and be plenty horse-savvy.

And if you do it right, you
take good care of their feet,

and nobody gets hurt.

You know, a cowboy's hands,
they'll have battle scars,

and when you're always messing
and playing with horses,

anything you touch can
pretty much either cut you,

or step on you, or bite you,

and you'll always have some pains,

and when you're using those
rasps, they're extra sharp.

And you can cut your
fingers, really, really easy,

and that's what, hey!

What are you doin"?

And that's what some of these scars are.

And you know, of course,
you're fingernails

are always breaking off,
or they're cracking,

and in the winter, I
use a lot of white tape,

and lots of Super Glue.

You like your shoe job?

You wanna smile for 'em?

Smile; Smile for 'em.

(laughing)

Good boy.

Not bad for a bronc, huh?

(yodeling)

I threw a guitar over my
back in 1971 and set off

to become a song-writer,
much to the dismay of my dad.

And I went to Nashville and
spent the next five years

in abject poverty, learning
how to write songs.

And I went from New York City to LA,

and we got into every
ARR office there was.

Warner Brothers did sign me,

but then they signed Larry Mahan,

and so they kicked all the
other cowboys off the label,

because they figured they had
the ultimate singing cowboy.

There was just one problem with that:

Larry Mahan sings like I ride bulls.

You know, they took
such a lickin' on that,

they decided never to sign another cowboy.

And after that, I couldn't
find anybody that wanted

to sigh me, so I came back home.

And kicked around, you know, tried to sing

for a livin' at these
windy little Naugahyde

bars out in the middle of Wyoming,

and you know, living hand to mouth.

And I was gonna go back to cowboying,

and they needed a guy to run the stables

at the ♪-Lazy-♪ Ranch.

Well, I'd never duded a horse out before,

but I figured, what
could it possibly hurt?

Other than the dudes.

And so I took on that job,

and I grew that stable
from 13 horses to 185.

(country western music)

And then, well, I got called
away from the ♪-Lazy- ♪

because Tomato Records - it
was a New York City label

they called me up and wanted to sign me,

and so you bet, I quit
my job at the ♪-Lazy-♪,

and then we headed for New
York and cut the album.

And there were four artists on this label.

There was me, Dick Gregory,

Townes Van Zandt,

and Phillip Glass.

Anyway, all of a sudden, they
wanted to do a big time album

on me, and we cut that
album in New York City.

The vocals on it were the Jordanaires,

Elvis' old vocal group.

The strings on it were
the New York Philharmonic,

with Harry Lookofsky conducting.

It was called Colorado Blue.

And it got picked as a hit
album in all three trades.

It was just on its way straight up.

(melodic country western music)

And this was in about 1980.

Tomato Records had me on
this tour of radio stations,

and I was to go to Memphis and play a gig

at St. Jude's hospital, and
the only room they could find

for me was a suite, and I didn't know

that I was staying right
next to Gerald Ford.

And all of a sudden, the
other elevator doors open,

and it was Gerald Ford.

And he had two Secret
Service guys with him,

and they looked straight at
me, and they said, "Get him."

And all these cops just
jumped on top of me,

pinned me to the floor,
and they got Gerald past me

without risk to his person, I guess.

So, I got up to my room, and I thought,

"Whew, this has been a hell of a day"

(acoustic guitar music)

The next morning, at six
o'clock, the phone rang.

And it's Kevin Eggers' secretary,

and she's saying, "Gary, get out of there."

The record company went
broke; We're bankrupt.

We can't even pay for that room.

So, I snuck out of the hotel.

Snuck out of this suite,
and I mean, it was a suite.

There were like seven
different sets of furniture.

I mean, I was living as high
on the hog as I ever had.

And then six hours later, it's all over.

And I'm no longer a star; I'm nothing'

I'm just a fugitive.

That was it, man.

(somber yodeling)

We met in seventh grade,
at a high school sock-hop.

And got married young.

I was 16; We've been together ever since.

You know, you're a little immature at 16.

People don't take you very serious,

but we was ready to get started.

And from there, we
basically came to this ranch

and started running our own cattle

and working for ourselves.

That's kind of where we're at right now.

(acoustic guitar music)

I think poor men has poor ways.

2D and I got started young.

We didn't have anything, so
we learned to make it ourself.

That's just part of the
deal, being on these ranches,

is being able to weld a little bit.

But, I think, you know, if
you get a little creative,

you can do a lot of stuff with it.

One of the partners in
the ranch across the road

had built a new house, and she'd bought

this really cool
chandelier, and I thought,

"You know what, I can make one of those."

And so I did.

And had it hanging in the house.

It looked pretty cool.

Guy came by and said,
"God, I'll buy that".

So I just, you know, I took
it down, "Here you go."

He traded me an old pickup for it,

and I was needing an old pickup.

