Saturday, January 18, 2020

Ed Mell Fifty Years On

January 18, 2020,
   Time flies when you are having artistic fun. This afternoon, I am heading over to Wickenburg to introduce my former studio mate at a dinner to celebrate Ed Mell's Fifty Year Retrospective, being held at the Desert Caballeros Museum.

Edmundo Goofin' With My Hat
(look how happy I am about it!)

   I have known Ed since 1973 when he arrived back in Phoenix from a stint in advertising and commercial art in New York, where he famously got National Lampoon sued by Disney for doing a cover of Minnie Mouse topless!

   Of course, Ed grew up in Phoenix and went to North High, where he knew John Harvey Adamson (the guy who allegedly blew up Don Bolles) and Ed's cousin got beat up by Wayne Newton's brother at Coronado Pool. I'm tellin' you, the guy was connected.

   Ed had two brothers. The Mell Boys, as we called them, Frank, Ed and Lee, and they were all three excellent artists and they all had a studio, Twin Palms Studio in downtown Phoenix and all three did art and covers for The Razz Revue, the humor magazine founded by Dan The Man Harshberger and myself. Frank did a classic cover, "Turquoise Lust" which is still highly collectable today.

   In 1980, I joined Ed's studio, and rented space from him in a run down grocery store which he bought at the corner of 10th and Oak Streets near downtown Phoenix. Once, a famous newsperson asked me to take her to the studio and introduce her to the famous artist and as we drove over there, she said, slightly alarmed, "Oh, this is a bad neighborhood. Look at that gang graffiti on the walls of that building." As I pulled up to the curb, I said, "Welcome to Ed's studio." He left the gang graffiti on the walls to keep out the timid. 

   Ha. That is SO Ed.

   I spent six years in the studio with Ed and I tell everyone I learned more by osmosis, from Ed, than I did in five years at the University of Arizona.

  Back in 2012, Ed designed a commemorative postage stamp for the state of Arizona's centennial, 1912-2012. The stamp was unveiled on the steps of the Prescott Courthouse.

Edmundo Segundo Stands Tall

   Afterwards we were serenaded by Ed's friends, The Tubes, who closed the show with "White Punks On Dope." Afterwards, Ed took me backstage and introduced me to Prairie Prince, the drummer. Ed knew the whole band. They were from Phoenix and were known in the early days as The Beans. Like I said, the guy is connected.

   In the 1980s, we started taking trips with our sons, Tommy and Carson, and we went to New York City where we ate soup from the "Soup Nazi," the inspiration for the Seinfeld episode. We went to Mexico and rode the Copper Canyon Railway, where we met the son of Victorio (this adventure is in my Geronimo book) and we went to Santa Fe, where Ed was treated like a rock star (and this was in the eighties!). Everywhere we went, people would buy us drinks and stop and ask for his autograph. It was crazy. Thanks to his son Carson, we decided to short sheet Ed at the hotel we were staying at. We all stayed up waiting to see the prank play out, but Ed finally got in bed, wiggled out of the predicament and went right to sleep.

   That also is SO Ed.

   When you meet Edmundo, you might think he is shy. He doesn't talk much but he's got a wicked sense of humor. When we were in Mexico, on the train, all the talk was about the devaluation of the peso. It had plummeted in value by 50%. So I turned to Ed and I said, "Can you imagine waking up one day and half your stuff is gone?" And, without missing a beat, Ed deadpanned,  "I know exactly what that feels like, I'm getting a divorce."

   So, what am I going to say, tonight? Well, for one thing, I agree with ZZ Top:

ZZ Top Celebrating Fifty Years on The Road

   And, Edmundo Segundo and I have a history of being on the road as well.

Tomas Bell, Carson and Ed Mell at our
rented house in Rocky Point many moons ago.

Newlyweds Kelly and Carson Mell coming out
of the chapel from "The Graduate."

Edmundo Segundo and B.F.G.

   Don't quote me on this, but I wouldn't be surprised if you see the painting in the background on an upcoming ZZ Top album cover.

"Through combining a realist view with a design aesthetic, [Ed Mell's] landscapes emerged bold and bare, with a hard sun and sharp shadow."
—Don Hagerty, in the foreword to the catalogue for the retrospective

Friday, January 17, 2020

Mas Pendejo, Por Favor

January 17, 2019
   The opening of the Geronimo Art Show and book premiere is history, and we had some major fun. We also took the opportunity to give our Seventh Annual True Westerner Award to Michael J. Fox, the director of the museum where we held the show.

