BBB's Blog

Bob Boze Bell

If you've ever wondered what it's like to run a magazine or how crazy my personal life is, be sure to read the behind-the-scenes peek at the daily trials and tribulations of running True West. Culled straight from my Franklin Daytimer, it contains actual journal entries, laid out raw and uncensored. Some of it is enlightening. Much of it is embarrassing, but all of it is painfully true.

In addition to this current journal, my early journal entries show the rocky road and money lost in the True West Business Timeline.

Bob's biography - The Unvarnished Truth

October 20, 2014
   Not only did "No Way Charlie" show up in Paris to play with me and Kathy, he brought along props, including a beret and the words to "The Seine" a sappy folk song Steve Burford was constantly trying to get us to play in the Exits ("We're a ROCK band, you idiot, not a bunch of Hootenannies!!!!" said the drummer). Anyway, Charlie insisted we pose for this photo on the banks of the actual Seine, and across from the Notre Dame, and send the photo to The Burf, which we did.

Bugs and Boze actually singing "The Seine" standing next to the Seine River in Paris.

   Of course, you couldn't keep a couple of Kingman boys out of the Louvre and here is Charlie taking a snap shot of the Mona Lisa.

The back of Charlie's prodigious head and some German kid listening to The Hives.

   Of course, the greatest thing about Paris is the great little cafes and it took us a couple days, but we found a cozy little, wood-paneled restaurant across the river from Notre Dame. And we had breakfast there almost every day.

Linda Waters, BBB, Kathy Radina and Charlie Waters in our favorite local cafe on the left bank of the Seine.

"Standing there across the river, mid sound of horn and tram, in all her quiet beauty, the cathedral Notre Dame, and as we passed beside her, I said a little prayer that when this dream was over, I'd awake and find you there."
—The Kingston Trio, "The Seine"

Bob Boze 3:28 PM

October 19, 2014
   When we were seniors in high school, in 1965, our baseball team had an away game at Parker and it so happened we were leaving early on Saturday morning. On Friday night a wonderous thing happened: Charlie Waters' parents were out of town and he invited a half dozen of his teammates to spend the night at his house, which was a couple blocks from the bus we had to catch in the morning. I was one of the fortunate few to be invited.

   The very idea that six high school horn dogs had an entire house to our nefarious selves on a Friday night was mind boggling and we had all sorts of teen age fantasies perking in our wicked little brains. Charlie's idea of being naughty was to stage a poker game in his parent's kitchen and if memory serves me correctly a couple of the guys were even smoking cigarettes. But poker and smoking wasn't my idea of fun and so Wayne Rutschman and I offered to go score a case of beer. As we drove down into the wash by the Mormon Church we saw three shadows come out of the bushes. It was like a dream: three gorgeous, naughty classmates, all cheer leaders, came towards us wearing white short shorts. We stopped the car and they came up to us and informed us they had snuck out and were looking to have some fun. Now if I saw this in a movie, I wouldn't believe it.

   We got the case of beer, returned to Charlie's house and, as we sauntered up on the porch with Buick roadmaster grill grins, he met us at the door: "No way!" he boomed blocking our entrance and pointing out into the night. We tried to plead with him, we attacked his manhood, we belittled his hair do, but to no avail. Wayne and I and another guy tried to move the party out into Clacks Canyon but it rained, one of the girls cried and the moment was lost forever. The precocious girls went back to their homes and nothing happened, but it was on this night that Charlie earned the nickname "No Way Charlie." Thanks to my vindictiveness ("We could still be there partying with those babes, you stupid bastard!"), it was a title he held for a very long time.

   When Charlie was in Little League, he was on the Kingman all star team in 1960 and during the Northern Arizona Little League Championship in Williams, the local newspaper ran a photo of Charlie crashing into third base, over the top of the third baseman, with the caption identifying him as "Charles Juarez." Somehow Waters got mangled by a cub reporter into Juarez.

   A couple of years ago, Charlie called me and said he saw on my blog that I was going to Paris, France to talk to a publisher about printing my Wyatt Earp book in French, and he asked if he and Linda could join us. At first I thought he was joking. This was "No Way Charlie" after all, and I couldn't believe he was serious. He and Linda not only showed up, but we had a marvelous time, with the crowning moment being a lunch in a very historic, snooty restaurant (The Palais Royale where Napoleon allegedly dined!) where Charlie not only footed the bill but delighted us with his wit and charm and most of all, his easy going ways. I told him I thought it was time to alter his nickname, and so from that moment, until the end of his life, I always called him Charles Juarez Way. Or, Mr. Way, for short.

Two of the girls who we picked up in the wash are in this photo (names withheld because they are now respectable grandmothers).

"There are three sides to every story: your side, my side and the truth. And no one is lying."
—Robert Evans

Bob Boze 2:46 PM
October 17, 2014
   Woke up to a cool and cloudy day. Worked from home this morning, waiting for Eric from 24-Hour Car Care to come fix Kathy's Escape which failed emissions testing because of a faulty engine light deal. This is the third day and as many new valves.

Third Times A Charm: Eric installs third engine light fixture in Kathy's Escape

   Now I have to drive it for 30 miles before I can run it through emissions testing. Anybody need anything in Tempe?

   While I was waiting for Eric, I whipped out a little study of a snow scene:

Daily Whipout: "Home Ahead of The Storm"

   So many of these themes and scenes are cliches and it's very hard to do something new and fresh. Still, I take refuge in what a legendary film director once said:

"Every scene has already been done before. Our job is to do it a little better."
—Stanley Kubrick

Bob Boze 12:11 PM
October 16, 2014
   When I was in Ruidoso for the Lincoln County Cowboy Symposium I ran int this cutie:

Belinda Gail and her new album Granite Mountain. Photo taken at Williamson Valley, north of Prescott. She is a real talented sweetie.