So there's 2D with no
lights in the dining room,

and ah, so one night she goes out

and she gets this old
pickup I'd traded for,

she drives up and parks
it and shines the lights

through the window, and she says,

"That's what we're gonna
use for lights in here

until you build me another one.

So I built her another one...

Let's see, I think there's
six, there's six arms

on the bottom, and then
they're split at the top,

with some more arms.

There's little lights
out on the end of each

of the big arms, with the shades on them.

And some cut-outs of horses.

Some cattle and stuff like that.

A lot of pieces, there must
be a couple hundred pieces

in each one of them.

So, I came back home
and was struggling, again,

real broke, and Rick Dean
of the ♪-Lazy-♪ called

and said, "I bought a
couple of stagecoaches",

and I'd like you to run 'em in town.

And we gave 'em with
these big draft horses,

and I drove those guys,
I betcha, 10,000 miles

before it was over, and
one of the challenges

to drivin' that stagecoach
was stayin' warm.

So I had this guy make me
this fur-lined cowboy hat.

Throw me that hat, would you?

This thing.

And to begin with, it was flat.

And that was my idea.

I was gonna wear a flat,
fur-lined hat like that.

But what happens to these
things is they get snowed on,

and then they dry and then they curl up,

so you look more like a
Cossack when you put this on.

But I'm telling ya,
this is the warmest hat.

And in Aspen, it don't
just snow a couple inches.

Some nights, we'd get a
foot and a half of snow.

So, one night, I got a
fare out to the Aspen Club,

and as I got out there,
I started realizing:

I'm in a little bit of trouble here.

Because the roads were
just getting narrower

and narrower, and I remember this taxi,

he was sittin' out there, smokin' dope,

because I could smell it.

So I went over to this
hopped up hippy in the taxi,

and I asked him if he'd help me.

And, "Sure, man, I'll help you," you know,

so we both got on the back
wheels of the stagecoach

and we slid it around, and
I was threatening that team:

"George, you son of a
bitch, you stay there now.

Don't you dare move, I'm
telling you, I'll kill ya!"

And we'd slide it back around,

and on the second turn,
I felt them start to go.

And this job was starting
to pay real well,

and everything was
starting to work real well,

and if those horses would have run off,

they would have wrecked that stagecoach.

They would have just
totally wrecked my life.

And I knew it in a flash.

And I jumped in front of 'em,

and the tongue went right between my legs,

and this hat went down
like that. (Laughing)

All of a sudden, I was
on the middle of a team

of runaway horses, you know, with, ah,

stone-blind, I was down there like that.

I could feel their feet, and
I was sittin' on that tongue,

and I just started hollerin',
"Whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa!"

And just trying to jerk
their damn heads off.

And I got 'em shut down probably 150 yards

from where they took off.

This guy in the taxi, he turns it around

and comes back and he says, "Whoa, man.

That was really somethin".

And I can only imagine what
that looked like to him,

but I did get 'em shut down.

But you know, when you,

when you do something like that, you know,

you see you could have been killed.

By just one foot, on a foot down there,

dragging you down, and
the horse and the coach

running right over the
top of you, you know?

But desperate times call for
desperate things, I guess.

(yodeling)

This is a big loop; It's
called the Texas Twister.

It's basically a flat
loop that you get in.

And then you spin it out to the tail,

so it doesn't twist.

Easier to do with a spot-cord rope.

Out of the wind.

And then you spin the other one, which is,

you know, obviously

I've been trick-roping for about 35 years.

I started trick-roping at the age of 5.

And I started getting
calls when I was about ♪.

Next thing you know, I
kept adding to my show,

and as time progressed,
I mean, it's added to

even these big mares like this right here.

I don't know what they're doing.

They're loving on my
today, for some reason,

but anyway, time gets to going,

and I've added things
to my show with a dog,

other trick horses.

You know, I kinda wanna
still keep some old

cowboy traditions with it,

because we're pretty much losing a lot

of the Western tradition to
new, modern entertainment.

And I just don't wanna
let that get away from us.

(uptempo music)

(murmuring)

Grace, you be okay with Sparky?

[Gary] Ropin' is a real skill.

You don't believe it, just pick
up a rope and try to use it.

Knowing how to use a rope
is a big part of cowboyin,

and this country's history.

When these kids see a guy
that really knows how to use

a rope in the flesh, they
have this little seed

of firsthand knowledge
that they'll carry with 'em

the rest of their lives.

I do a performance on the New
Mexico Junior College Campus

in Hobbs, New Mexico,
and there are anywhere

from two to 4,000 kids come through there,

and I've been performing over
there for about 22 years.

(whip cracking)

(applause)

(country western music)

I have a rope trick that I perform,

and [ sit flat on the ground,

with my feet straight out in front of me,

and I'll get a rope and I'll
throw it in front of me,

and spin it, and then I
skip up, off the ground,

and I skip that rope through me,

and I keep it spinning.