Mike Fox accepting the True Westerner Award

A Banner Year for Geronimo

   Most of our favorite outlaws were on hand for the evening.

Outlaws In The Courtyard
 Left to right: Ken Amorosano, Robert Ray,
 Greg Carroll

Meanwhile, back at the Triple B Studio, another angle on the Pendejo. 

Daily Whip Out:
"Tell Me A Story Pendejo, Part II"

   I had lunch today with John Langellier and he is encouraging me to do an art show down in Tubac and it just might be the right venue to do a show based on a theme that is near and dear to my heart.

Daily Scratchboard Whip Out: "Seri Witch"

"Books and doors are the same thing. You open them, and you go through into another world."
—Mary Schmich

Thursday, January 16, 2020

The Arc of Pendejo

January 16, 2020
   Tonight is the premiere of the Geronimo book and art show at Scottsdale's Museum of the West. I've been working on this for the last 90 days and I think—fingers crossed—everything is in place for a grand old time. A full report tomorrow. 

The Arc of Pendejo
   I've been experimenting with a campfire color scheme, a variation on blue and orange.

Daily Study Whip Out:
"Tell Me A Story, Pendejo"

   Of course, as my son, Thomas Charles, has accurately pointed out, the old border banditos were quite persnickety about campfires when they were on the run.

Daily Study Whip Out: "No Fire!"

"All of war is deception."
—Sun Tzu

Wednesday, January 15, 2020

Geronimo Is Hanging High In Scottsdale

January 15, 2020
   Here's some good news for oldsters. Your ability to spot patterns and regularities, improves with age because you've seen some major cycles come and go and your ability to predict stuff coming back down the pike is pretty profound. So, what do you do with that knowledge?  Well, I'd throw a big party tomorrow night at a certain museum in Scottsdale?

Shawn Siems of the museum staff,
stands next to the giant banner promoting
the Geronimo Art Show

   And here I am posing next to the G-Man hanging outside the museum.

   As the destruction of the world we grew up in continues unabated, and the fact that almost everything seems to be imploding, "institutions crumbling, authorities corrupted, faith in the whole experiment evaporating,"  as Ross Douthat succinctly explained in the Times. Mr. Douthat was waxing on the "Academic Apocalypse" and, as he explained it, "A thousand different forces are killing student interest in the humanities. . ."

   Of course, the more things change. . .see you tomorrow night. We'll turn this thing around.

"What goes around, comes around."
—Old Kingman Saying

Tuesday, January 14, 2020

A Brother From Another Mother & Poaching From Manga RWBY

January 14, 2020
   We get lots of visitors who drop into the True West World Headquarters this time of year (so far today, the number is 9). Here's a subscriber from Las Cruces I got a big kick out of talking with:

Gregory T. Croxton and BBB

   Still rounding up artwork for the big show on Thursday night. Got these art poster suckers framed by Guzal and she hand delivered them to my studio this morning:

BBB Art Posters for the Geronimo
Premiere on Thursday night

   Last Saturday I went to Barnes & Noble with a $100 gift certificate from the lovely Carole Compton Glenn, who gave it to me for my birthday. I bought a bunch of very cool books and one of them was a graphic novel called "RWBY: The Official Companion" by Daniel Wallace. It's normally not my cup of tea—Manga-mania—and I probably would have never bought it, but for the fact that, Hey, free book! Anyway, it had some very sophisticated color schemes inside and one of them I poached for a graphic novel story I am developing with my son:

   A color poach from RWBY (and, by the way, RWBY is an acronym for Red-White-Blue-Yellow—a bastardization of the primary colors—and also distorts to the name Ruby, allegedly.

"Don't look at things—look in between things."
—John Baldessari, the artist, 1931-2020

Monday, January 13, 2020

The Tale of Two Banners

January 13, 2020
   The tale of two banners. I ordered a set of banners for my art show down at Scottsdale's Museum of the West and one of the words on the banner caused quite a stir among a couple of concerned friends, so I had a second set of banners printed striking the word. Can you spot the word?

