I spent a great many hours sitting off to the side of discussions entered into by the grownups as I called them at the time. These discussions were primarily stories—most true, but some probably not. I first started this fascination with what they had to say the very first time I went along with Dutch to run jugs one day when I was most likely 5 years old—Colorado, Montana or North Dakota. I really don’t remember the local; there were so many in my youth. My fascination continued through my adolescent years; in high school, on to college, then anytime the grownups were gathered.
Later in life, I had my own stories to tell although I still enjoyed listening to the grownups tell theirs—some of which I had heard oh so many times. The stories these guys told wee always more dangerous, more risky, more funny and more interesting than any I had heard at the time or since in most cases. The attraction to their stories was more the people, the times and the locals involved than the stories themselves—although the stories were good. After all, these were men from the greatest generation; those that survived the depression and a World War.
There’s just nothing like a storyteller—most need no formal training; just a good tale or the start of a good tale. Story Tellers have a way of capturing your imagination. You hang on every word and want to believe every word that comes from their mouth. Fascinating, I tell you!
One of my greatest thrills in life is to tell stories that others wanta hear and then repeat to others—a tradition that predates the written word. I hope you enjoy what I have to tell you.