Growing Up Amish - Ira Wagler [35]
I quickly adapted to the ranch work and the brutal schedule. Calving season had just begun, and we had to get up every morning at two or so to check for problem births. Then it was back to bed for a few more hours of sleep before getting up at six for the real day’s work.
Leonard regaled me with tall tales of New Mexico and his father’s ranch there. He was a true horseman, born to the saddle. His favorite phrase, after telling a tale, was “We have more fun than people.”
Gradually, I settled into the rhythm of English life. We worked from dawn to dark. I was used to working, so that was no problem. I just wasn’t used to being on my own. But I was learning. And it wasn’t as if I could get into much trouble on the ranch.
My pay was room and board and a hundred bucks a week. Four hundred a month. Not a lot, even back then. I was fed well and worked hard. In many ways, it wasn’t that much different from what I was used to back home.
Of course, I had to learn to drive a truck—an old green and white 1972 Chevy. I had never driven a truck before, or any other motor vehicle for that matter. Leonard carefully coached me and allowed me to drive from the bunkhouse to the main house for meals. Within days I was confident and comfortable behind the wheel.
The first month passed, and payday approached. And boy, did I ever have places to put that money. I needed a new pair of cowboy boots and a real cowboy hat. I also needed some shirts, more jeans, and maybe a real belt buckle with a horse or a bull or some such appropriate cowboy icon.
That Friday, Robert, the head of the investment group from Kansas that ran the ranch, stopped by with our paychecks. It was a gray, cloudy day. Robert handed Gary his check, then Leonard his. Then he turned to me.
“Here you are, first paycheck,” he said.
“Thank you, sir,” I replied, taking it from him.
His eyes glinted mischievously. “It’s a nice check,” he said. “How would you like to double it?”
I stared at him, uncomprehendingly.
“We’ll flip a coin,” he continued. “Double or nothing.”
He would have done it too. I considered his proposition for about two seconds. I held the slip of paper in my hands and looked at it. My first paycheck. Four hundred bucks. A small fortune for me. I could double it. Or I could end up with nothing.
“Nope,” I answered. “Don’t wanna do that. I can’t afford to lose this.”
They all laughed, as did I. Many times since, I’ve wondered what would have happened if I had taken him up on it. Knowing my luck, I would have remained penniless for another month.
Soon after that, Leonard, who had come to Valentine from the huge feedlots in Kansas as temporary help, returned to his old job. As he left, we shook hands, and he smiled and said he hoped we would run into each other again. I was sure we would. Of course, we never did. He left me with his patented saying, “Remember, we have more fun than people.”
Leonard was replaced by a cowboy a year younger than me. A local tough named Allen Hazen. At sixteen, Allen’s reputation as a first-rate cowboy and a hard drinker was already well established throughout the Valentine area. He smiled at me with a loopy grin and took it upon himself to coach me throughout my short-lived career as a cowboy.
Up until now, I had not socialized much in Valentine because I didn’t know anyone in the area. Gary had introduced me to the neighbors, and everyone was friendly, but I had no social life. And that was okay for a while. I saved a few bucks and bought the basic necessities. But that all changed after Allen arrived.
On his first Saturday night at the ranch, we quit a bit early, cleaned up, slicked up in nice clothes—or at least the nicest ones in my meager closet—and drove to Valentine in his old Ford pickup.
Allen knew all the local kids, and he was quite the stud. The girls loved him. By hanging