I call it: Laying down on the job.

(uptempo guitar music)

It's the innocence of a kid
looking at what you're doing,

and they're just, it's just something

that a lot of kids have never seen before,

and to have a horse come into your school,

and be gentle and be amongst the kids,

and you can just pack in and pet 'em,

and they're not gonna hurt you.

You know, you can't trust
all those horses out there,

but the horses that I have, that's the way

I want them to be, so that
you personify that animal

to have some human characteristics,

you know, that we all, that are innate.

Kindness, and that's
my goal is to make them

actually look like, Holy smokes,

that those animals are working with him.

They're almost like they're human.

(yodeling music)

(acoustic guitar strumming)

X Well, he picks up his saddle, X.

X when he gets to the barn, X.

X n the cold of first morning's light X.

[Jeff] I really feel blessed.

You know, to be a part of this lifestyle.

Growing up in it, and
spending my life doing it.

Today, for me was a terrific day.

We met up with all of our neighbors,

before sunup, and unloaded our horses,

and gathered the pasture
and penned the cattle,

then uh, a great cowboy crew,

neighbors are such an
important part of it,

the way we do it, because
we help each other.

They help us, we help them.

X He's got a new, red bandana, X.

X an old pair of spurs. X.

X He buttons his duster down tight X.

X With frost on his breath X.

X and the wind at his back X.

X He saddles his pony with care X.

X There's a fence that needs mendin', X.

X way down by the highway.
He longs for a time X.

X when that road wasn't there. X.

X He's just an old cowboy,
adjusting to change, X.

X to the freeways and
the fences of fate. X.

X He longs for the freedom
of home on the range. X.

X He's down in the
valley, 100 years late. X.

[Gary] Jeffy knows a ton
of good, New Mexico cowboys.

And of course, branding is always a hell

of a lot more fun a-horseback.

[Jeff] We still do it the old way.

We branded a bunch of calves.

We roped calves and
dragged them to the fire,

used a hot iron.

I try to get the kids involved in it.

But you don't have to try to.

I mean, they're champing
at the bit to do it.

And ah, the kids grow up doing it,

and they're learning from some of the best

in the business, and I'm
sure they'll carry it on.

They may drift away
from it, but often times,

they'll make a full circle
and come right back,

at some point, and carry it
on and show it to their kids.

(country western music)

X As we drag 'em to the fire. X.

X It's a good day at the office, X.

X When you limp in, dirty, and tired X.

Things are changin'.

You know, I can see big
changes from the time

I could remember up until today.

But as far as the cowboy etiquette,

and the legacy of this,
for another generation,

it'll be there.

I don't think it'll ever change,
as long as there's a West,

and as long as there's cattle and horses.

There's so many parts of the
West that you can't see it

from a pickup or a four wheeler.

And working cattle horseback is still

the most efficient way to do it.

The easiest way; Easiest on the cattle.

Easiest on the people.

There's always gonna be
folks that don't use horses,

and they still run cattle,
but for the most part,

the real deals, it's
always gonna be there.

After the branding, you know, that's kind

of a fun part of the day, too,

because the cooler opens
up and the lunch is ready,

and people look forward to that,

because really, at the end of the day,

all these cowboys get for helping you

is a cold beer and a good meal.

And that's their pay for the day.

So we do our best to
make it good for them.

Not a better way in the
world to spend a Saturday.

(uptempo music)

In 1985, when the cowboy
poetry gatherings came along,

my boss knew that I was
pretty well burned out

on the stagecoach; I was fried, man.

I'd done that for five years.

And he said, "Why don't you
go to the poetry gathering?

And take a week off!"

Well, I went to the poetry gathering,

and I discovered that there
were lots of people there,

doing my songs, and what's more than that,

I saw the stairstep Ranch kids, you know,

there's Ma and Pa and all their kids,

sitting there in the front row,

mouthing the words to my songs.

I had no idea they were getting out.

I was stuck up there in Aspen
in a dude ranch operation.

(muttering)

(applause)

I thought I would do a
Colorado cowboy love song.

And I wrote this about a
little hairy-legged hippy chick

that I picked up, going
up Berthoud Pass one time.

She was hitchhikin, and she
was going to Vernal, Utah,

and I was goin' to the ranch that day,

and hell, I wasn't doing that
much, so I took her there.

I fell madly in love
with her in the process,

and I guess we were happy
for over three weeks.

And then she dumped me
and I wrote her this song.

And I always thought it
was a pretty good song,

and I figured Kenny
Chesney or Garth Brooks

or one of them guys would do this song

and she'd hear it coming
out of some lonesome jukebox

some place, and uh, it would
rip her little heart out.

(laughing)

Anyway, it's a Colorado cowboy love song.

(acoustic guitar music)

X It was out west of Denver, X.

X near the Great Divide, X.

X along the side of the
road, hitchin' a ride, X.

