​One of the singular joys of trekking the back roads in a Jeep is the treasures one finds; some are small, others larger, and sometimes one encounters an entire township of them. Such it was this past summer when my wife and I were visiting relatives in New Mexico. Hwy 159 just north of Glennwood, NM leads to the old ghost town of Mogollon. 
 
The journey is half the adventure, as Mogollon lies a half-dozen vertical miles off of Hwy 180 and it’s a narrow windy bit that can give those of delicate constitutions the vapors, but once there the town itself is a quaint village nestled in a deep valley that reminded me of Bisbee, AZ – another late 19th century mining town.
 
Founded in 1889, Mogollon enjoyed the typical boom of a mining town, followed by the bust that folllows; in the early 20th century the mines were producing wealth for all, but by WW1 they had virtually all been shut down.  The mines reopened during WW2 for a time, and even the Little Fanny Mine hung on the longest, producing until the early 1950s when it too shut down forever.
 
Now a berg of scarcely over 25 souls, Mogollon seems to hang on out of sheer will and memory of its former glory. There is a museum, a few private homes, the Purple Onion Cafe, and not much more.
 
But its remains honor the history of the boomtown mining camps of a hundred plus years ago, and there are historic structures and a cemetery at the top of the canyon that bears witness to the struggles of our forebears.  There are no t-shirts, really, or trinkets to buy, only the experience of visiting, which in a town like Mogollon, is more than enough.

When I was coming into the Arizona Rangers as a fresh-faced probationary Ranger, one of the things my Field Training Officer told me was that “there is a place for everyone in the Rangers,” and the Rangers are not exclusively a young person’s organization; we value the experience and input of more seasoned people, especially if they became seasoned within the Rangers.
 
A couple of months ago I wrote about a visit to Tombstone, which was hosting a parade in honor of the Rangers.  Tombstone, of course, was fairly crawling with Rangers in the official black uniforms, but one man stood out. Walking down Allen Street an older gentleman was pushing an empty wheelchair. He was dressed in an outdated Ranger uniform consisting of a white western shirt and black jeans – this was the Ranger uniform of the 1970s.  He wore a double-action revolver on his duty belt, which was another throwback to an earlier time.  I had to say hello.
 
I walked over in the company of one of my Rangers, Scot Walker, and we introduced ourselves.  The Ranger’s name was Dennis Harrington. He said he was originally a member of the Tombstone Company, but it had disbanded for a time and he transferred to the Sierra Vista company where he remained.  He was on his way to Fourth Street for a big group photo at the museum and I asked if he wished to sit in his wheelchair and I would be happy to push him. He politely declined, saying he would rather walk, and I thought that this attitude was probably behind why he was still a Ranger at an age when other men are happy to sit on a front porch and glare at passers by.
 
He was sworn in as a full Ranger in 1978; now he said that he had left the Rangers for a time to work as a contractor in the Middle East, but even allowing for gaps in service, this man served our state for forty years and had been an active Ranger since before many of the current generation of Rangers were even born!  That is a level of dedication not often seen in today’s disposable culture.
 
Ranger Harrington told me he was no longer actively doing duties but was now an “Associate Ranger” and that his sixgun was loaded with dummy rounds in compliance with the regulations that Associate Rangers not carry or wear active duty uniforms.  He then said that he did have live rounds on his belt “just in case,” and I didn’t doubt that if things went south he would still answer the call.
​

The storied histories of Tombstone and the Arizona Rangers don’t coincide much; during the heyday of Tombstone there was no real Ranger presence in the Territory* and by the time of the Territorial Rangers of 1901-1909 Tombstone’s mines were closed and her glory days were behind her.  The Arizona Ranger headquarters were located first in Bisbee, then in Nogales, and no Rangers were ever stationed in the declining town of Tombstone. No Rangers appear in the mythology of the Earp/Clanton feud, and Tombstone does not figure into the lore of the Territorial Rangers, as each was part of a different chapter of Arizona’s frontier history.
 
