The palomino horse was beautiful. My Uncle Tom Wyatt played cowboy as he cantered his horse on my Uncle Walt's small farm near Phoenix, Arizona. I was four years old and I loved to watch Uncle Tom ride his palomino. Tom was about twelve in 1933 and he loved horses. Tom Wyatt moved to Anaheim in his late teems, Married my Aunt Tina, they raised many children and Uncle Tom had no time for horses. In his sixties, while managing his saloon in Shasta County, Tom bought a string of Shetland ponies and gave rides to children in a small pony ring. People brought children to Tom's pony ring for birthday parties.
Later Tom bought some riding horses.
A horse named Silver performed at a theater in Phoenix, Arizona with a man I called Uncle Friday. Uncle Friday was a friend of my grandfather John Wyatt in nineteen thirty two when I was three or four. A spectator came on stage and used a long rope to hog-tie Uncle Friday leaving him lying on his stomach face down. Uncle Friday stood while the man tied Friday's hands behind his back and bound his feet together. Then he had the man tie his feet and hands together while Uncle Friday lay prone on the floor. The man used one red and one blue bandana to blindfold and gag Friday. The man left the stage with Uncle Friday all tied up and helpless. The beautiful white stallion walked on stage wearing specially made rubber horse shoes. Silver did not have on his saddle and was not tied to a halter or bridle. He was well trained, and he needed no aids to restrain him. Silver used his teeth to untie the ropes and handkerchiefs to free his master. Uncle Friday later showed us how the horse would bow and rear up on his hind legs. He had Silver lie down on the stage and Uncle Friday stood on the horse's body. After the show, in the ally , he let me to sit on the silver saddled horse, and I remember the thrill it gave me. I was four years old and afterwards, I told everyone I wanted to grow up to be a cowboy.
Uncle Cy said, "My mother Gertrude Jones sent my younger brother and I on a train going to California. My brother Huey was six and I was seven. It was 1919 and she dressed us in new clothes we put on new shoes. We had never worn shoes before. We had been raised free on the Reservation like all the other kids there. We didn't know how to act around civilized people. We did not know much about rules of modern behavior, and people on the train figured we were wild. Mom had told the conductor to help us get to Anaheim, California where we would meet two of our paternal uncles, and we would each live with one of them."
"I was given money to carry and to buy food on the seventy hour train ride. As the train rolled we removed our new shoes and threw them out the window. When the train stopped at a small town we got off the train to play. We met a boy selling newspapers. He wouldn't 't play because he had to sell his papers, so I bought all his papers from him and we played until it was dark. We slept at his house that night and the next morning we were put on a train going the wrong way."
When the boys failed to arrive in California, newspapers across the nation ran the story of the two lost boys. There was speculation of foul play and many stories were written. The two little boys were perfectly happy going back and forth on the train until they were discovered in Florida. They had spent several weeks living off their wits going in all directions and accepting charity from everybody who felt sorry for them when they grew hungry.
After being found in Florida they were supervised by careful railroad men and delivered to California. Cy lived with his Uncle Huey in Riverside, and little Huey lived in Anaheim with his Uncle Bill.
Uncle Huey was a minister working for Amy Simple McPherson who later became a famous evangelist. Cy was forced to attend church. He was beaten severely by his uncle Huey when little Cy exhibited his free spirit. Cy rounded up wild donkeys on the desert and delivered them to his uncle who sold them for dog food. When his uncle learned that Cy was hiding one of the donkeys out on the desert Cy was beaten so hard the fresh blood ran down his legs.
Cy learned to mistrust his uncle and was happy to be moved to Caruthers near Fresno where he lived with the family of his mother, the Petry Clan. The Petry family had cows to milk, horses to feed, and fields of grapes that needed tending. Cy learned to work hard and eat hearty with eggs, bacon, heavy butter and syrup on the hot cakes for breakfast. He became a star football and baseball player at the public schools. He was happy on the farm but longed to wander and search for adventure.
Cy Jones owned a horse and wore cowboy boots most of his life. He flashed an easy smile that showed his white teeth and one gold tooth. His arms and face were tan, but the rest of his skin was white. His face was lean, but he was muscular, and he had tattoos of anchors and a belly dancer on his arms. His hair was black and curly. He had clear blue eyes and looked a little like the actor James Garner. I think he was built a lot like the world champion boxer Jack Dempsey. He told me his father was an Oklahoma blue eyed half Cherokee who rode bareback bucking horses with such skill, he was not allowed to compete at rodeos.
Uncle Cy said more about his father, "My dad was a good rider, and the bulls and the horses could not buck him off. The worst bucking animal to ride is a mule trained to buck. A mule is smarter than a horse. He can hurt you if he wants to. He has perfect balance and perfect eyesight. He knows how to bite you or kick you, and he seldom misses. My dad was the only man I ever knew who could ride a bucking mule sitting backwards facing the wrong way. The rodeo judges wouldn't let him compete as a cowboy, so he became a rodeo clown. He protected the cowboys from getting hurt by animals when the boys were bucked off. At rodeos, the cowboys trust and respect the clown. People don't realize it, but the bravest and smartest cowboys make the best clowns. My dad was half Cherokee, so he couldn't compete with the others because they said it wasn't fair. They said he would always win and nobody else would have a chance."
Cy Jones said he left Oklahoma as a child and grew up in Carruthers, California. After being a star athlete in high school he left home during the depression. He traveled on a freight train headed for the Chicago World Fair in the early nineteen thirties. Uncle Cy told me what he did when he saw a rodeo.