X was a pretty little girl
by the name of Dena Rose X.

X Dena Rose X.

X Dena Rose (vocalizing) X.

X Yeah, I says whoa,
when I saw Dena Rose X.

X I was a cowboy all boogered and bent. X.

X She was strong medicine,
and heaven-sent, X.

X and together we shared the mountains, X.

X rivers and miles X

(yodeling)

I used to pal around with a guy

by the name of Dick Spencer.

He was the grand old man at
Western Horseman magazine.

He was the publisher
there for over 40 years,

and we'd be playing, uh, some,

like the Wyoming Beef Cattle
Improvement Association's

annual banquet, and Dick
would be the speaker,

and I'd be the entertainer.

And so we became pretty good friends,

and they had a poetry
gathering in his honor

in Colorado Springs, and I was featured

on that gathering one
year, and Dick asked me

if I'd stay at his house,
during the gathering.

So I agreed to that and I
got there about two o'clock

in the morning, and I didn't know it,

but Dick's daughter, she kind
of had a little crush on me.

So I got there about two in the morning,

and she's in her tight
jeans, baking cookies.

(laughing)

And I said, "My, do you
usually bake cookies"

at two in the morning?”

She said, "Oh, yes."

Well, Candace later became my wife.

(laughing)

And I'm just here to tell
ya, I ain't seen e'er other

cookie baked at two in the
morning, since that night.

(laughing)

But after Dick died, ya know,

this was Mr. Western
Horseman, he just had stacks

and stacks of letters
that had, correspondence

that he'd written back and forth.

And one thing that really burned his toast

was when Ralph Lauren came
out with his men's cologne,

he called: Chaps.

And I found a letter that
Dick wrote on Western Horseman

stationery, and I didn't change it much,

I just set it into poem.

So this is to Mr. Ralph Lauren,

505 Fifth Avenue, New York City.

(cheering)

I seen on the TV, Mr.
Lauren, that you have

a men's cologne you call: Chaps.

And it's probably a manly scent,

or you wouldn't have called it that.

Myself, I never use the stuff,

and this may sound a little harsh,

but I think men use cologne to hide

the fact they haven't washed.

(laughing)

So I can't really comment on the product,

though I'm sure it smells just fine.

It's the way you say the name Chaps

that chaps my cowboy behind.

You see, the name is derived
from the Spanish word:

Chaparajos.

Which, in turn, gets
its name from the word,

chaparral, which again, in Spanish,

means: A dense thicket of
thorny brush and trees,

which all manner of cowboys have

ridden through for centuries.

Thus, needing protection for their legs,

these chaparajos were
fashioned from cowhide,

and are the leather leggings cowboys wear

that come without the backside.

Then us gringos got a hold of the word

and shortened chaparajos to "chaps".

Much the same way we
took the word "tapadero"

and condensed it to "taps."

So the CH sound is really
pronounced with an SH sound,

you see, and to an old
cowboy that's worn chaps

all his life, it seems a
travesty that you would use

the cowboy's manly image
to sell your fancy smell

to the herd, and never even take the time

to learn how to say the word.

Because the truth is, Mr. Lauren,

even though I'd like to console ya,

anyone who says "chaps" for chaps,

don't know chit from Chinola.

(laughing)

(applause)

(muttering)

Oh, for heaven's sakes.

Yvonne Hollenbeck, she's uh,
just a sweetheart of a gal,

and writes her own poetry.

She's got insights into the way

our little Western world works

that I've never heard come
out of anybody else's mouth.

[Announcer] Yvonne
Hollenbeck, from South Dakota.

(applause)

I was commissioned one day,

because I was the only one home,

to go help the neighbors
that had a prairie fire.

And it was about 102 degrees that day,

and I come home and I
had spent seven hours

on the gunnysack crew, and
I was totally exhausted.

I was just black with smoke.

I went over and I turned on the TV to see

if there was any chance
of rain in the forecast,

and guess who was on TV?

Martha Stewart.

She was showing how to
properly iron table linens.

And as tired as I was, I
wrote a poem about her,

before I went to bed that night:

"What Would Martha Do?"

Martha's making millions
showing people how to cook,

with her syndicated TV show,

her magazines and books,

but she don't know a darn bit more

than gals like me and you,
but we don't get a nickel

for the many things we do.

It never seems to bother, when
her hair gets in her eyes;

She just pulls it back and then commences

making cakes and pies.

She licks the batter off her
fingers, right there on TV.

And why she's getting paid for it,

sure beats the likes of me.

I wonder if she'd fare so
well, if she lived on a ranch.

And what she'd use to get
manure off of boots and pants.

And when she's plum exhausted,
and she has to feed a crew,

don't you ever wonder,
what would Martha do?

When hubby hollers that he's
stuck, and he could use a tow,

would she know how to find the gears

and let that clutch out slow?