But the Rangers have always had a strong presence in the southern part of the state, and the Modern Arizona Rangers, begun in 1957, are no different.  In modern-day Tombstone, the locals embrace the presence of their Ranger company and Rangers patrol the historic boardwalks of the Town Too Tough to Die just as they do in Bisbee, Sedona, and elsewhere in the state.
 
This past weekend, on Saturday, July 3, 2021, Tombstone hosted the entire Ranger organization for a parade to honor their service not only to the City of Tombstone, but to the State of Arizona.  Rangers travelled from all over the state to participate in the parade down historic Allen Street as the town and tourists cheered.
 
As a long-time Ranger, I was proud to participate in the parade and festivities. One of the Mission statements of the Rangers is to “keep alive the history and traditions of the Old West,” and in this mission the history of the Rangers and the history of Tombstone neatly coincide. I am proud to wear the badge of the Arizona Rangers and I am honored to be recognized by the Town Too Tough to Die for my service to law enforcement, to local communities, and to the people of this great state. We are the Few, the Proud, Then and Now. 
 
If you would like to join our ranks, go to https://azrangers.gov and find the Ranger company closest to you!
 
 
*There was a Ranger company officially formed during 1881-82 in the Territory, but it suffered from budget issues from the start and had little affect on territorial law enforcement; nowhere near the impact of the later (1901-1909) Ranger companies.
​

​
If one wanted to stir up a hornet’s nest in an online sixgun group, one of the best ways is to post any question or comment concerning the “45 Long Colt.”   Keyboard commandos will come out of the woodwork to correct the innocent poster that there is no such cartridge . . . they must surely mean the 45 Colt, which is the proper and official name of the round. And of course they do, and hopefully the original poster’s question gets answered after the ceremonial comeuppance. But this misnomer persists; the venerable 45 Colt has somehow picked up the erroneous title of “Long Colt” somewhere along the way. How could that be?
The misnomer persists largely because the 45 Colt really did come in a couple of sizes, as seen here: https://fr.wikipedia.org/wiki/.45_Colt#/media/Fichier:Colt_.45_LC_Cartridges.JPG 

There are two standard answers; the first being that the “Long Colt” is to distinguish the 45 Colt from the later 45 ACP.  This could make some sense given that both the 45 ACP and the 45 Colt served side by side in the World Wars, with the shorter ACP round chambered in the 1911 and the longer 45 in the big New Service Colt and Triple Lock Smith & Wesson revolvers. That one round feeds a semi-automatic and the other a revolver makes this version feel a little thin, as there are bigger differences to note than cartridge length. The second version, which perhaps sounds more credible on its surface, is that the “Long Colt” was to distinguish the more powerful cartridge from the shorter 45 S&W (also called 45 Govt), which was standard Army issue beginning in 1874 to fill the Smith & Wesson “Schofield” top-break revolver.  This also makes sense since the shorter S&W round was actually issued for Army troops because it would chamber in either revolver, but a civilian who wanted the longer (slightly more powerful) cartridge might well ask a shopkeeper for “the long Colts” to differentiate between the two. This explanation has the ring of truth insofar as being historically possible, as both cartridges were in use during this time frame.  A variant of this story is that the advent of Cowboy Action Shooting (CAS) created a need to differentiate between the original “long Colt” and newer “45 Cowboy,” which is a still shorter case to accommodate the extremely light charges of smokeless powder favored by the gamesmen, but I don’t believe this – the “Long Colt” term is far older than the Cowboy cartridge.
 
There is some history of cartridges having more than one name; Winchester introduced the highly successful 1873 lever action in their proprietary 44 Winchester CenterFire (WCF) cartridge and later in the 38 WCF, both of which were popular enough for Colt to chamber in their flagship single action.  Colt, however, was loathe to put a Winchester name on their product, and instead called them by their powder charge, and so the 44-40 & 38-40 were born. It is considered correct to refer to these cartridges by either name. 
 