He said, "I jumped off the train, rolled on the dirt so as not to get hurt, and walked over to the rodeo. I entered a bronc riding contest. After winning some money, I bought fancy cowboy clothes to help build up my reputation as a bronco buster. I got in cahoots with gamblers who bet on me to win. They made money on me. On my last ride when everyone expected me to win, I let the horse buck me off. This time the gamblers bet against me. We split the winnings."
My Uncle Clyde had tattoos also. His arms and face were tan from the sun, he had black hair combed straight back, and his strong lean body was over six feet two inches while Uncle Cy was five feet eleven. Both uncles kept six shooters close by their beds or in their cars. The hand guns were always loaded. Both men usually owned a horse and often had horses for their wives.
During World War Two in the nineteen forties Uncle Cy, Uncle Clyde, Uncle Tom and their families moved to Los Alamitos where they owned horses. Uncle Clyde and Cy lived in two houses back to back facing on different streets. Cy and Clyde worked at a naval dry dock near Seal Beach. They patrolled the beach on their horses at night. They were on the lookout for Japanese submarines. The job was fun for them and was almost like playing cowboys. When Uncle Clyde joined the Navy, Cy worked as a ship builder until the end of the war in nineteen forty five.
Uncle Clyde was quick with his hands and they were like lightning when he was fist fighting. He was a friendly man who seldom argued. He used his hands to earn a lot of money in his life doing piece work like packing lettuce or roofing with shingles. He served in the navy during the war. His wife Thelma took loving care of him at home and often worked the same jobs with him.
Cy and Clyde were different in their preferences for horses. Clyde often chose a horse that was apt to rear, prance and run away with people. Cy preferred having a cutting horse. Cutting horses are highly trained, fast, very obedient horses used for herding and roping cattle. They are not easy for a beginner to ride because they turn so fast, you fall off. I preferred riding Uncle Clyde's Black Beauty who did not knock me off by fast turning.
Cy had many jobs working on cattle ranches doing all kinds of labor in small towns. In his late thirties Cy went to school and learned to be a shoe cobbler. He made his own cowboy boots to fit tight. He filled the boots with hot water and wore them until they dried having been stretched to the exact shape of his feet. He said they were comfortable, but they required my Aunt Audrey to help him pull them off. Later he learned to be an auctioneer. The job suited him well because he was a good leader. He moved to Northern California near Lake Shasta where he was the auctioneer at estate sales. He lived in the little town of Central Valley in a mobile home two blocks from the center of town close to the fire station. He kept his horse in a shed at the back of his narrow city lot. Later, the authorities told him to move the horse out of town but he wouldn't do it. Nobody was willing to try and make him move the horse.
In my early forties I went to visit my three cowboy uncles who lived close to Shasta Lake. I borrowed a horse from my Uncle Tom Wyatt. I went horseback riding with him and my uncles Cy Jones and Clyde Smith. We left Central Valley and took a trail north to Lake Shasta. On the way we slid our horses down a steep embankment to a forest of tall ponderosa pines close to the lake. Clyde and Cy drew their pistols and started shooting. They didn't have any snakes or rabbits to shoot at, so they shot at sticks and stones on the ground. Uncle Tom and I sort of lagged behind them to stay out of the line of fire.
Uncle Tom owned a small saloon in town. He was well known for having a friendly place to drink beer. Sometimes he entertained the customers with his unusual way of eating pickled boiled eggs. He took out his false teeth and put a whole egg in his mouth. Then he gummed the egg until it was chewed enough for him to swallow. Customers often asked Uncle Tom to perform the egg eating trick. They loved it.
Johnny Dias was a working Native American cowboy who was friends of my cowboy uncles. He was a good horse trainer and gave me instructions about horse training. Johnny was training a new horse for himself. It was a powerfully built bay (brown with black ankles, mane and tail) Quarter Horse. He asked me to help him round up and pen a powerful cow. She lived with a herd of cattle on a ranch close to Uncle Tom's place.
I rode one of Uncle Tom's green broke horses. It had recently bucked off some friends of Uncle Tom's teen age children. When Uncle Tom heard me brag about my horsemanship, I'm sure he was hoping I would get bucked off, too. I caught the horse in the pasture and tried to climb on without using a rope or bridle. The horse ran away from me while Uncle Tom laughed. Later using a bridle riding bareback working with the horse, I fell off and landed up against a barbed wire fence. Uncle Tom and Johnny Dias were drinking straight whiskey and they laughed and teased me. I made up my mind to prove I could master the horse.
I rode again the next day. I went with Johnny Dias to help him and his boss round up a wild cow. We cut her away from the herd, and she broke back three times before we drove her to a corral and shut the gate. Johnny roped her, and tied the rope to a post. It sounded like a rifle shot when she broke the lariat. Shouting and waving our arms, we drove her into a wooden chute and tried to trap her there by thrusting a two by four piece of lumber behind her back legs. She was too smart for us and backed out of the chute.
We dismounted trying to control the huge horned cow with our voices. We stood on the fence rails outside the pen. I climbed into the corral and chased her into the chute where she backed, whirled and faced me. Waving my arms in the air, I expected her to be frightened of me, but I was wrong. She charged me. I was lucky she missed me, and I was able to climb out of the enclosure. Later we trapped her in the chute, and the boss lanced her boil. I decided being a real cowboy was too risky for a forty year old dude Anaheim boy like me. I have met many cowboys since then. I respect them. I don't envy them. Most cowboys earn low pay and do lonely hard work. I guess my childhood dream of being a cowboy was not such a great idea.