I wonder how she'd do sortin'
cattle through a gate.

Now, that would test her many skills.

It just might be her fate.

Would she know how to fix a fence?

Put a splice in wire?

Or use a soaked-up gunnysack
to fight a prairie fire?

And when she's usin' cream and eggs,

do you suppose that she'd
know how to clean a hen house,

separate, or milk a kickin' cow?

Her fancy TV oven, I
doubt would fill the bill,

when in the house, he brings a calf

that's taken on a chill.

Would she know how to do the chores,

when hubby has the flu?

Don't you ever wonder:
What would Martha do?

Well, last week I helped with fencin',

and we'd gone for quite a ways,

and I hadn't done no housework
in more than several days.

I come home sore and tired,
and much to my surprise,

was a couple cattle buyers.

I had to feed those guys.

And then I set another plate,

because guess who next arrived?

The banker, with his briefcase,
come pulling in our drive.

He said that he was passing by,

and he thought he'd stop
and look at our cattle

and our horses, and he'd
like to check my books.

Folks, I'd been real busy,

my books were way behind,

but I told him he could check
'em; I didn't really mind.

Because the records that I showed him

were far from being true.

After all, I got to thinkin...

(laughing)

Thank you.

(applause)

We're approaching
Clearfield from the south.

And this is where the bar was.

And the bartender got
caught serving minors,

so he got closed up and
he lived back there,

in that little house, and
then there's the cemetery.

A lot of the neighbors are resting there.

And every year it dwindled,

until there's hardly anyone
living around here now.

(organ music)

When I got out of high school,
I became a rodeo organist.

I played for big fairs.

I was what they called a "show organist"

I matched the circus acts and rodeos.

And I met Glen at a rodeo.

He was a pickup man, and
then he also calf-roped

and often bulldogged and
hazed for other bulldoggers.

Glen is, actually, he's my best friend,

and he's my best supporter.

He really supports my poetry,

and he's a real good sport about it.

Glen has his hobbies, too.

And his biggest hobby, of
course, is calf-roping.

And ever since he was a
little boy, he's roped calves.

And that's his passion.

He's 70 years old and still roping.

And he was the US. Calf-roping champion,

and he won $16,000 and a horse trailer,

and so I thought, "Well, I
should make him a quilt"

(organ music)

So I took one of his roping
pictures and appliqued

that in the center of a star quilt I made.

And I entered it in the
Rapid City Quilt Guild Show

last year, which is a big show.

And it won first prize.

So.

(uptempo guitar music)

(rooster crowing)

(children singing)

(acoustic guitar music)

You can find the most talented people

in the darnedest places.

I met John Moore decades
ago on a trail ride,

and we've been friends ever since.

I used to work at the
Old Time Pickin' Parlor

in Nashville, and I've
heard a lot of pickers,

but John is the best
flat-picker I ever heard.

(yodeling)

(uptempo guitar music)

(musical yodeling)

(guitar strumming)

(laughing)

(musical yodeling)

Brice and I find ourselves,
more often than not,

out in the far-flung, dusty west.

That's where the real cowboys live.

You go to a rodeo or such
and you see a guy like Brice,

and you know you're
watching the real deal,

not some computer-generated,
gas-powered illusion.

Those cow folks love to see their arts

and skills performed
live, and we love them

that knows a good roper or
cowboy pull up when they see one.

[Announcer] Alright, watch
this kid. C'mon, get with him!

(rock music, crowd shouting)

[Announcer] Now watch
as he builds the big loop.

And this is called a Texas Skip.

It was made famous by the
late, great Will Rodgers,

and he does it moving down the arena.

What do you think about that?

(cheering)

Ladies and gentlemen, Mr. Brice Chapman.

(whistling)

Get down.

[Announcer] Now watch
as he lays his horse down,

in the middle of the arena.

That's a good dog.

No biscuit.

Yeah, that's pretty easy.

My ole Peanut.

Good thing I don't weigh a whole lot.

Somebody might think I was mean to him.

You know, you can pull
on 'em and talk to 'em,

you know, just to make 'em simply get up,

you gotta give 'em a place
where you want them to get up,

by touching 'em, touching 'em somewhere.

[Announcer] Oh, Peanut
said, "That's enough."

Get up, all the way up.

Come on.

Make 'em your friend, first.

Once you get that down,

you can pretty much conquer anything.

Well, I bought Crossfire
when he was 14 months old.

He's a 1991 model.

I've had him, well, he's 21.

And I've been the only one
that's ever, basically,

taught him anything.

He and I, we have an understanding.

He does what I want him to do,

and then I go feed him right after that.

There's a lot of work involved
in getting these animals

to get them where they like you enough

to where they're just gonna
hang out with you, like this.

Once they become a
performer or an entertainer,

they understand that, and they know that

that's their job, and they love it.