But a manufacturer putting a name on their product, even if they are simply renaming an existing cartridge, still lends a legitimacy that the “Long Colt” designation seems to lack.  The name “45 Long Colt” sometimes appears on ammunition boxes, but is this enough to recognize the popular misnomer?
 
For my money, yes, it is enough. People call the 45 the “Long Colt” and through long usage that has become (for better or worse) an accepted and widely understood alternate name for the cartridge. The whole debate is a non-starter; whether or not the “Long Colt” designation is official or not (it’s not) is irrelevant; when a shooter refers to the cartridge by this name everyone knows what they mean. Perhaps this attitude dates back to my youth, when I saw Ruger single actions with “45Colt” tags alongside reloaded ammo labeled “45 Long Colt” and yet somehow no one was confused or offended. It was a simpler time, with less strident labeling expectations.
 
But don’t take my word for it; noted gunwriter Mike Venturino has weighed in on this debate, and he has done far more shooting and research into the cartridges of the 19th century than most.  In his article “All American 45s” he notes that not only was there the original 45 “Long” Colt and the 45 Govt, or Schofield, but Remington-UMC made 45 cartridges head stamped “45 Colt” that were clearly loaded in shorter cases (but not quite the same length as the Schofield) with the original narrow case rims of the longer, standard 45 Colt. So they were neither fish nor fowl, but their own hybrid cartridge. So perhaps the “Long Colt” crowd has a leg to stand on after all.
 
See his article here: https://www.magzter.com/article/Mens-Interest/Handloader/All-American-45s
​ 
 
So, if we give up on the 45 “Long” Colt debate, what’s left for us to quibble about on social media? Well, there’s always correcting people who refer to box magazines as “clips.”
 
 

​You’ve seen the ads; a happy family with a spotlessly clean house that miraculously vacuums itself.   I, like so many others, was lured into a happy Utopian fantasy in which my house would be kept spotlessly clean all by itself.
 
It’s not true.
 
Now, it’s partly my fault. My foray into robot vacuums began at Target, where I chose an off-brand vacuum because it was significantly cheaper than the official iRobot brand Roomba.  As is so often the case, cheaper is cheaper for a reason, and I had a lesson in false economy.  The vacuum worked okay, but it got hung up on things, and worse, it had a ridiculously small dust bin that required me to empty it far more often than I had imagined as I stood starry-eyed in Target.  All ideas of setting it to vacuum while I was gone at work vanished; this thing needed almost constant supervision and in the end, wasn’t worth the effort to monitor over just doing the job myself.
 
So I continued sweeping by hand for a time.
 
Then I got a Roomba. . .  the genuine article. I ponied up for the whole megillah, the higher-end vacuum with the Bluetooth connection and the automatic emptying tower so I didn’t even have to touch the dirt with my delicate fingers, but just empty a bag every few weeks.  The app let me schedule it and gave me updates on its progress to my phone.  The app asked me to name my Roomba; I named it Clyde, in honor of my father, who always wanted to name things Clyde. With Clyde’s help, it would be a Brave New World of dustless floors.
 
Except it wasn’t.
 
This Roomba was worlds better than the knock-off I originally had . . . but there were still issues.  Clyde had a habit of getting hung up on electrical cords, most especially the ones that were hard for me to reach, like underneath the desk or behind the couch.  Then sometimes it doesn’t even come on.  My Roomba will periodically struggle to dock itself properly, and then when it’s due to vacuum again it doesn’t have sufficient charge to launch itself. I get no notification; it simply doesn’t do its thing until I investigate why.
 
I had envisioned a world in which my Roomba would clean the house wholly unsupervised, perhaps even while I was away at work.  Such was not to be, and instead the Roomba was like a toddler, whose movements through the house needed to be monitored to prevent catastrophe. And like toddlers, a quiet Roomba signals trouble is afoot.
 
So in the end I’m keeping my Roomba, but if company is coming over and I need the floors done quickly, I still reach for my old-school dust mop.