   This morning I finished a little study, which I gifted to a friend:

Daily Whipout: "Billy In Sunset"

A Celebration of Charlie Waters' Life, Part III
   It was Charlie Waters and I who put together one of the first rock bands in Kingman, The Exits. This was in early 1963, when we were in high school at Mohave County Union High School. We were walking out of Civics Class in the new building, arguing about a good band name when Bugs said, pointing at the Exit sign at the end of the hall, "Why don't we call ourselves the Exits because when people hear us, that's where they'll go."

   And so, the Exits we became. Our first band job is something of a controversy: by Charlie's telling, our first gig was at the old Elks Hall and we made $5 a piece. In my telling, our first gig was at the American Legion. We rented the hall ($15) and charged fifty cents a person and we made $22 a piece. I think Charlie liked the more humble version. Anyway, in the book "The 66 Kid" I went with his version, because a. he edited my book and I didn't want to piss him off, and b. he may have been right.

The original lineup: Wayne Rutschman on sax, Charlie Waters on rhythm guitar, BBB and Wendell Havatone on lead guitar and vocals. This photo was taken at the old Girl's Gym at the high school. My King drumset was purchased out of Montgomery Wards for $117, if memory serves me right. Also notice the lack of amps. I think we had just one, for two guitars. Here's Charlie singing lead in his no nonsense manner (Charlie was dead set against "showmanship" that involved steps, and especially smiling):

Charlie Waters rocks out.

The Exits with matching shirts, except for the "rebel" drummer.

   We played all over Mohave County for about five years. Here we are at a USO show out in the boonies beyond Yucca, Arizona: The end came when we got to college. A frat brother, Bill McClellan, got us a gig at The Body Shoppe, a strip club outside the main gate of Davis-Monthan Air Base in Tucson. After a week of playing three nights a week from 9 to midnite, the mid-term grades came out and Charlie was flunking out. His dad found out about the nefarious band gig (Charlie's sis, Sarah ratted him out) and had a cow, forcing Charlie to ship home his guitar and amp via Greyhound. Me, I stayed in the band and barely passed Humanities with a D (F being failing). I remember reading Homer's "The Odyssy" backstage when one of the more popular strippers, "Big D" (as in D-cup) walked by with her tassles dangling in my face. "What 'cha reading, Honey?" she said. I demurred, somewhat embarrassed to name drop such a classic, but I finally told her. She replied, "Oh, yeh, I read that in Classic Comics." I fell in love right there. Unfortunately, her husband came in a couple nights later and took a claw hammer to a customer who was flirtng with her and I gave up my infatuation with Big D.

"Some of my friends yeah they been in a little trouble, some say I'm no better than the rest, so tell your mama and your papa, sometimes good guys don't wear white."
—The Standells

Bob Boze 12:02 PM
October 15, 2014
   Several years ago I did a "Graphic Cinema" on Billy the Kid seeking out a saucy querida and a hot bowl of green chile on a cold New Mexico morning. The sequence included these scenes:

Daily Whipout: "Billy Leaves Las Chosas As Another Storm Moves In"

   After making a feint towards Lincoln, the Kid suddenly veers off. . .

Daily Whipout: "Billy Tops The Pass"

Daily Whipout: "Billy Goes Cross Country"

Daily Whipout, "Hunkered Down"

Daily Whipout, "Almost Home"

Daily Whipout, "Hearth & Home"

   The rest of the story is R-rated. You can own any of these scenes as art prints. Just go to

"Funny how far an outlaw will go for green chile."
—Old Vaquero Saying

Bob Boze 3:36 PM
October 14, 2014
    My grandfather, Bob Guess, was born in 1888, on Crow Flat in New Mexico, under the shadow of the Guadalupes. The closest town was Weed, so that's where his birth certificate was filed. This is an alleged photo of him as a young cowboy. He died the year before I was born and I am named for him.

Bob Guess, somewhere in New Mexico

Celebrating The Life of Charlie Waters
   We met in the third grade when my family moved out to Kingman from Iowa for the last time in 1956.

Boze & Bugs, fifth grade Palo Christy Grammar School, 1959

   We were both precocious talkers and spent most of the fifth grade by the teacher's desk. Mrs. Klotch had a meritocracy system with everyone in the class seated in order of our grades. Consequently, the right hand row was almost exclusively girls. The only guy who ever penetrated the first row was Charlie Waters. He was a very smart boy. I was stuck in the middle of the second row (unless I was seated next to the teacher, which was often). The number that describes my position best is 86. A little above average, but not by much. Charlie was a 92 kind of guy, who got sucked down to 86 from hanging out with me. Notice the "Pachuko" curl he is affecting in the above photo.

   After fifth grade, Charlie's mom, Martha, insisted that we never be in the same class and on registration day she would be there to make sure of it. I never saw the guy again until high school. Ha. Not totally true, because the school and the town were both very small, but is it any wonder we would end up to be best friends?

   Oh, and Martha taught me to eat with a fork, but that's another story.

"Nothing is more dangerous than a man who thinks he's already dead."
—Old Vaquero Saying

Bob Boze 12:19 PM
October 13, 2014

 First day back in the office. Buried, but digging out. Got this zany piece from Gary Cozzens:

Also, here is an excellent tribute for my best friend:

My Mentor Is Dead

"I'm not trying to leave a pretty corpse."
—Charlie Waters

Bob Boze 1:18 PM

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