It was late of an afternoon and Otis was sitting in a straight back chair on his grandfather‘s front porch in Whitefish, Montana. He was looking out over the spread, more of a farm than a ranch. Horses, cattle and sheep shared the green swale before him. The snow-covered peaks of the Rockies occupied the middle distance. He had been listening to Frankie Laine albums, “Rawhide” among them.
“Rollin’, rollin’, rollin’. Rawhide!”
Otis had never known anyone who had “hellbent for leather” in their vocabulary. For that matter, he had no idea what it even meant. Hellbent for leather? It was a mystery. Now, “Bats Out of Hell” made perfect sense. That was the title of a collection of stories by Barry Hannah that he thought impenetrable, yet he could not get the ones he read out of his mind. But “hellbent for leather?” Sounded more like the name of a gay bar on the lower west side of Manhattan, near the meatpacking district.
Otis had been there once and saw grown men wearing chaps and little else. Looking for cows to poke, he figured. What the hell was a cowpoke anyway? And a dogie? What could that possibly mean, as in “get along little dogies?” Hell, Otis wasn’t even sure how to spell it. It is dogie? Doggie or doggy? He wished Frankie Laine were still alive so he could stick a red-hot branding iron up his butt and ask him what the hell “get along little dogie” meant? Frankie probably didn’t know what he was talking about, or who he was talking to for that matter. He just showed up at the recording studio and sang the words under the notes put in front of him.
“Head ‘em up, move ‘em out! Rawhide!” Then the chorus, “Come rain and wind and weather, hellbent for leather, wishing my gal was by my side.”
There it was again. In context, it was easy to ascertain what was insinuated by the phrase. Something to do with a tireless pursuit of a particular goal, leather being an associative of horses and cattle while “hellbent” can be interpreted any number of ways. Drastic measures are to be applied to the problem that’s to be solved until hell is bent, or at the very least frozen over. And then there was the lack of companionship as well.
Otis had worked on his grandfather’s farm/ranch every summer since sixth grade. There was little romance to it, only hard work. He was unmoved by Frankie Laine and only listened to him because that was about all there was to listen to, other than Lawrence Welk. Otis did like the harmonies of Welk’s lovely Lennon sisters and the romantic couple, Gail and Dale. He especially liked it when they sang “One Toke Over the Line,” that Brewer and Shipley hit from 1970.
“One toke over the line, Sweet Jesus,” as if they knew what the hell they were talking about when in fact they were as clueless as Frankie Laine.
Otis got his dope from a hand who worked occasionally for his grandfather. Jesus Rodriguez could be depended on to arrive early and stay late during branding and hay baling season. Jesus always had the best weed and it was reasonably priced. Otis never smoked on the job. It was too easy to get hurt or hurt someone. But when he was done of an afternoon and the sun was setting there was nothing quite like rolling a big blunt and putting Lawrence Welk or Frankie Laine on the vintage stereo, looking west out toward the peaks of the Rockies and enjoying the small things in life.
William Dunlap
Just terrific! Keep these little doggies coming.!
Love this, B. Great fun, too. (And sometimes I am hellbent on having some fun.) - JondiLu