The Tale of Two Banners

"When the student is ready, the teacher appears."
—David Mamet, in his Master class on writing drama

Saturday, January 11, 2020

Home Delivery and Photo Retouching

January 11, 2020
   When the kids were here over the holidays, I went outside and found my son Tommy and his daughter Harper, 6, getting ready to take a long walk. As I passed them in the driveway, Harper asked her father, "Where is Grandpa Ha ha going?" And my son said, "Grandpa is going out to the end of the driveway to pick up the newspapers." Harper looked puzzled: "How did the newspapers get out there?" And Tommy said, "Someone drove out here and threw them out the window."

   Man, does that sound Stone Age, or what?

   Meanwhile, my friend Lynda Sanchez sent me a photograph she recently found of a pack train bringing supplies to the Fancisco Fimbres expedition (they were hunting the Sierra Madre Apaches who had kidnapped and murdered his wife and child)with this question:

Pencil marks outlining the packs and pack train

"I found this intriguing photo from the 1930’s, supposedly taken from newspaper files in Douglas around 1930.  I guess from time to time they must auction them off or just need to discard them.  This supply train was for the Francisco Fimbres expedition.
   "What I am wondering is why marks looking like penciled in outlining has occurred?  Do you see that?  And why would a newspaper do such a thing?  Or am I seeing things?
—Lynda Sanchez

   Yes, in the 1920s and 1930s, as newspapers ran more and more photos, the art departments at these papers were charged with "cleaning up" and "improving" old photos for reproduction. This is why we get the Frankenstein Billy with the moronic gaze.

Well meaning history buff "Cleans Up" Billy

"We don't know exactly why, but someone drove out here and threw these wads of paper out the window."
—Archeologists studying the remains of our driveway in the not so distant future

Friday, January 10, 2020

Wary Billy Meets Bozecards

January 10, 2020
   Working on Bozecard landscapes.

Daily Whip Out: "Bozecards landscape #1"

Daily Whip Out: "Bozecards landscape #2"

Daily Whip Out: "Bozecards landscape #3"

   These landscapes will anchor a rack layout, like this:

   I love doing these cards and, of course I have more than a few on hand, so. . .

Daily Whip Out: "Wary Billy"

"Hustling is the central motif of American history. The dominant measure of the American character."
—Michael Eric Dyson

Thursday, January 09, 2020

Twenty Dollar Horse, Forty Dollar Saddle

January 9, 2020
   Here's an old saying you don't hear much anymore, but when I was a kid, I heard it a lot:

"Twenty Dollar Horse, Forty Dollar Saddle"

   Rebecca and I worked hard on finishing up the next Classic Gunfight on "The Last Man Standing On Reno Hill." Going to be a good one thanks to these gents: Robert M. Utley, Michael Donahue, Bob Reece, Jim Hatzell, George Kush and Paul Andrew Hutton.

Daily Whip Out: "In-din Sharpshooters"

"In the center in a slight depression the horses and mules were staked out, and an inadequate little field hospital was established. But it was impossible to shield the men and stock from the Indians firing from a hilltop off to the east. Animal after animal was killed, and men were hit. It was tough not to be able to so something about it."

—Private Charlie Windolph

Raining Bullets
   Private Charlie Windolph of H Company hunkers down as a hail of arcing bullets rains in on Reno's command. Private Jones is hit in the heart and dies instantly while Windolph has his rifle butt stock split in half by a bullet. 

   Although most of popular attention of the shooters is concentrated on Sharpshooter's Ridge, there were more Indian snipers shooting at the surrounded troops from the east.
   After the fires of several years ago, researchers were able to locate where the snipers were shooting from and what kind of weapons they were using. One researcher found the main Indian position to the east of Reno Hill about 800 yards from the troopers. He found about 200 45/55 casings and about 76 .44 Henry/Winchester casings. According to Michael Donahue, "that last number is crazy as the distance is about 800 yards. They must have been pointing them high into the sky hoping they would drop onto the soldiers." In fact, many of them did.

    This Classic Gunfight is schedule to appear in the February-March issue coming soon to a mailbox near you.

"On the whole, authors have their writerly subjects laid down inside them, waiting to emerge like an antelope from a small shell."
—Deborah Levy

Wednesday, January 08, 2020

Last Man Standing

January 8, 2020
   Rounding up all the final pieces for our big Robert M. Utely coverage on the last surviving trooper of the Little Bighorn fight.

   Here's a rare photo of a spot in Kingman near where I lost my virginity.