​A new movie came out on cable providers recently titled The Warrant, starring Neal McDonough as John Breaker, a former Union officer who is now the local sheriff.  His son Cal Breaker, played by Steven R. McQueen, is now a Federal Marshal and asks his help to capture a special outlaw – his old war buddy who now calls himself The Saint, played by Casper Van Dien.
 
Neal McDonough was almost cast out of type in this film; having associated his previous work with gloriously played bad guys, most notably Robert Quarles in Justified and later Malcolm Beck in Yellowstone, I had to keep reminding myself that he was a good guy here. He pulls it out with a stoicism that I often associate with screen renditions of Wyatt Earp, though his character is his own.
 
In some ways, this is an “anti-buddy” movie – its overarching theme is one of brother against brother, fitting in a movie set immediately post-Civil War. But it’s also a movie about forgiveness, second chances, and the high costs of mercy, duty, and service.
 
It is a streamlined plot insofar as there are few subplots to consume screen time and create additional action.  I was surprised to note that it is a full two hour (or so) long movie because it seemed much shorter. At its end the thought struck me that it felt more like a one hour series episode than a full movie, which prompted my ruminations about plot structure.  The richness that is normally supplied by subplots (or “sidequests” as my gamers would say) is replaced by frequent flashbacks that provide backstory for the characters.
 
This has been out a few months now, but is well worth looking up.  Look for it on Amazon Prime!

​Recent weeks have seen a lot of turmoil and upheaval, beginning with protests about the death of George Floyd, leading to more protests, rioting, and still more protests.  Protestors began defacing monuments and statues with “BLM” graffiti and demanding their removal. Soon cities were on board; on June 18th the National Trust for Historic Preservation lent their approval for the removal of Confederate monuments from public spaces[1]. The statues began to come down.  I don’t think that their removal will have any significant effect on race relations in our country, but I see the argument.  Statues honoring generals of a rebellious country that lasted only four years don’t exactly rank up there with the Founding Fathers.
 
The fervor to remove statues didn’t stop with the Confederacy, however. Soon protesters were taking aim at Washington; a descendant of Jefferson wrote an articulate plea for the removal of his monument[2]; even Lincoln was not spared the criticism of the “woke” crowd that was drunk on destatuation[3].
 
This movement is not exactly revisionist; it’s not “rewriting” history per se, but it is certainly censoring what our nation should consider laudable, and we will see where this little experiment takes us. Thus far there has been no discussion about who might replace the images of those removed and now discarded personalities of our past.  Perhaps we no longer believe in heroes.
 
So where does it end? Which public figure is safe at this point? Is Theodore Roosevelt safe; would Martin Luther King make the cut – John F. Kennedy?  What public figure is sacred and pure enough to withstand the scrutiny of this new Zeitgeist? I’m not sure when this statue toppling frenzy will stop, but I suspect that human nature will eventually want to replace the statues with something that the new generation finds acceptable. My recommendation on this point is not to suggest a person, but a material. I submit that all new monuments be made in unfinished sandstone . . . or perhaps even pumice.  That way the new monuments will be sure to exist only in our spotless present and will not outlast the sensibilities that erected them.


[1] https://savingplaces.org/press-center/media-resources/national-trust-statement-on-confederate-memorials?utm_medium=email&utm_source=update&fbclid=IwAR3oFnlZTiXL4zR1da0tVLirDNKS3A4odDmB7RxlsbbsE3XcXuemKOrSAEw#.Xwat5S0iefC
 

[2] https://thehill.com/blogs/blog-briefing-room/news/506186-jefferson-descendant-take-down-his-memorial

[3] https://www.washingtonpost.com/local/protesters-denounce-abraham-lincoln-statue-in-dc-urge-removal-of-emancipation-memorial/2020/06/25/02646910-b704-11ea-a510-55bf26485c93_story.html

