Part 1. A trip to Dru Tankerslys' place
When I was just a young pup of 6 or 7 years during WWII, I spent my winters with my mom
in Los Angeles. In those days movies were big-time entertainment. When you went to the
movies you had three choices. War movies, musicals or westerns. I was always partial to
the westerns. I spent my whole week in anticipation of the Saturday matinee at the Revelle
theater on Western Avenue, where for 12 cents I got to see 3 westerns, one serial and 10
cartoons. For over four hours I would be transformed into another world. There in the
front row, toy 6 gun in hand I would become the deciding factor in many a gun battle,
stage holdup and chase scene. I'm sure the good guys with the white hats could not have
persevered over those black hatted outlaws without my able assistance. Weekday afternoons
in my neighborhood were alive with noisy kids reenacting those scenes and I was always a
part of it all.
In the spring, when school let out for summer vacation, my mom would pack my suitcase
and we would take the streetcar downtown where she would put me on the Greyhound to spend
3 months in the desert with dad.
Gone were the Saturday matinees at the Revelle. Gone were the noisy afternoons with
playmates. Now my days were spent here on the farm in Newberry. (I always told my friends
that it was the ranch in the desert.) Dad worked days at the Daggett Army Airfield and I
was in charge of irrigating the alfalfa and melons. Dad paid me $1.00 a day, thus
qualifying me for the title of hired hand. Besides, where is the glamour in being called
an irrigator.
My playmates were much quieter now, ever hear of a noisy lizard or horny toad? I ran
around in shorts or swim suit. Spent most of my time swimming in the reservoir or playing
in a water filled ditch. My skin turned from City Kid White, to red, then dark brown. My
visiting relatives said I looked like a Hawaiian, but I was sure I looked more like an
Indian.
There was always lots of exciting things to do here on the ranch especially on the
weekends when dad was home. I remember one week in particular. Our cow Babe became real
restless and ornery. On Saturday dad said he had a job for me do. We were going to take
Babe to visit Dru Tankersly's bull. My job was to ride on the trunk of the Packard and
hold Babes' lead rope while we made the 2.5 mile trip over the twisting rutted road to
Dru's place.
I had heard stories about this Dru fella who grazed a herd of skinny range cattle in
the hills at the East end of Silver Valley. Supposedly when he settled here in Newberry he
was really hiding out. There was some talk that he had been chased by a posse from Arizona
and swam his horse across the Colorado River near a place called Earp. I was going to meet
my first real cowboy.
The first part of the trip to Dru's was easier than expected. All went real smooth
until we got within a quarter of a mile or so from our destination. All of a sudden Babe
perked up her head, let out a beller, then decided she would pass. She pulled me yelling
off the Packard trunk and smack dab into a mesquite bush before I got smart enough to let
go of the rope. When we got to Dru's place, there was Babe, standing at the gate waiting
for us to open it for her. Evidently this must not have been her first trip to Dru's
place.
Copyright 1995, William E. Smith, All Rights Reserved
Newberry Springs Chamber of Commerce
P.O. Box 116
Newberry Springs, CA 92365
Phone: (760) 257-1072
