Deadwood, S.D. in 1877. Oh, wait. Make that 1987.
In 1987, while living 48 miles away from civilization–that’s how far we were from the nearest McDonald’s or Walmart–we left dear ol’ Laverne, Oklahoma in late June to head north to Sheridan, Wyoming. That very nice city was where the annual convention of the Western Writers of America was being held that year.
Peggy and I also took along our teenage daughter, Stacy, and her teenie-bopper friend Belinda Bond. We loaded up and off we went. Up through the heartland of America, through Kansas and east to Wyoming. There was frost on our windshield when we got up to eat breakfast in Jackson Hole, Wyoming. Beautiful country and it was about to get even better.
We traveled up through the majestic snow-capped Tetons (the French trappers named them such, saying that looked like . . . eh, well . . . let us say, ample breasts . . . if you get my drift). Then we spent several hours ooo-ing and awww-ing at Yellowstone’s marvelous river, lakes, geysers, waterfalls, mountains and animals. We spent a couple of nights at a lovely and rustic log-cabin resort close to the east entrance to Yellowstone. We all went horseback riding the next morning.
After a peaceful night’s rest, we drove the fairly short distance to Cody, Wyoming and got a motel. We toured the fabulous Buffalo Bill Cody Museum and some of the other local sites, including “Old Trail Town western town.” The owner–Bob Edgar, an artist as well–had brought to one location (on the west side of Cody) maybe two-dozen or more historic cabins (think hiding place of Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid), school houses, saloons, ranch houses, etc. He was on site that day and gave us a personal tour of several buildings, then we bought a couple of paintings of his and said adios.
Then it was a scenic drive over the Big Horn Mountains to the valley where the Holiday Inn at Sheridan, Wyoming was located. This was my third WWA convention, as in 1984 at Jory Sherman’s invitation I attended the convention in Branson, Missouri. I missed the next convention in 1985. But both Peggy and I attended the 1986 convention in downtown Fort Worth, with excursions to the “Cowtown” district and other location.
One evening we all were loaded onto tour buses and taken to the Eaton Ranch, sorta southeast of Sheridan (though I wouldn’t guarantee that direction). It is a huge ranch and mining company. Well, the mining company part comes from mining the pockets of tourists like us. Still, it was a great experience. We had a wonderful bar-b-que diner and then music and some dancing. Mighty nice, indeed.
On one day we took a trip to the Custer Battlefield National Monument & Cemetery near Hardin, Montana. It was a moving experience standing on that peaceful hillside and imaging the awful carnage and loss of life which took place that day when General Custer was badly out-numbered and his command virtually wiped out.
Bill Gulick, author of THE HALLELUJAH TRAIL and many other books,
stands at the foot of the tombstone of Walter Stanley Campbell, his mentor
and professor at the University of Oklahoma. Photo by Stan Paregien
Elmer Kelton, prolific Texas novelist, with Bill Gulick.
Photo by Stan Paregien
Our friend, Carolyn Leonard–noted freelance writer and genealogist, gets in the swing
of things with the young Indian dancers. Photo by Stan Paregien
This trio had a ton of talent. L to R are Bill Guilick, Dee Brown (BURY MY HEART AT WOUNDED KNEE) and
New Mexico’s legendary author, artist and rounder–ol’ Max Evans (THE ROUNDERS). Photo by Stan Paregien
David Dary
Richard (“Dick”) House, Dusty Richards, ___________ (unidentified woman), Mel Marshall,
Mark Roberts, Elmer Kelton and Preston Lewis
Loren Estelman
Mark Roberts
Jack Cummings and Frank Roderus
James L. Collins and Robert Conley
Matthew Braun
Francis and Robert Fugate
Peggy Paregien with novelist Roseanne Bittner
Peggy Paregien with a book editor
Don Coldsmith visits with Roseanne Bittner. In the background are
Jim Bob Tinsley and wife Doty Tinsley, very dear people to us.
Dee Brown
Frank Roderus and Peggy Paregien in 1987. Frank has hung his Stetson (not pictured)
here in Florida for many, many years now. And he is still writing Western fiction.
Well, sir, Peggy and I (and our two girls) saddled up and rode out of Sheridan, Wyoming early one morning. The last few days had been a feast of food, renewing friendships and meeting new folks, and finding out what was working and not working in the world of Western writing (fiction and non-fiction). It had been a great time.
See ya down the trail.
–“Cowboy Stan” Paregien
Bradenton, Florida
The Cowboy Way: Then & Now . . . . . . by Stan Paregien Sr 