             People are social beings; we like to gather and talk, and oftentimes a polite greeting and a smile can just turn someone’s day around.  But sometimes a greeting can fall flat and have the opposite effect, as I’ve noticed in several local businesses lately.
            It has become a commonplace when walking into many businesses, from the QT convenience mart to Walgreens or even pet stores, that someone will greet me, usually as soon as I walk in the door.  Sometimes I am greeted by several people as I make my way through the aisles. Now, this is all well and good, and many times the greeting is warm and friendly, and I feel warm and friendly about my choice of retail outlet.  But other times the greeting feels stilted and rushed; there is no eye contact, no smile . . . the greeting feels compulsory and not at all welcoming.
            Companies like Walgreens and Quick Trip have implemented policies mandating that their workers greet people as they come in. I theorize that someone in Corporate decided walked into a store and wasn’t greeted, and they felt ignored. So down came the ruling that every guest must be greeted every single time.  On paper this is a great policy, but in actual practice, these workers are very often busy with other duties when I walk in and the greeting ends up being a quipped and clearly scripted “Hi, welcome to ___” as they complete the task as hand. If they are too busy to even look at who they’re greeting I don’t feel welcomed; I just feel sorry for them working in such an impersonal and scripted environment.  With workers donning their COVID masks the effect is even more distant and impersonal because half of their face is shielded and I can’t hear them as well or clearly see if they’re providing me with the required smile.  Most of these workers are genuinely friendly and do offer good customer service, but regurgitating scripted welcomes doesn’t help with that. And when they’re busy . . . geez, let them work!
I would counsel corporate policy-makers and managers to foster a culture of customer service and then let the workers do what they’re trained to, and stop micro-managing their interactions with customers.  Then when a worker welcomes me into their store, I’ll know they really mean it.

​
 

On April 28th of 2011, the Arizona State Legislature declared the venerable Colt Single Action Army (SAA) revolver as the Official State Firearm.  While Sturm, Ruger firearms (who manufacture their single action Vaquero right here in AZ) might have preferred to get the nod, it makes perfect sense to award the designation to the old Colt model, as it was an important tool in establishing law and order on the southwestern frontier.
 
The Colt SAA came out in 1873 as Colt’s most successful revolver in the then-new self-contained metallic cartridges, and sales to the Army quickly made this revolver a hot commodity. This was a wholly new model, replacing the 1872 Open Top that had been built on a rehashed design from the 1860 Army that had been one of the primary sidearms of the Civil War (which is still a fine weapon in its own right).  The new SAA employed a solid top strap and a new, more powerful ammunition, the 45 Colt. Loading 35 grains of black powder underneath a 255 grain conical bullet, the 45 Colt boasted being the most powerful handgun cartridge of its day, and in fact this claim to power was not eclipsed until the advent of the .357 Magnum cartridge in 1935. Even afterwards, many big-bore aficionados, no less than the Dean of Sixguns, Elmer Keith, still preferred the old 45 to the new and modern 357, feeling that the mass and diameter of the bigger bullet outweighed the high velocity energy figures that the smaller round produced.  Keith also noted that the SAA was the fastest gun of any design for getting the first shot out of the holster
 
The Colt SAA has been made in three major “Generations.” The First Generation ran from 1873 to 1941, when handgun production for World War Two shut down production.  Then the Second Generation ran from 1956 (taking advantage of the popularity of westerns and “fast draw” on TV) to 1974, when the original tooling was just too worn out to continue.  They quickly retooled and began production of the Third Generation in 1976, and continue production in limited quantities.
 
The Colt SAA, chambered in 45 Colt with a 5.5 inch barrel, was the official sidearm of the Territorial Arizona Rangers during their tenure from 1901 to 1909, which is perhaps the most compelling reason for it to be chosen as the official State Firearm.  The Modern Rangers have since moved on to more contemporary semi-automatic pistols as their primary duty weapons, but even now individual Rangers can still qualify with the old thumb-buster and carry it on ceremonial duties.
 
So slip out of your quarantine for a bit today and go burn some powder to celebrate the State icon!