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Show A (Thr Page A6 Thursday, November 7,2002 (Timfa-3nhrprnbn- it 0LIR.TOWW HALLOW rEN IS OVERALL THOtSU GooFTCoStvMES AMD THAT TRiCK-- 0 GlK COMMUNITY COMMENTS JfL - by Sam Taylor it out there At the end of his fust 60-dlegislative session, he began packing up his papers to leave the House chamber. The Speaker saw it happening and left the podium to talk to Otho. We re not done, Pat the speaker said. "Were going to cover the clock and work until were done Patterson's reply was that he had signed on tor 60 days and that's aU he was going to serve. Its time to throw out the cat and pee on the fire, he stated The Speaker told him that 4 he left, he would send the Sergeant of Arms out to bring him back Give me an hour's head start and you can send the whole damned National Guard, Pat said You have to like a guy like that. Emmett A Troutt, the Kingfish, was a perennial candidate, but he never got elected. It was fun to see him dressed ufl with his celluloid collar and bow tie, railing against all that was wrong about government and how he intended to fix it. He was a friend until late in life, and a close neighbor when Adrien and I began our first household in the early 1 960s. He was about the best farmer I ever knew and helped us a lot with the landscaping of our first home on 5th West Bill Rowell from Porcupine Ranch in upper I'm writing this on Tuesday tins week, because know Wednesday will be hectic with election returns coming m until late this evening Like many Moab area residents, my mind lin- ay I gers on what's happening at the polls, and the vigorous campaigns that have been waged this year by a host ot candidates, both local and statewide Im also remembering the excitement ol elections when I was a youngster growing up in Moab I guess I have always been a political junkie, even as a kid Ot course, I had a father who rarely missed an election as a candidate He served tor well over 20 years on the Grand County Commission, in state government and even ran tor Congress at one point in his career He was. ot course, a staunch Republican operating in a county that quite often elected Democrats, so he wasnt always successful, but he kept coming back Political rallies were held in Moab by both parties in the 1930s and 1940s They were held in the Grand County Ball Room on the corner ot Center and 100 East, and were usually preceded by great picnics hosted by members of the two parties in the lot m front ot Kerby's auto park, which was located where the parking lot for the Moab Visitor Center now stands. Everyone went to both Democrat and Repubs lican rallies and Baked beans, biscuits, fried chicken, casseroles, salads and desserts Castle Valley, a staunch Democrat, always made sure the Democrats were represented on the ballot His speeches were strong, and from the heart. can't ever remember him winning an election, though. My uncle, Johnny Skewes served as Sheriff tor over twenty years. He always ran as a Democrat, which was kind of strange in my family, but he always won close races one of which was decided by the toss of a coin. That tough old lawman was my idol. just couldnt understand why he was a Democrat. miss those old political traditions. They were a lot ot fun and bring back great memories. Growing up in a very political family that wasn't always successful at the polls, know the excitement of victory, and the agony ot defeat. That's why tomorrow, when the dust has cleared, I'll be able to rejoice with those who won, and empathize with those who worked so hard but didnt make it were delicious particularly liked the Democrat potlucks and rallies better than the ones sponsored by the Republicans. have never tasted, nor been able to replicate that baked bean recipe. The Democrats had it all over the Republicans when it came to baked beans Maybe they had more experience with 'east of Monticello" pinto beans than their Republican opponents loved listening to the speeches. ll never forget legislative candidate G. O. Patterson's promise. If elected, plan to vote against every of the time,' he said. He bill, and Ill be right 90 was probably right, and he was elected, too. He had an isolated ranch in Lisbon Valley and loved I I I Idle Thoughts from Mt. Waas by Ollie Harris Inconvenient Rain I pot-luck- I I I I I Many Trails For several years I have made the joke that Mormons never dare complain about the rain in southeastern Utah because church leaders will call them in for a worthiness interview, and perhaps take disciplinary action. You'd think that no sensible person would complain about the rain. Several years ago, on the heels of another desperately dry spell, I was helping a neighbor with some heavy work. It began to rain and he said, I sure hope it doesnt rain too much. Itll really mess me up. I was younger at the time and less tolerant of stupidity. I didnt say anything to him, but I felt disgusted with his attitude. When the first decent rain finally came to our town a few weeks ago, Barbara and I piled into the big Dodge and drove up toward the mountain. We pulled off the road onto a gravel turnout. It was a Saturday evening. As much as I enjoy listening to Prairie Home Companion on KUER, I had to turn the radio off just to listen to the storm. The lightning ripped, the thunder rumbled, the clouds settled around us and it rained. We rolled the windows down a little. I put my cammy on my lap and Barbara placed a towel on the dash to catch the rain that misted into the