From the Old Rock

 

First Person

From the Old Rock

Frank

By Stephen L. Wilmeth

 

            From Waller Creek near Austin, Texas years ago Bertha McKee Dobie penned the preface of a collection of J. Frank Dobie’s makings and book of character sketches and named the eventual book, Out of the old Rock.

            She noted the character sketches were written over many years, and the book title came from the late Mr. Dobie’s frequent references to those people who made his books and essays so important and interesting. The use of this general reference has been used in various Westerner works in the past with the modification that from replaced his out of. The change was never intended to slight the original usage. Rather, it was the failure of memory to start with, but became a personal suggestion that many of us learned from the same sort of characters. Their collective influences were thought to be timeless and perhaps we do too little to continue their memories and their impact on our heritage.

From them we learned, and that respect becomes the theme today.

First Person

It wasn’t just Hank that talked that way, but he was one of the first and greatest influences.

In normal conversation he would often simply start a discussion by declaring the point came from somebody referenced only by their first name. It was as if you and everybody should know who he was talking about. Most of the time you did, but the interpretation was the point was more important than who said it.

In looking back, it was also the way his dad, Dick, talked and it was somewhat universal among that grand cast of characters From the Old Rock.

It was just the way old time cowboys from the old rock communicated.

From the Old Rock

From the Dobie notes and sketches, 16 personalities were featured in Out of the Old Rock. Most he knew personally, and they came vividly alive in his portraits of them. In these one thousand words, the description of characters that could be profiled is much reduced, but their shared contributions are no less interesting.

Bill pushed me out into the torrent of responsibility. He believed in me more than I believed in me, but the six years we spent working together became the foundation for everything else. Every young man who discovers fascination in the business of agriculture needs someone like him. The last time we were together, he was there in a Porterville hospital bed and asleep. I didn’t wake him, but left a note at his bedside. I told him what he meant to me.

Paul rode the little horse that Hank and I had to rope and trip to get everything untangled. He lay there pale and dazed trying to get his senses and never said a word. He was given orders not to tell his mother, and, living in the same house, I do think that was honored. I always said he was one two or three people I ever really liked to hunt with, and we should do that at least one more time. I am proud of this DVM, and I hope he knows that.

Dusty and I started to kindergarten together and graduated from college together. Many times, the suggestion we never had a cross word has been brought up, and both of us believe it is a fact. He’s one of the two or three that put himself in business with no help and, in that, is great accomplishment. So many camps we have shared and each one memorable. We came off Granny Mountain one night in a high trot under a moonlit sky. Sparks were flying off shod hooves as wound through those switchbacks to camp below. It rained later that night, too, as we lay and listened to it in the tent in our bedrolls.

Walt and the end of Anderson Road came along long after I was told the story of his aunt who was drug to death by a horse when she was just a little thing. So it was that the very story of an event that took place over 75 years earlier would be shared at the onset of a friendship that we both honor. Independence and courage are two words you could use to describe him. Both are facts.

Terrell has been told several times that his comment why his hound dog was wearing puttees coming up 13^th Street was one I still don’t quite understand. He needs them was the exact wording, but why a hound dog needed them remains a mystery. We share a grandfather (great for one and great-great for the other) and maybe some genes that prefer this way of life. He is talented and tough.

Luke is closer to Dobie country than the rest of us. Our communication has been predicated mostly on the modern tech, but, when both of us can get excited over sharing the occurrence of a .40” of rain, the smell of the morning thereafter is a shared part of our existence. Luke is our beacon of spirituality and endurance. He is a brother in our camp.

Certainly, there are others. Pat, Jim, Bill, Dudley, Hugh, Anthony, John, Steve, Jerrell, Tim, Pepe, Joe, Ramon, Chris, Jerry, and many others could be equally arrayed as members of a brotherhood of westerners who rode into this life with shared qualities. There is one westerner, though, that is going to get a special tip of the hat. Frank, you are one of the grand characters of our collection of sons of the American West. Your character and courage throughout this time in life are equaled only by your love and honor of this way of life.

We tip our hats to you, call you friend, and vote for your acceptance to be our head wrangler in our corner of … From the Old Rock.

 

Stephen L. Wilmeth is a rancher from southern New Mexico. “We respect and honor you, Frank!”

Those are powerful words from Wilmeth, and they couldn't have come at a better time.