Wild West Hero

 

You may not, but I've got an issue with this song, in which our imaginary Wild West Hero is this big friend of the Indians. Nice vision, right? Rock on, ELO, but really? You wanna be friends with the torturing, savage, cruel, demonic Commanche? Hey, even the Apache feared those twisted killers.

So, ELO and confederates, you want to be friends with that kind of people, and I use that word lightly, who would peel the skin off your wife's head and slow roast your husband over a fire? You want to be friends with that?

No. When the War of Northern Aggression settled we were able to turn our Cav to the untamed Comanche, and beat them, utterly. Did they deserve it? They were evil, so yes. Was there a loss involved? Yes, there was. The finest light cavalry in all the world were reduced to welfare status, to say nothing of what's followed. Strip malls, anyone?

Regardless, Wild West Heroes fought in the Indian wars, along with malfeasants, and we honor the former.

Ride On,

LSP

.50 Cal

 

You'll be surprised and dismayed that my Fiddy was lost in a tragic boating accident, but through tears of loss I remember seeing my first .50 cartridge. It was in Milwaukee and I was maybe 7; there we were at a party in the next door neighbor's house.

The boys who lived there had just got back from Vietnam and I remember one of them showing me a cartridge case, we were by the kitchen sink. "What's that?" I asked, being 7 and curious, he replied, "That's a Fifty and it'd go right through this sink, through the wall of this house, through the wall of your house and out the other side."

This, gentle readers, has stayed with me for something like half a century.

Arma Virumque Cano,

LSP