Kingman Country Club, 1940

   I have been back numerous times looking for it and I just can't seem to locate it. Yes, that is a golf course in the foreground and that is the brown (as opposed to the green) where the pole is, you know, where you sink you final putt.

   Had lunch today with a former writer at Rolling Stone magazine and Edmundo Segundo.

The Barrio Queen Crew

   And if you'd like to get a sneak peek at the Geronimo artwork in the show, here is the grouping I chose from:

BBB Geronimo Artwork

"The other name for history is annihilation."
—Czeslaw Milosz

Tuesday, January 07, 2020

Who Was The Mysterious Sniper On Sharpshooter's Ridge?

January 7, 2020
   Tommy Bell and family have been here for for two weeks and they return to Thailand this afternoon. Grandma Goose is accompanying them to LA to help them board an international flight back to Asia. She returns from LA on a midnight flight to Arizona. 

   That is called Love, with a capital L.

   Meanwhile, I'm trying to condense and make sense of Private Charlie Windolph's narration of the Reno Hill fight at the Little Bighorn for the next Classic Gunfghts. I'll probably start here:

Raining Bullets
   Private Charlie Windolph of H Company hunkers down as a hail of arcing bullets rains in on Reno's command. Private Jones is hit in the heart and dies instantly while Windolph has his rifle butt stock split in half by a bullet. 

   I want to let The Last Man Standing On Reno Hill tell the story as much as possible.

