As I have shared with everyone before, my David and I led a non-conventional life up until 1995. When I first met my best friend, he was working at The American Red Cross in Tucson, Arizona. He was driving a truck for them and I was one of many nurses.

I was young, no worries and ARC was the MOST fun I have ever had as a nurse! Really, this was, for a twenty something year old, not looking for a career, a gravy job. All I was doing was just playing, really. In Pima County we would go on blood mobiles, take peoples blood, mark their blood donor cards, smile, give out juice and cheez-its, pack it up afterwards and go eat somewhere. “It’s hard work if you can get it.”

Whenever we went to the forts, like Ft Huachuca in Sierra Vista? The soldiers got a half day off, always on Friday, the blood drive started at 0700 hours and ended at 1300 hours. A really cool day...nonstop, I got so good that I would have four tables set up in a square around me and I'd stand in the center, flirt my little you know off and never miss a vein, never bruise, made tons of money I'm sure for the (cough cough) nonprofit ARC and kept the soldiers happy. ‘Too bad, so sad,’ I got so good that eventually the guys wouldn't go to the other nurses :( they would wait on me. So the older nurses made me "float" at that fort...troubleshoot, fix the missed veins or restick, whatever needed to be done. And that was great too! I got to expand my flirtations! In fact, my David and I had just been looking at one another for about a month when had that blood drive all by himself for his first time. Man, talk about orientation by fire!

Remember I said it was non stop? Well, the drivers, my David in this case, responsibility was to organize, tag and crimp the tubing on the bags of blood after it was collected. Not too bad of a job...unless it got really busy! Then you really had to scoot to keep up with the nurses. The blood had to go into the cooler ASAP of course to keep it from clotting, going bad, etc. The reason the tubing had to be crimped at two inch intervals all down its length was for the lab testing. When it got back to the office the lab tech would take a segment and test it for just what they wanted. But it had to be crimped on the site or else it would clot. The crimping machine was heat generated, you placed the plastic tubing in the crimper, pushed a button to seal it, sort of like the freezer bag sealers you know? But heaven forbid if you hold the button too long or too hard! This is blood after all, ugh; I've seen it squirt across the table.

Poor David. That day at Ft Huachuca he was a pitiful sight! Trying his best to stay on top of everything, bags of blood all over the table,, the production line getting behind, the older nurses starting to glare..."lions and tigers and bears oh my!" I went to help, cleaned up the crimper. Gross, you had to take a cotton swab and alcohol and get all that dried, blood off the crimpers, double gross. Yes, I am a nurse but still, some things are just gross. I smiled, talked, got the table up to speed, and showed him what needed to be done about the crimper machine. I thought I was being nice! I was just flirting as usual but to hear my David tell it months later around a campfire you'd think I as an A number one...oh never mind, you get my drift?

That's when I found out about my David and his friends and their "stories" around the campfire.

You know how you feel when the History Channel comes on with true stories of the old west? The ones with the Carradine brother’s? The thrill that rises up inside you listening to deeds about the brave and the bad women and men? Think of their courage and the tenacity it took for people like that to settle this country! Well, my beloved, my best friend, my husband is that kind of person.

Well, yes, I am bit biased. Nonetheless, he and two of his friends had this business, a fur trading business built around the romantic idea of the old west. OK, yes, it was a tourist trap. What a tourist trap! Not just one, either, but several! They all three called themselves partners but we weren’t; really, the other two guys had the responsibility of floating the business. My husband worked for them on commission. But they were all making a very lucrative business at it when I met my beloved. He was just waiting out the winter until tourist season rolled around when we met and fell in love. He flew me from Tucson to the hole in Wyoming that first summer. He treated me like a princess, introducing me to his friends, taking me out after the stand closed, took me all around the Yellowstone Park and into Cody. Oh my, that was wonderful.

The late evenings at Jackson Hole, Wyoming (hence the term, The Hole) were really rather laid back. Sometimes the guys would leave the furs out until past dark, around ten o’clock at night. And because that time of the evening was the slowest they would build a big fire behind the Tipi’s, sit on big logs around the fire, pass the water and the scotch and talk, smoke, lie; you know, it’s a guy thing. I was really small at that time, about 90 pounds, five foot tall (if I lied) and I’d do what I’ve always done when stories would start. I would sit back and listen and watch. Store it all up inside like a squirrel burying the best nuts for the winter.

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Not that I believed them you understand. Hey, "I am a born and bred southern girl." What difference does that make to a good tall tale? That only makes them better! But this isn’t about all the guys tall tales; it is only about one. One that I can personally verify, because I was there when it happened! Well, when the last part happened anyway.

The proof that this was actually a true tall tale was obvious because it had NOT been told around the campfire! To the guys, it was just one of those things, part of being fur traders. No big deal.

So, I’m new to the group, I’m meeting these friends of my beloved for the first time, we all go out to eat one night, the six of us, guys with their gals, and we were “making the rounds” as they called it. I wouldn’t know. I’m a teetotaler. I’d hold a beer, sip on it, gag, and hold it a little more until best friend would drink it.