And when you get a horse or an animal,

that they know that's what
they're supposed to do,

if you're not working 'em,
or you don't have jobs,

then you might as well be
shootin' bullets at them.

Because they're dyin;
Because they love to perform

and love to be going
somewhere, just like a person.

And so, you know, once
you show 'em that life,

they can't do without it.

It's done something
really good for my life,

and it helps me with people,
because if they don't

understand me, then they'll
understand my animals.

(cheering and applause)

(uptempo acoustic music)

[Gary] The Chama ride
came right out of the old.

Bell Ranch rides. When the Bell sold,

and they didn't have a ride there anymore,

a lot of guys wanted to
continue that tradition.

So a bunch of 'em persevered
and moved over to the Chama.

And it's a heck of a ride.

I do a little horseback poetry sometimes,

and Brice is my favorite audience.

Grandpa was a rancher,

come from the old school.

The earlier, the better,
was his cardinal rule.

He'd roust us kids up, in
the middle of the night.

"Rise and shine, girls,"

he'd yell, as he blinded
us with the light.

And if you didn't want your
bed tipped over on your head,

you'd get your tail movin,
and do exactly what he said.

He'd pour a pot of strong coffee down us,

even though we was only sprouts.

Then kick us out in the dark
to try to find our mounts.

We'd stumble around his frozen corral, the

stars a shining bright. To
tell whose horse was which,

you had to have a flashlight.

With jokes and quips,

he'd try to quell our early morning ire.

Then he'd haul us out
to some distant pasture,

and light a sagebrush fire.

We'd huddle round that fire
and shake until our bones

would rattle, not sure
if it was the coffee,

or the cold, or dreading
grandpa's raunchy cattle.

We'd wait around there for
what seemed like a week,

until it was light enough to ride

for these cows we was to seek.

I've never been so miserable,
my entire life combined, as

I was out there with Grandpa,
on them early morning rides.

And whether he was right or
wrong, ain't for me to say,

but mornin's been plum tolerable,

since Grandpa passed away. (Laughing)

[Brice] Ah, that's funny.

[Gary] Hell, I'll probably
go face down in my beans

with a death yodel.

I won't' have a death rattle.

It'll be a death yodel.

I'll go face-down in my beans

at the Wyoming Beef Cattle
Improvement Association.

(uptempo guitar)

The trail rides are great
for lots of reasons.

The guys all have such busy lives,

and for a few days, you
all get to be boys again.

You ride all day in gorgeous country,

and then after you brush the dust off

and have a great meal and a little drink

around the campfire, the
guitars come out and you hear

real-deal cowboys,
singing unvarnished songs,

and reeling off cowboy
poetry underneath the moon.

(uptempo guitar music)

As you come every year, to me,

it's nice that we're here again.

(laughing)

And we've spent, we spent
the first night, you know,

kind of catching up on old times.

My name is Sugar Britches.

(laughing)

[Man's Voice] Hi, Sugar!

Sugar Pants!

And I'm sure we'll
get to know each other,

over the next few days,
if we don't already.

[Gary] This is a Jeff Nourse song.

It's the anthem of the trail ride.

We had been at the Bell
Ranch back before cellphones,

along time ago, and I promised
2D that I would be home

in three days, and I got home a week late.

(laughing)

And so I wrote this song down

on a paper sack, on the way home.

(strumming guitar)

X Well, this is a song about
some friends of mine. X.

X We all get together from time to time, X.

X talk about things we've
done and things to do. X.

X We all work hard at
the jobs we do, so when X.

X the cattle are shipped and
the fall work's, through, X.

X We all get together for
a cowboy rendezvous. X.

X Good friends are hard to find, X.

X and I wouldn't trade any of mine X.

X They're the kind that'll
be there till the end X.

X Wife says, "Go have some fun; X."

X I'll see you boys when you get home!"X.

X That's the way it is, X.

X with old friends. X.

X Well, it's good to see these
guys every now and then, X.

X sure was good to get home again. X.

X I got a friend there, too,
she's a waiting up for me. X.

X She can do anything
that she has to do. X.

X She can love me, she can kiss me; X.

X she can cuss me, too. X.

X That's the way it
is, with old friends. X.

X Good friends are hard to find. X.

X I wouldn't trade any of mine. X.

X They're the kind that'll
be there till the end. X.

X Wife says, "Go have some fun; X."

X I'll see you boys when you get home!"X.

X That's the way it is, X.

X with old friends. X.

X That's the way it is, X.

X with old friends X

(applause)

(laughing)

(tranquil acoustic music)

Yesterday, we had to
move one bunch of cattle.

We're bringin' all our cattle
home for the winter range,

so we brought one bunch home yesterday,

and I followed along in the pickup,

and they had to be so
observant, to make sure

that gates weren't open, and
other cattle weren't coming,

and semis weren't coming down
the road and what have you.

And it's a common joke
around the neighborhood

that Glen does not level with his wife,

when it comes to the
number of horses we have.

