Viewing All Those Bison

Decided to read through the rest of Butcher’s Crossing, by John Williams this morning.  I’d gotten a good start killing time in the LaGuardia Airport short term parking lot last evening                        waiting for the older one’s delayed flight.  I drove down and got to sleep on the way back, which was good as I had a 1:00AM call I needed to be cogent for.  After that I was up and the bison were in sight and I wanted to find out what happened to William Andrews and the unlikely quartet he’d set of as one of, up into the Colorado foothills. 

It has occurred to me, spending more time than I have in decades here in the U.S. that I ought to dive in a bit and tailor some of my reading towards a deep dive on my own country’s history. Butcher’s Crossing scrapes away any western romanticism and leaves you with the rough seedlings of American capitalism and its impact on the wilderness as enterprising people made their way ever further westward. 

What must it have been like to see thousands of bison grazing their way across the unmolested land?  That particular American Dream that presents every person with just a bit of gumption, whether he is smart, or she is dumb, that they can get rich!  That drive stronger by far for most than the simple majesty of viewing all those bison.  Lend me your rifle partner.  Those hides are worth $4.00 per.  The kill, methodical.  Shoot the bull that appears to be the leader.  And shoot another and then another, quickly, quietly so as not to disturb the herd.  They drop and drop until finally some pea-brained bison does the requisite rudimentary math required to become frightened and he or she runs, and the others follow. 

My stepdad had just finished William’s “Stoner” which I gave him for Christmas.  I stopped by there after dropping my daughter off at school this morning and discussed Butcher’s Crossing with him.  Suggesting he’d no doubt enjoy.  He was born in the 20’s and grew up in North Dakota, so he knows a thing or two about the “west” that was.  That would have been about my life’s span back from his day to the frontier Kansas of the 1870s.  It won’t be long before the twentieth century takes on the same hoary qualities Friday, 



01/17/20