June 25, 1876

   "I'll never forget that first glimpse I had of the hilltop. Here were a little group of men in blue, forming a skirmish line, while their beaten comrades, disorganized and terror stricken, were making their way on foot and on horseback up the narrow coulee that led the river, 150 below. We recognized Major Reno and Lieutenant Varnum. I believe both of them had lost their hats and now had handkerchiefs tied around their heads to protect them from the blazing Montana sun.
   I saw Lietuenant Varnum reach up a shake hands with Lieutenant Godfrey of 'K' troop, who was Varnum's regular company commander. And I heard him say something about a hard fight and that they'd the the men here on the hill, from Reno, down, were not disorganized and downright frightened. They had a lot of men killed, and it had only bee the grace of God, and the bad aim of the Indians, that had let them escape across the river with their lives.
   But it wasn't at all certain that they could keep them now. For there were hundreds of Indians still down there in the valley, maybe a half mile from where we were standing. They were still firing at stragglers trying to cross the river and reach the little command here on the hilltop.
   Cool, capable Benteen more or less assumed command. Major Reno had just come through a terrible experience, and at the moment was glad to have Benteen, his junior, take over.
   Quickly Benteen dismounted his own three troops and ordered us to form a skirmish line. Reno's men had expended most of the ammunition so we were told to divide ours with them.
   We had Benteen's 120 men intact and there around sixty men who'd been in the valley fight with Reno. And even before we got the kinks out our legs from our long hours in the saddle, we were asking one another, 'Where's Custer?'
   Officers and men alike were trying to solve the riddle. . .
   We could see the river valley down below from where we were spread out in a circular skirmish line here on Reno Hill. Some of the poor troopers were still being cut down by the swirling mass of Indians. There was shooting, and dust, and savage yells—then suddenly most the Indians began galloping downstream. That's to the north and before long we could hear heavy firing from down that way. [at this point in his narration, Windolph relates that Lt. Hare mounted Godrey's horse and after fifteen minutes returned with "several pack mules loaded with ammunition boxes."]
   As I recall, Reno had seven wounded men, some of them in pretty bad shape. But altogether he now had around 310 effective, which was a little more than half the total number in the regiment. Custer had around 220 men with him.
   [At round 5 o'clock in the afternoon, according to Windolph, the whole outfit moved northward to join Captain Weir of D Troop, but mounted Indians pushed them back to Reno Hill where they were attacked with the full force of the assembled tribes who had just finished off Custer's entire command and now turned their attention to Reno's crew.]
   In the center in a slight depression the horses and mules were staked out, and an inadequate little field hospital was established. But it was impossible to shield the men and stock from the Indians firing from a hilltop off to the east. Animal after animal was killed, and men were hit. It was tough not to be able to so something about it.
   My own Troop 'H' was posted to the south, in a dangerous position, bordering the river. There was higher ground behind us and we were as helpless as the animals and wounded men to protect ourselves from fire. But we were not not yet fully aware of our peril as we hurriedly piled up such inadequate barricades as we could find. We used pack saddles, boxes of hard tack, and bacon, anything  we could lay our hands on. For the most part it wasn't any real protection at all, but it made you feel a lot safer.
   We'd hardly got settled down on our skirmish line, with 'H' men posted at twenty-feet intervals, when the Indians had us all but completely surrounded, and the fighting began in earnest. There was no full-fleged charge, but little groups of Indians would creep up as close as they could get, and from behind bushes or little knolls open fire. They'd practice all kinds of cute tricks to draw our fire. Maybe a naked redskin would suddenly jump to his feet, and while you drew a bead on him he'd throw himself to the ground. Then they'd show a blanket or a headdress and we'd blaze away, until we learned better.
   [Windolphl then asserts that if the Indians had made a charge they would have easily "swept over us," but "they didn't." Adding that his "H" Troop was in "grave danger of being overrun." After the sun went down the Indians disengaged and Windolph admits, "we were a million miles from nowhere. And death was all around us." The troopers saw the great fires and heard the tom-toms of the victory dances. Windolph estimates Reno lost "no less than a dozen men killed and three times that number wounded." All night they could hear the wounded crying out for water, but with their canteens empty, it was too dangerous to go to the river in the dark.]
   When the sun came up: "Two shots sounded from the hilltop behind us. Soon there was firing all around.
   It had rained a little during the night and some of us had taken our overcoats from the cantles of our McClelland saddles and put them on. It was cold here on this bleak hilltop, too, and those old army blue coats felt good.
   My buddy, a young trooper names Jones, who hailed from Milwaukee, was lying alongside me. Together we had scooped out a wide shallow trench and piled up the dirt to make a little breastwork in front of us. It was plumb light now and sharpshooters on the knob of a hill south of us and maybe a thousand yards away, were taking pot shots at us.
   Jones said something about taking off his overcoat, and he started to roll on his side so that he could get his arms and shoulders out, without exposing himself to fire. Suddenly I heard him cry out. He had been shot straight through the heart.
   The lead kept spitting around where I lay. Up on the hilltop I could see a figure firing at me from a prone position. Looked like he was resting his long-range rifle on a bleached buffalo head. I tried my best to reach him with my Springfield carbine but it simply wouldn't carry that far.
   A few minutes after Jone was killed, a bullet ricocheted from the hard ground and tore into my clothing. About this time the surgeon came up and took a look at Jone. He asked me if I wasn't wounded. I said no, that I was all right 'Put your hand inside your shirt,' he ordered. I did, land when I pulled it out it was bloody. The ricocheted bullet had given me a slight flesh wound. The surgeon wanted to bind it up but I told him there were plenty of badly wounded men to take care of.
   A minute or two later another bullet from the hilltop tore into the hickory butt of my rifle, splitting it squarely in two. I was pretty mad because my army carbine wouldn't let me return the compliment. Somehow I always figured that the sharpshooter who had killed Jones, hit me and split my rifle butt, must have been either a renegade white man, or a squaw man of some kind or another. He could shoot too well to have been a full-blooded Indian."

   So, what is all this talk that the Indians at the Little Bighorn fight were not good shots? I grew up with In-dins and they are as good as any white guy at sports, if not better. It has always seemed rather racist to me. So I asked one of the experts and here is what he has to say:

"You are right about the fact that it is racist to say the warriors could not hit much. The only mention of that is Edgerly who noted that when warriors poured over Weir Point and missed him. They did not miss Vincent Charley. Moot point and observation. There was a white guy dressed like an Indian in a tree burial near Squaw Ravine (to the west of it). Showed up in a map that is not on my book. No way to match him to Sharpshooter's Ridge. Windolph talks about a different Sharpshooter to the south of his position with H company. Do not confuse the two.
   "Important to remember Windolph was with H farther away than Ryan by about 100 yards. The maximum range of the Springfield could be longer than 600 and quite easy to hit Sharpshooter if volley fired.
   "I have taken crowds up on top of Sharpshooter's Ridge and this is something you need to know. The M company line was 600 yards away and the line of men lying down was perpendicular to the sniper. You and I could have hit soldier after soldier if you got any type of line of sight lined up. You couldn’t miss basically as you were looking at a solid blue line of blue coat bodies in a straight line lying side by side. It was like standing next to a skirmish line and shooting down are going to hit someone even if you are not a good shot. Readers think that the sniper was hitting soldiers looking at the hill, but that is incorrect. You might remember Ryan said they pivoted right and turned and fired. He had been receiving flank fire from the hill. With a good rifle all you had to do was rest it on a rock and shoot straight and you would hit something. You were looking at one long line of soldiers. The sidewalk is clearly seen from the hill and where M company was lying. This is an equation unknown except for me and the few I have taken up there. Hope this clarifies."
—Michael Donahue, author of "Where theRivers Ran Red: The Indian Fights of George Armstrong Custer"