truck. Water began to flow along the side of the road. As we quietly sat there listening to the storm and inhaling the fresh aromas of wet earth, a feeling came over me that it was the sort of thing I would have done as a teenager with a pretty girl. In fact, it was exactly what I had done on more Gore-TW- x by Adrien F. Taylor attended the Moab Film Festival for the first time this year, and it was a very impressive experience. This included just two of the four available Speaking of ranchers, it is sad news this week to learn that Bonnie Dalton and her family have come to the difficult decision that they must sell their horses. The Dalton Gang, as we have known and loved them, is being disbanded. At least the horses are. Bonnie called Tuesday and told me the herd had been consigned to the horse auction this Friday at Clovis, NM. The drought and bleak prospects for the future in that regard forced the Daltons to this decision, and one certainly cant fault them. Over the years that we have put out the Dalton Gang's annual sale catalog, have gotten to know those pedigrees so well that I feel like know the broodmares personally. And at the appropriate time of year, can practically recite Evil Eye's pedigree from memory. In fact, I reminded Bonnie that Sena bought one of the Dalton Gang fillies three years ago. Bonnie commented that Sena should have some real nice foals coming along herself one ot these first years. just wont be the same, though. It hasnt been the same since Melvin died, really. And the folks at the sale this Friday will go home with some great horses. I sessions, and none of the peripheral activities, and now Im convinced Ive been missirfg out on a lot, and won't let that happen in the future. Why the Cowboy Sings" is a poignant look at today's ranchers and what they face in modern life, in addition to the fine western singing. Hal Cannon has the knack of getting right to the heart of things, and producerdi-recto- r Taki Telomdis in team with cinematographer Doug Monroe made for a brilliant snapshot" of this faction ot American Life It was most appropriate to hang the festival, at least in terms of its opening, on this film. was disappointed in the number of people in the audiences, and so were festival organizers. This was a quality event that deserves support from the local residents. However, have to go back ten years when the Moab Music Festival was just getting started, and the same was true then. Audience building takes time, and as a festival matures (and this one is) numbers grow. Hats oft to all those who have been Histo-rianmusici- than one occasion. Still, no matter how dry it gets, rain does not always come at a convenient time. For the last week, I have been tearing down my ragged old sheds. On a scale of one to ten, one of them was about a half, or maybe a one, and the other perhaps a three. I considered just burning them where they stood, but burning them was too complicated. It would have meant explaining my project to the I I involved. aft Brick Bats and Bouquets Accolades and Admonishment with regard to issues in our community to work Retiring Ed Marston by Every day Id leave high school about noon, take the subway to 23rd Street, run down to the basement cafeteria for a nutritious company meal, and then sort and debver mail. My favorite route was the 40th to 30th floors, up there with the higher-flyin- g Manhat- tan pigeons. The job was my transition to the adult world. I especially loved the secretaries in their late-195sheath skirts. They would flirt with me because I was safe, if only you were a few years older," they would coo. And I would imagine the paradise if I were a few years older. I d gotten the job through the pull of Mr. Dixon, my friend Joeys father. On his last day at work, we to ride the joined Mr. Dixon in the third subway back to Queens with him in celebration of his retirement. He was standing at his locker, changing into street clothes, reflecting on his life: I came here during the Depression for a year or two, until things got better. I never dreamt I'd spend my whole life here." I was shocked. A grown man living in the apartment upstairs had spent his life working as a guard for Metropolitan Life Insurance at a job he didn't want. In 1974, 1 was in the same trap as an associate professor of physics in New Jersey. I liked the students and my commute. But I hated physics. Like Mr. Dixon, I'd chosen a trade for its economic potential. Amid much terror, I quit, and with two children in tow, we headed West. There, in rural western Colorado, we got lucky. Betsy and I started a small town weekly. North Fork Times. So long as we worked our tails off, it thrived. Alla-- six years, exhausted, we sold it and got lucky again in 1983, w hen we took over High Country News, a regional environmental paper. Using the same brute-forc- e formula, it also thrived. I was that luckiest of people. I loved writing. I saw myself as a carpenter or mason, laying up a wall or a building. Very occasionally, I thought ahead. During my first year as a reporter, I drove up to a local coal mine to cover a retirement Instead of telling me how much he was looking forward to his golden years, the miner ran from me, moving frantically along the conveyor belt with a shovel, tidying up the coal as it fell off. He was in a panic. What would he do when they took his shovel away? nt A bouquet for Nancy Waldron who, for the third year in a row, made her last stop trick or treating at the Christmas Box House to share her Halloween candy with those who didnt have the opportunity to collect sweets eight-year-ol- d for themselves. Ije mcs-ithrpmb- ntt ) ISSN (UPS) Entered as Second class Matter at the Post Office at Moab, Utah under the Act of March 3, 1897. Second class postage paid at Moab, Utah 84532. Official City and County Newspaper. 