We were in the Cowboy Bar, right on Main Street, Jackson Hole. This is a famous, old west bar. They cater to tourists, hey, who doesn’t? They won’t give us game tags for them, so why not make money off of the dear thing?

The guys chose the table, round, center of the bar and pull out our chairs like the gentlemen they were. We had no more gotten seated when out of nowhere come these huge guys! All dressed in black, big belt buckles, boots, silver twinkling all over and their facial expressions were NOT pleasant. Right away, I knew we were in big trouble. I, being the fraidy cat that I am (still) did the natural thing. I linked my arm underneath my beloved’s left arm and held on for dear life! He put his right hand over my hand and patted it. Patted it!!!!

The three guys just looked at the bouncers and waited. Nobody said a word. The head bouncer spoke, finally. He said, in this deep, mean voice “We ain’t gonna have no trouble out of you boys tonight now are we?” One of the guys just smiled and said “We have our ladies with us tonight, Boys” with the emphasis heavy on the last word.

That was it, not another word. The bouncers just drifted away. I was shaking so bad that when the drinks came, I actually took three swallows. We weren’t there long, I think everyone had one drink and then we left. I couldn’t wait to get outside and find out what that was all about. True to “it’s a guy thing” all I found out that night was that the year before all three guys were in that bar, something happened, (famous last words), and the guys threw those same bouncers out the bar.

The Cowboy Bar has swinging doors, just like in the movies. The sidewalks are wooden and there are still rails out front to tie up your horses, just like in the movies. Apparently this, shall we say a disagreement? It was also just like in the movies. My beloved and his two friends with one bouncer apiece, threw the bouncers out the swinging doors onto the street one after the other, just like in the movies.

Guess who were in the street? Right. Tourists. Lots of tourists. Guess what the tourists did?

They gave the guys a huge round of applause! Whistles, bravos, when is the next show, the whole nine yards. My best friend and his best friends? What did they do? Hell, what else? They laughed, bowed and hammed it up. That did not sit well with the bouncers, whose egos were larger than their belt buckles, of the Cowboy Bar.

Guess who were in the street? Right. Tourists. Lots of tourists. Guess what the tourists did?

They gave the guys a huge round of applause! Whistles, bravos, when is the next show, the whole nine yards. My best friend and his best friends? What did they do? Hell, what else? They laughed, bowed and hammed it up. That did not sit well with the bouncers, whose egos were larger than their belt buckles, of the Cowboy Bar.

Over the last twenty seven years my beloved and I have talked about a lot of things that happened during those early years. Some are happy, some sad. Always together, “still crazy, after all these years.” Now our children are adults, we are trying to make our way back to our heart home, Tucson, and the memories with the stories are coming back to the surface.

One night last week, my best friend was telling our daughter the story of the Cowboy Bar Incident and I said “What really happened though? What did you guys do in the first place that started that fight?”

Oops, disagreement, sorry.

So finally, after all this time, my daughter and I got to hear how her father and two of his friends tossed the bouncers on their respective ears through the swinging doors of the Cowboy Bar.

Here's the true tall tale of that night, one year before my best friend and I started "our time" I hope you enjoy it.

The guys were making the rounds of all the bars in the hole. Playing the table top video games, shooting darts and pool and drinking. Not necessarily in that order. By the time they made it around to the Cowboy Bar they were, hmm, how do you out this delicately?

Right, you can’t. They were “a blowin and a goin.” They were standing at the bar, one booted foot each propped on the rail. You know the one that runs about half a foot off the floor all along the length of the bar? One of the guys lost his balance a bit. His booted foot slipped and he fell back on a guy that was shooting pool. They didn’t fall down, just bumped into each other. My best friend said “No, it wasn’t me, Boo.” Apparently the pool shooter took offense to the bump. Must have had a lotta money on that last shot. First comes the apology from the bumper, then comes the insults from the bumpee, then comes more loud you so and so with other clichéd epitaphs thrown in for measure. Best friend said "The pool player threw the first punch and we took it from there.” Or rather, they ended it. The guys were already turned back to the bar, booted feet back up on the rail, sipping scotch when the bouncers come up and say they were eighty-sixed!

Now, I have to agree with my best friend on this issue. Didn’t the bumper apologize? Didn’t the bumpee refuse to accept that apology? Didn’t the bumpee throw the first punch? The guys handled the situation. All quiet on the western front! Get along little doggie was the paraphrased answer that the guys gave to the bouncers.

Try as I might, all baby girl and I got out of my David after that was laughter. He just kept saying, “I don’t know, Boo, we just kicked their butts is all. It didn’t take long. We didn’t hurt them too bad.” So there you have it friends. A True Tall Tale from the summer of 1980.

You know what would be really cool? To have a tourist read this, remember it happening because THEY WERE THERE and write a hub about it!