HOM: Don

First of all, let me stick in a disclaimer here -- I offered to let Don write this himself and he declined. He reads this, but that means he can't criticize it, right? ---------- I was in the cafeteria lunch line when Bonnie told me there was someone she wanted me to meet, she thought we'd get along. She introduced me to a wiry, sandy-haired, guy in jeans and a cowboy shirt named Don Lynn Hoodenpyle. She hung around long enough to break the conversational ice and then left us on our own. Visiting with him, I found that he had a sense of humor, an ornery streak, a rural background and an interest in guns, so I guess Bonnie knew what she was doing. He was a business major and was also active in the karate club on campus. The mutual interest in firearms led us into a shooting trip out in the desert, which was mostly memorable because we spent more time checking out how safe the other guy was in his gun handling than actually shooting. It was a lot of fun -- once he admitted that I was smarter, better looking, and a better shot. Well, actually not -- but it sounded good, right? Actually Don was -- and is-- a far better shot than I, especially with a pistol, and has a wall full of trophies from the Silhouette Championships to prove it. I'd say he's smarter, too, having been wise enough to find, marry, and keep a fine lady named Sandy -- which might mean he's better looking, too! Anyway, just to retell a story I posted last year, Don & I went out into the desert to plink a bit and were setting up some junk to use as targets when a rabbit took off from under a piece of cardboard as he was picking it up. Don drew and fired and nailed the rabbit -- and impressed me -- and waited thirty years to confess to me that he'd grabbed the revolver with one hand wrapped around the cylinder and the powder escaping from the barrel/cylinder gap branded his palm pretty thoroughly. He didn't even flinch. On another hunting trip, we were winding down a gravel road out in the desert when we flushed a coyote that ran across the road a ways in front of us. Reflexively, I turned the wheel and hit the gas to chase it. Bad move - Big Red Convertibles aren't designed for high speed cross-country off-roading. We quickly slam-banged to stop. I cautiously started picking a way back onto the road that didn't involve big rocks or deep holes and Don started singing his version of a then-current hit song:

I've been through the desert IN A CAR WITH NO FRAME! It felt good to be out of the rain In the desert you can remember your name 'Cause there ain't no one for to give you no pain La, la ... (America: A Horse With No Name, 1971)

He became, and still is, my best friend, and like all my friends, a better friend than I deserve. He is also an excellent singer, though at the time I really didn't appreciate it. TBC (Me) (Blacktail Books)