I'm not the smartest person
in the world, but I can count.

And he always tells me he's got 20.

But I don't know how many
bunches of 20 he has.

And those horses eat a
lot of grass and hay.

I'll say, "Now, how many horses are

in that pasture over there?"

And he'll say, "Well,
how much quilt fabric"

do you have in the basement?” (laughing)

(organ music)

I have an arsenal of fabric.

It's kind of embarrassing.

I collect fabric.

And my car, it just has
this uncontrollable,

mechanical defect; It just
veers into quilt shops.

I can't control it.

And I like to pick up these earth tones,

in, uh, what they call fat quarters.

You just buy these little, fat quarters,

and you stick 'em in your purse and kinda.

Oh, us quilters all have a
little problem with that.

One lady told about buying some fabric

and puttin' it in the grocery sack,

and then puttin' the
bread and potato chips

on top of it and carryin' it in the house.

And her husband thought
she just got groceries.

Didn't know there was
50 bucks worth of fabric

in the bottom of that sack.

(laughing)

That was not me.

Whenever my husband says anything about

my habit of collective
fabric, I just mention

all his saddles and tack
and ropes, and horses.

I might mention something
about how the fabric

does not eat oats and hay, and,

die.

(low rumbling)

(clattering)

I think the quality of
life of being a rancher is,

it's probably as good as it gets.

You know, you don't make a lot of money,

but every day is something new.

There's a lot of outstanding
people in this business.

It's a great way of life.

It's a great way to raise your kids.

Somebody asked me one time
when I was gonna retire,

and I said, "You know,
I may be retired now.

Isn't that kind of when
you do what you want

and you don't make much money?"

So, you know, I'm never gonna change.

It's, I'm gonna be here
as long as I can be here.

(clattering)

Hey, Jack. (Whistling)

(muttering)

Okay, go get my other boot.

(whistling)

Come here.

That's a good boy.

Good boy.

Well, you know, my horses and my dogs,

and of course, all of my animals,

they make me a living, and I get hired

because of my animals, to perform.

[Announcer] From Lubbock, Texas:

Mr. Brice Chapman, along with Peanut,

Jackpot, and Crossfire.

And my animals and I, we
have a working relationship,

and also a friendship.

And you know, when you lose one of 'em,

it's like losing a
family member, you know?

And I lost Crossfire the 21st of January.

It was a normal day,
just like any other day,

and I went out that morning to feed him,

and I looked out there, and I could see,

his left shoulder didn't
look, it was abnormal.

And all I could see was it was red.

And he's stark-white, he's
just one of those horses

who just always stayed clean, you know,

and I'd had him for 21 years.

And I looked out there, and I thought,

"Maybe he just cut hisself."

And the further I got out there, I knew

that something really,
really bad was happening.

And he had an oblique
break on that left leg,

above the knee, and it
was one of those things,

when you see it, you
just cannot believe it.

Because I had some shows coming up,

and I had a show in
Houston, on the fourth floor

of the Hilton Hotel, I
mean, he went with me

places that, you know,
people don't hardly go.

And I could remember him, the week before,

I had a show on him, and he
was vibrant and rearin' up,

and he was bowin', and you
know, he was just a performer.

And when I saw that it
was a compound fracture,

it had actually gone through the skin,

and I knew at that point
that there was no way

I could salvage what had happened.

You know, I think he thought,

"Well, he's gonna take me to fix me.'

You know, because he'd
been hurt before, you know,

and he just always knew that
I was gonna be there for him.

And I brought him out here to my place,

and he backed out of that
trailer three-legged.

And uh, he looked around,

and the thing that I thought
that he was thinking,

when he went, that went
through his mind was,

"Man, I must've played too much."

And we put him down back there,

and I asked Grace, "Well,
let's pick out a pretty spot."

She said, "Right here is great, Daddy".

You know, I've always heard that, uh,

in life, a man gets one good dog,

one good horse, and one good wife.

I feel for Brice, losing that horse.

I know exactly what he's going through.

I lost the best horse
I ever had in my life

a couple of years ago, and it was just

I got him when he was 3 years old,

and he just, he never did anything wrong.

He just never did anything wrong.

Just was so good and big and strong

and athletic and just wonderful.

And a lion killed him right
out here in the horse pasture,

about two years ago, and
I've never got over it.

Never will.

So I know Brice, he's
not gonna get over it.

He's just not, it's just
always gonna be there.

So what I said, I think it's really true.

You get one really good
one, in a lifetime.

Like Crossfire was to Brice.

That's, man, it's hard to lose 'em.

But, it's part of the
deal; It's gonna happen.

I shoe horses down there,
and I guess I put him up here

so he'd be above me, every time I'd work.

You know, half of everything I own,

I owe to that horse, and he was my friend.

(somber country music)

X With someone like you, X.