   So, it perhaps looked more like this:

Daily Whip Out: "In-din Sharpshooters"

Rifle Range
   Just to put all of this in perspective, a Winchester has about a 300 yard range (for accuracy), while a Springfield has about a 600 yard range and Windolph's narrative mentions a bluff where the Indians are firing from being approximately 900 yards away. That is 9 football fields away! Still, as Michael Donahue points out, if you are arcing your shots and your target is a hundred yards wide and five hundred yards deep, you are bound to hit something or someone.

"Suddenly we caught glimpses of white objects lying along a ridge that led northward. We pulled up our horses. This was the battlefield. Here Custer's luck had finally run out."
—Charlie Windolph who volunteered to ride along the bluffs from Reno Hill to see what had happened to Custer

Monday, January 06, 2020

Here's Your Geronimo Show Invite

January 6, 2020
   My son Thomas and I delivered the 29 Geronimo paintings to Scottsdale Museum of the West at noon today and here is the invite which is being made into a poster for the show:

Your Formal Invitation to An Evening of Fun
   Please join us, Thursday, January 16, for the presentation of the 2020 True Westerner Award to Mike Fox, Director and CEO, Western Spirit: Scottsdale's Museum of the West.

In addition, help us celebrate the launch the latest book in my biographical series, "The Illustrated Life and Time of Geronimo" with a signing and exhibition of 29 pantings from the book.

We will also have cocktails and small bites as we pay tribute to Mr. Fox, our good friend and colleague.
When: Thursday, January 16, 2020 - 6:00 to 8:00 p.m. (Presentation begins at 6:30 p.m.)
Where: Western Spirit: Scottsdale's Museum of the West
3830 N. Marshall Way
Scottsdale, AZ 85251
   Please let us know if you will be able to attend by responding by to email to me at

For a preview of the exhibition artwork, visit

"Everything good in my life came because I drew a picture."
—Lynda Barry

Sunday, January 05, 2020

Here Comes The Past Again

January 5, 2020
  Just when you think something is gone forever, it reappears.

Daily Whip Outs: "Back to Blocks of Black"

   The more things change, the more they remain the same.

   My high school was so small we had driver's ed and sex ed in the same car.

   The child is father to the man.

Cactus Pony In Late Light

   It feels like deja vu all over again.

A Neighborly Thai Dinner

   I wish I knew then what I more or less know now.

Daily Whip Out: "Blocked In Vaquero"

   "The long narrow room smelled of trouble."
—Paulette Jiles, "News of The World"

Daily Whip Out: "Blocked In Color"

"Things do not change. We change."
—Henry David Thoreau

Friday, January 03, 2020

The Unnecessary Talker: Ten Cents A Slip of The Lip

January 3, 2020
   If there is one thing that stands out in my early schooling it's the fact that I was constantly reprimanded for "talking too much." In point of fact, in sixth grade I ran up an accumulative $11 fine for talking out of turn and this was at 10 cents a slip of the lip.

   Perhaps that's why I love this petty El Paso criminal so much:

John Murphy: "Unnecessary" Talker

   According to my researcher friend, Sam Dolan, John Murphy, above, went to the pen for larceny in 1903. He was repeatedly disciplined for unnecessary talking and loafing. His official file states, "This man does a great deal of unnecessary talking."

   Okay, I can totally identify with this, plus I dig his hat.

   When I'm not talking too much, I am painting.

Daily Whip Out: "Long Mesa High Sky"

   Here are a couple catch ups:

Daily Whip Out:
"On The Border With Joaquin"

Daily Whip Out:"Red Lake Rider"

"It takes two years to learn to speak and sixty to learn to keep quiet."
—Ernest Hemingway