The Great Head Stone Caper: Yet another tale of the Original Buckaroo

The years 1995 and 1996 were interesting ones for this old “Know it All.”  Yes, I am actually writing about the 20^th century for once.  There was my first face-to-face introduction to Mr. Leon C. Metz, and meeting and later going to work for the Buckaroo.  Both men have had a great impact on my life.  I met these men at the same place, the Centennial Celebration of Hardin’s death held at the Hacienda Café down on the Rio Grande. 

It was a heck of an event. The Paso del Norte Pistoleros re enacted the killing several times that day. Bill Mansion, playing Hardin, hit the floor at least fifty times before it was done and over with.  The after a brief walking tour of the downtown area, we went out to Concordia and had a Champaign toast to the slain gunman.  It was a memorable night to say the least.  As we all went home, the excitement wasn’t over just yet.

Down in Nixon, Texas some folks got together and decided it would be a nice tourist attraction iffn they dug up old Wes and moved him to his “home town” for his final resting place.  Maybe they could even move poor Jane Bowen Hardin from the cow pasture she lay in, to rest beside her husband.  Never mind the fact that Nixon, Texas didn’t exist during Hardin’s lifetime.  So…. the folks found a distant relative, and a Judge willing to sign an court order.

Now The Buckaroo was a member of a group of well meaning, gun toting, for want of a better word, red necks.  Matter of fact they called themselves the “Coalition Of Red Necks”, or CORN. They met for breakfast every Saturday morning, discussing how to cure the world’s ills, who did what to whom, and the latest scandals out of the Puzzle and Crystal Palaces. (City Hall & County Court House for those unfamiliar with my names for these institutions) Well someone had the brilliant idea that iffn they couldn’t find Hardin’s headstone, they wouldn’t know where to dig.  So…. They loaded up and drove down to Concordia, and after much grunting and groaning, the stone was hauled off and stashed in plain sight.  It’s scary, but they came up with this idea, while sober.

The folks from Nixon were met by various members of CORN, local gunfight groups, and law enforcement the next day.  Nothing got resolved then and there, but the “battle” was taken to court.  But news of the theft of the head stone of John Wesley Hardin galvanized the community like nothing else could have.  In injunction was emplaced. And as far as the legal side goes, it’s still at a standstill.

Ironically, the stone was “found” a couple of days later in from of the Buckaroo’s shop.

And that’s the story of the great headstone caper.

Until next time, Take Care, God Bless, and Keep Your Powder Dry

The Gun That Fired All Calibers, or things I learned from the Buckaroo

Was listening to the Leon Metz Radio Show the other day.  The guests were John Hansen and Joel Jones, local history buffs and veteran gun collectors. Mention was made of the guns used during the Mexican Revolution, and it triggered some memories of great stories I learned from the Original Buckaroo as we sat around the back room of the shop.  That back room was a great place to gain a wealth of knowledge of history, guns, and the unmentionable history of the Old West.  Come to think of it, the best stuff the Buckaroo shared of his vast knowledge was unmentionable in mixed company.

To put himself through school, the Buckaroo would travel rural Mexico during the early 1960’s, armed with a generator and 8mm movie projector. He’d charge a few centavos to watch old westerns projected on a sheet hung the far side of the placita.  One the show was over; the Buckaroo would ask around and find out who might have old guns they would be willing to sell.  For dirt cheap, he would pick up old Colt Single actions, and Winchester carbines, and haul them back to El Paso for resale.

During one such trip, he was directed to this little old man. Following an old goat trail up the mountain, the Buckaroo found the dingy adobe shack the old man lived in.  In traditional Mexican fashion, the old man would bring out one gun at a time, and they would dicker over the price.  The Buckaroo picked up a couple of decent pistols, and passed on the others. This went on for quite awhile. 

Finally, the old man brought out the last gun, his best gun.  The Buckaroo was skeptical when he saw the old man proudly lay down a worn out gray ghost of a single action.  There was no telling how long the barrel had been originally, it had been bobbed years ago.  The cylinder wobbled as it cycled, and didn’t quite lock up in battery.  The grips were homemade blocks, poorly fitted.  The gun was a wreck waiting to happen, yet the old man was extraordinarily proud of it.

“This gun my best gun, Shoot all calibers!” exclaimed the old man.

 To prove his point, the old man loaded a .44 special cartridge into the cylinder and let loose into the ceiling.  In that tiny room, the boom was deafening.  Dust and debris from the roof rendered the air almost un-breathable.  It didn’t deter the old man.  He next loaded a .45 Long Colt, followed by a .38-40, .44-40, and .44 Russian cartridges.  There was no telling what caliber it had been originally chambered in, but it was worn out to the point where you could shove about anything into it and fire. 

The previous guns had gone for anywhere between 8 and 12 dollars, but for this gun, the “Gun That Fired ALL Calibers”, he would have to have $25.  Of course, the Buckaroo had to pass on the deal.   

To be truthful, this story was a lot better when the Buckaroo would tell it.  The gestures, and faces he’d make in the telling were hilarious.  And I do admit that I wish he had bought the “Gun That Fired ALL Calibers.”  It would have made a great display of one man’s junk being another man’s treasure.

Until next time, Take Care, God Bless, and Keep your Powder Dry!