March 22, 2009
It was a year ago today. Believe me when I say that I perused today's obits with extra interest. All of those fine people (there were multiple pages) lived through March 22 of last year, but didn't make it to this anniversary. For some strange reason through a bizarre series of flukes (and some great friends), I did.

As if it was a staged event, yesterday at Festival of The West was a massive love fest. Literally hundreds of fans walked up to our booth all day long, shook my hand and said one of two things: "Thanks for all you do to keep the West alive," and, "Are you feeling better?"

Many scolded me: "Slow down. We need you!" and others were more specific: "Try raw chocolate. It lowers your blockage." Others were project specific: "I'm glad you lived because I am going to help you get Mickey Free on the big screen. Yes, Mickey Rourke is perfect for Mickey, I want David Carradine for Sieber. You've got to lower the size of Mick's mule. 18-hands is too high. That's six feet. Make it fifteen hands and we'll get 'er done."

Two African-American couples from Los Angeles literally shrieked, "It's Bob Boze Bell," came over and asked to have their pictures taken with me. They were all decked out in Western bling and they told me they watch the Westerns Channel every day. (note to Jeff Hildebrandt: if the response to all of the comments exactly like this are any indication, your ratings must be stellar).

Of course it wasn't all sunshine. I did get into a disagreement with Bruce Dern, Hugh O'Brian was his usual bombastic self and I thought Rex Allen, Jr. was a bit of a jerk. More on that later.

"By giving us the opinions of the uneducated, [journalism] keeps us in touch with the ignorance of
the community."
—Oscar Wilde