Back to StoriesThat Night When Gretel Ehrlich And A Jackass Moseyed Into The Cowboy Bar
January 16, 2018
That Night When Gretel Ehrlich And A Jackass Moseyed Into The Cowboy BarDewey Vanderhoff of Cody was a bartender in Meeteetse's famous local watering hole. And then things got Western
The Cowboy Bar in the tiny ranching and oil town
of Meeteetse, Wyoming is so venerable it has a slogan, “Where Everyone
Meets In Meeteetse”, that is known far and wide. And, being the night
bartender at that watering hole of western culture during the last oil boom in
Wyoming, I met people all the time.
One instance really stands out, though, and it involved.Gretel Ehrlich, the author would go on to be
called “Wyoming’s Walt Whitman”.
Gretel received her degrees from Bennington
and the UCLA Film School. After a stint as a documentary filmmaker, she would go
on to pen her defining New West classic, “The Solace of Open Spaces ”, publish essays in The New Yorker and literary journals, and the novel Heart
Mountain among other memoirs, travel pieces, anthologies, and poetry. All of which carried her to the top of the literary field in America in the 1980’s;
and most of them written from her Wyoming venue.
That brisk March night at the Cowboy Bar, Ms. Ehrlich was introduced to me by our mutual friend Lana as a
sheepherder living in a wagon up near Carter Mountain. It was enough to want to
have the next grazing allotment over, for Gretel was mighty cute, if quiet.
Like most winter herders, she didn’t get to town much. Worth the wait, though.
One thing about the menfolk of Meeteetse: they
are all cowboys at heart, even if most of them work the oil patch to support their
habit. And, being of cowboy stock, they will go out of their way to, as they
say, impress a lady. I should have known
something was up when Dan and Ray suddenly vanished, drinks in hand, after an hour
of sweet-talking the two women.
The heavy door swang open and Dan Taylor appeared, half hunkered and lugging a yellow rope over his shoulder, with some resistance. Then came the head of a donkey, the front feet, torso, and finally the ass of the beast
The heavy door swang open and Dan Taylor
appeared, half hunkered and lugging a yellow rope over his shoulder, with some
resistance. Then came the head of a donkey, the front feet, torso, and finally
the ass of the beast, being pushed by Ray Winsor against the donkey’s desires.
What before was courtship was now vaudeville.
The men were thoughtful enough to have brought a
bale of hay for our 4-footed guest of honor, and the 2-legged guests of honor
were impressed.
Much mirth and Meeteetse male
virility were displayed for the coming hours. I had a good till that evening.
It was real western, I suppose.
At 12:30 am the drilling rig hands made their
entrance like clockwork. A crew of four on their way home to Thermopolis
stopped in for schnappes and a 12-pack, and strode through the door only to stack
up like Keystone Cops on the unseen ass of a donkey planted beneath their
visage. They worked their way in, and I set ‘em up while sacking the beer.
The donkey finally had all he could take. He spread his back legs, planted them solid akimbo, and let fly....
The donkey finally had all he could take. He
spread his back legs, planted them solid akimbo, and let fly three gallons or
more of whiz. The crew got drenched in it, up to their knees. Drinks on the
house.
Gretel and Lana were very impressed.
And I did not have to swamp the bar that
night with a mop...Ray and Dan got supervised janitor duty. The next day the owner, merry old Margaret Todd,
complimented me on leaving a nice clean bar for her to come to work at 8am. I had
to say it: “There were some real jackasses in the place last night...”