8/6/2019 3- Clint Was A Cowboy

1/3

Clint Was A Cowboy

Clint was a cowboy. How he ended up a member of the software group, I never did find out. But

there he was, bigger than life; cowboy boots, oversized championship buckle, and enough

genuine presence to spill out of the Pendleton Round-up Happy Canyon main arena.

Most of the others on the team were what youd expect: introverted, contemplative, brainy.

Some a bit more anal than others, but generally a careful, risk-avoiding lot. Not Clint. He rode

every requirement like hed once ridden brahma bulls: tenaciously; filled with the passion of

pursuit, the joy of conquest.

Clint was a noisy learner. He rattled windows. He seemed to have a panoramic picture window

into his soul, and every twitch, every nuance took center stage. He told embarrassingly

improper jokes when the rest of his teammates were stuck; class clown, court jester, and the

perennial winner of the yodeling cowboy competition, all rolled into one.

And his distractions worked. Often as not, hed jangle their stuckness enough for everyone togain some traction. It seemed as if he had just the right hammer to nudge anything loose. And he

was never once shy about using it.

Most on the team never understood what this frantic dancing cost Clint. He seemed like any

free-spending cowpoke; bottomless pockets, endless good humor, always ready for another big

adventure. The life of every party.

Clint was no superficial fool, though youd be excused for mistaking him for one. Behind those

eyes, tearing up over his latest inappropriate wise crack, was one wounded wise man. Hed

traveled the circuit, living out of his backseat in lean times, a trailer when winning. Hed won and

lost it all so many times, the distinction between winning and losing melted away. He continuedriding bulls, breaking horses, being broken by them, too.

Hed broken just about every bone a cowboy can break, even earned a couple of championship

buckles before switching rides into IT, where the competition was more subtle, the

championships few and ever further between. But he settled in, confining his carousing to the

weekends and after hours. Every cowboy understands that drunk sick aint never sick enough to

miss roll call or the supper bell.

He showed up every morning, freshly showered and starched, polished and bleary-eyed, boot

heels leaning him into whatever this next workday might bring. It would not bring money. What

he made paid back child support. What he could charm out of instant life-long friends sustainedhim. He had a string of exes, each one dearly loved, mumbling along beside the trails hed

trodden. Each in turn had fallen under the spell of the fearless buckaroo, the charming cowpoke,

that kid in cowboy boots, only to learn that he really was fearless, he really was unrelentingly

charming, and that hed never, ever, under any condition, be able to grow up.

Not that he had not tried. Hed served in the Army. Hed graduated from technical school. He

was capable of passing for an adult, ... mostly. He could not lose his innocence, no matter how

8/6/2019 3- Clint Was A Cowboy

2/3

8/6/2019 3- Clint Was A Cowboy

3/3

The conversation came reluctantly. I could find no purchase. Direct statements seemed to fly

over his head and the subtler stuff never stuck. So we talked around the obvious, an elephant

squeezed between us in the front of his SUV. We talked about the weather or something, the

same topic that always borders whatever the real subject might be. But we did discuss Clints

situation, how he was on his last life. His blood pressure had damaged his heart, and his drinkinghad pretty nearly destroyed his liver, and he might well be unemployable now. The company

would see.

Theyd give him enough rope and judge how he used it. Abuse it once, and the forgiveness

would not be extended. Like his exes, they loved him, but could not seem to live with him.

Clint was contrite. Struggling to put a positive face on one sorry-assed situation. He was weak.

Hed lost weight. Still clowning, he seemed wore out. He was pleased to be free, committed to

cleaning up his act. Somewhere in there, understanding that, since his was no act, he would not

be cleaning up anything. We played along with the fiction, wanting to believe it true. Denying the

obvious fact that Clint would be leaving the circuit soon.

They received him like a conquering hero, Ulysses home from the quest, and laughed at his now

dusty, tuckered jokes and warmed his bottomless cup of Joe, relieved hed come home. But Clint

didnt stay long. Hed lost his wind, his will to achieve. A milk cow could throw him, and he knew

it well.

He was mustered to a long-term disability package. Enough to keep him and his exes almost

comfortable until he died. Im sure he died shortly after being released to pastureand that he

died alonelike he lived alonesurrounded by adoring crowds. Clint had never once stood in

his own presence, just like you and I have never once stood in ours. Unlike most of us, he was

utterly alone no matter how many adoring fans admired him. He never grew up and nevermanaged to live down his reputation as the life of every party he ever crashed. And he never,

not once, attended a party he had not charmed his way into.

Rest in peace, cowboy.

2011 by David A, Schmaltz, all rights reserved