6309-2000- 1538-183- 8 Published each Thursday at: 35 East Center Street, Moab, Grand County, Utah 84532 address: editoremoabbmes.com ail Postmaster: Send changes ot address to: The 435-259-75- Member P.0 Times-lndepende- or FAX Box 129, Moab, UT 84532 1 435-259-7- NATIONAL NEWSPAPER ASSOCIATION and UTAH PRESS ASSOCIATION Samuel J. and Adrien F. Taylor, Publishers Adrien F. Taylor, Editor Sadia Warner, Assistant Editor Tom Taylor Circulation Manager, T--l Maps W. Taylor Press, Production Manager Ron Flanders Systems Manager Lisa Church, Janet Lowe Staff Writers Jeff Richards Contributing Writer Dorothy Anderson Valerie Brown, Ron Drake Jed Taylor, Ron George Oliver Hams Jose Churampi Mail Room Supervisor Jose Santana.. .Backshop Castle Valley columnist Columnist Columnist Distribution long-leg- Writers on the Range I I fire department and getting permission for such a fire. And, my experience tells me that even after burning them, there would have been a big mess to clean up. So I dismantled the sheds a piece at a time, carefully loaded the scrap and hauled it all to the dump. The better 6hed served as a chicken coop for the last few years. I finished up Monday evening with everything dismantled and loaded except the floor. It rained in the night and through the morning. Now, I dont want to be too graphic about the condition of the floor. Just remember that it had been a chicken coop. The storm turned the waste on the floor into a slurry. But, did I complain about the rain? Not at all. I have to admit, though, that it was inconvenient. I continued working in the rain. With clinch bar and hammer I pried up the 4x8 sheets of flooring and flopped them over. The dry undersides were crawling with hundreds of spiders. They are a new kind of spider and I have noticed them in the house the last few months. They are s much like our common granddaddy but their legs are even slimmer and their bodies have more pronounced segmentation. I do not like them. It is probably because they are unfamiliar to me. I normally leave most of the spiders alone. I stood one of the big sheets of flooring on end, grasped it in the middle on the sides, lifted it up and rested it (the dry side) on my head, set one end on top of the load and heaved it foot by foot onto the truck. In a few minutes I saw from the periphery of my vision one of the large spiders on the underside of my hat brim. I instantly smashed it with a soggy glove, Bmearing some of that awful slurry onto my temple. That nasty little episode immensely increased my antipathy toward the spiders. The chickens wandered down to where I was working and began to scratch in the newly exposed earth beneath the old floor. They feasted on spiders and other crawly things. Ill try not to think about it the next time I eat one of their eggs. High Country New s I I Zane f- I pitied the man. I loved a Los Angeles Times story headlined: 95, and still working 9 to 5, about people who kept at their trades until they were within spitting distance of their centenaries. I didn't understand people who werent driven, who didnt drive themselves. Until I found that my hide had become tougher than my whip hand. Unlike Joeys dad, with his mandatory retirement age, I was my own boss. So it took a year to ease myself out of the way. Out erf administration, which I never learned to like or be good at, even though 20 people depended on my skill at i t. Like the miner, I wanted to leave quietly. But you cant leave a job youve done for 19 years without notice being paid. My successor Paul Larmer wrote a nice piece about my tenure at High Country News. It has been a wonderful ride. In the 1980s, High Country News was a traditional environmental newspaper, dividing the West into White Hats and Black Hats. Environmentalists were fighting their way from helpless, pariah status in small Western towns into forces to be reckoned with. But in the 1990s, I recognized that you could have too much of a good thing, and that, however just it would be, we had to go beyond the bayoneting of dying natural-resourc- e economies. The paper began a search for common ground among Westerners. So praise was welcome. But I also remembered the panicked coal miner who ran from me when I rme to memorialize his work life. He ran because the satisfaction is in the doing, and not in the having done. n Better a than a never-beeBut neither is desirable. Plus, like Mr. Dixon, I have my regrets. I regret the time I spent calling meetings, attending other peoples meetings, looking at budgets and strategic plans. They are all necessary. But what a way far a writer in a unique small town, in a fascinating region, to spend time. Fortunately, unlike the coal miner, in place of a gold watch, I am again gripping my shovel handle as a roving journalist, preparing to explore how to save from asphalt the 200,000 square miles of land that is still in ranching. And how with a sense of to protect tens of thousands of square miles dej&vu from that Attila-the-Hu- n industry known as coalbed methane. Ed Marelon is a contributor to Writers on the Range, a service of High Country News in Paonia, Colorado where he is the papers Senior Journalist. has-bee- -- m .POOR |