X a pal good and true, X.

X I would like to leave it
all behind, to go and find, X.

X a place that's known, X.

X to God alone, X.

X just a spot to call our own. X.

You know, eventually,
we're all gonna die.

All you're gonna be is
just an old, cracked,

faded photograph that somebody
carts off to the dump,

because they don't know who it is.

That's just a fact, right there.

So, what are you gonna leave when you die?

We've kind of inherited
a heritage out here,

in the West, we all like
who we are and what we do,

and we wanna perpetuate it.

We wanna hand it to our kids.

We want to leave the West
in at least as good a shape

as we found it in.

(peaceful guitar music)

Mornin's just a thin line to the east,

as you steps in the corral
and captures a beast.

Cold saddle blankets,
hey, cockadoodle-doo,

don't buck now, you booger,
you'll break me in two.

And your head starts workin'
on the last pass around;

Saddle horses are wrangled,
draft horses cut out.

You shuts the gate and
he steps to the ground.

It's hot, black coffee
you're thinkin' about now.

And biscuits and gravy,
and eggs over light,

and the foreman's wife
is a beautiful sight.

Jokes and jabs and the cow boss's orders,

a chew an' a toothpick,
and you're out the door.

To saddle the horse
you'll use for the day,

making sure your rigging's
got no extra play,

You steps aboard light,
with him all gathered up.

Because you know firsthand,
this critter can buck.

Ease him out at a walk, and
head north, towards the dump.

You'll be asking to trot
when he loses his hump.

He hits a slow lope on the badger highway;

It's a cool mornin;
Blue sky, cowboyin' day.

And the brook's a babbling,
down through the holes,

and the meadowlark sings
the songs in your soul,

and the wildflowers blaze
any color you s'pose,

as the smell of the sagebrush
and pine fill your nose.

Now, the horse that you're
on is big and he's lean,

quick, tough, smart,
and a little bit mean.

This saddle's no place
for the meek or the green,

he's a sure-'nough
rip-snortin, cowboyin' machine.

And the place that you're
headed is pretty intense.

The Continental Divide is the back fence.

There's 10,000 acres of
mountain and rock there,

and 1,200 head to check and to doctor.

- And to make matters worse.
- Or better, you think

they're all yearlin'
heifers, unpredictable dinks.

They'll run and they'll hide,
till hell freezes twice,

then kick up their heels
as you skate on the ice.

But this ain't no colt,

and you ain't no kid.

So you jerks out your rope
and you pulls down your lid,

and you climbs and you cruises
the sagebrush and aspen,

till you find you a cow brute
what's droopyand raspin'

And you'll tag her just
before she gets to the brush

and trip her and tie her in a big rush,

and pack her with sulfur and penicillin.

She'll turn for the better,
good Lord a-willing.

Lots of foot rot and pinkeye today,

but that don't mean
the boogers can't play.

They've ducked and they've dodged,

til (unintelligible).

But you managed to capture
a pretty good hunk.

Your horse rolls in the dirt
while you put up your tack,

then savors his grain
while you scratch his back.

It's an evening ritual you both enjoy.

You don't covet nothin'
when you ride this old boy.

He heads for the timothy,
down by the lake,

and you saunters towards the
house for soup and steak,

to mix it up with compadres
and finish your pie,

like folks do when they're satisfied.

When supper's done, there's
little time for play

you sleep hard all night
if you work hard all day,

And 'fore you fall of your
log to float in the air.

You may have time for a little prayer:

Lord, I thank you for this cowboyin' day.

I sure had me some fun earning my pay,

and I like to think you
keep meat on the table,

for a country that needs
to keep fit and able.

But a cow with no horse,
Lord, is borin' as hell,

and a horse with no cows
don't ring my bells.

It's a good life you gave
me, these horses and cattle,

and I just wanted to say thanks, Lord,

for a day in the saddle.

Amen.

(acoustic guitar music)

X There will be peace in the
valley for me, someday. X.

X There will be peace
in the valley for me, X.

X oh Lord, I pray. X.

X There'll be no sadness,
no sorrow, no trouble, X.

X trouble I see, X.

X There will be peace
in the valley for me. X

(uptempo cowboy music)

X When you hear a cowboy yodelin' X.

X the song of open range, X.

X your heart leaps up to
hear his stirring tale. X.

X But did you even wonder,
at the end of his refrain, X.

X why his voice leaps
in a mournful wail? X.

X The story as it's told to me, X.

X was handed down through history, X.

X of a singing cowboy
brave enough to try X.

X to ride the meanest old cayuse X.

X that bucked him off
right at the chute, X.

X and left him sitting
way up in the sky. X.

X The bronco jumped up,
and the cowboy came down. X.

X They met at the old
saddle horn. (Whooping) X.

X It made a deep
impression; You could say X.

X it changed his life, and
that's how the yodel was born X

(yodeling)