Queens of the High Chapparal

Well folks, it has been seven months to the day since I last posted to this blog. Sort of went on strike and just didn't have the motivation.



UPDATE ON SIERRA: She is a permanent resident here on the ranch She and Caesar, the dragon dog, are best buddies and the wrestling begins sometime around 6:00AM when the little princess crawls out from under her blanket and continues throughout the day until well after dark. All eight of her puppies were placed in good homes. One little girl went to Paul and his wife in Tucson and that puppy won the lottery going to them.


The current story:

Murray Springs Trailhead

I had business down in southern Arizona this past week and during my stay, I decided to go and visit a prehistoric archaeological site dating from the last ice age. The site is administered by the BLM and you can go to the link http://www.blm.gov/az/st/en/prog/recreation/cultural/murray.html to view photos and read about it.


The archeology of ancient primitive people's sites normally does not interest me, but the Clanton ranch of OK Corral fame can be accessed by a trail that starts from the Murray Springs parking area and that does interest me.



A bit of background:  Years ago, while a young LAPD rookie, I was assigned briefly to a divisional vice unit and onto what was internally called "the fruit detail." In 1969, we were a country still firmly grounded in traditional moral codes and mores. Our standards of behavior were defined by clear boundaries and sexual deviancy was criminally sanctioned. Homosexuality was considered deviant as opposed to the celebrated status it now enjoys. You could not join the military or any government agency that required a security clearance - the proclivities of J. Edgar Hoover notwithstanding - and you certainly could not join a police force.

Things have changed dramatically.  Homosexuals, transgenders and who knows what else are wearing the uniforms of law enforcement.  In the military, the recent removal of the ban on gays is still being sorted out by those within and without the US military. Most of us raised with an older set of values are convinced that the end of the world is probably just around the corner. When we old special operations types get together and the subject comes up, there is unanimous agreement that we are glad we served when homosexuality was not allowed. We had collective fits about the military going to the switch hitters with "don't ask, don't tell", and with the new policy, our conclusion about the matter is that we are damn glad we all got out before the military makes it mandatory.


Homos have been with us since before history. In 1969 there was a very active homosexual community in Los Angeles and certainly Hollywood. But, public displays or solicitations were grounds for criminal prosecution. Lewd and lascivious conduct was the general catch all legal basis for arrest. Homosexuality was worked the same way prostitutes were worked. Undercover officers and stings that frequently amounted to entrapment were common. Because of my very youthful appearance, I was detailed as a "pigeon" for a short time and it was my job to hang around men's restrooms, parks and other known locations of homosexual activity. I waited until I was propositioned, elicited an articulated account as to what was to happen, how much money was to be exchanged, if any, and waited for a legally approved overt action towards the commission of the crime. Then, on signal, the backup, overwatch officer would come in and an arrest would be effected. It was a sordid business, and to a ranch raised kid out of east central Idaho and northern Nevada, it was an eye opening experience. It also provided the most hilarious incidents of my tenure with the LAPD. Stuff for another time.


My background has thus provided me with an observational skill set that is alerted by the subtle and the not so subtle behaviors and markers that indicate homosexual presence or activity.




The Scene



As I pulled into the trail head parking area, a real JDLR (just doesn't look right) set of circumstances was evident. The trail head restroom is a small block building approximately twelve feet square containing a single unit. On either side of the restroom, parked in such a manner as to be able to observe the narrow dirt road coming in and the trail head itself, but blocked from each other's view were two vehicles. Each vehicle was parked backed in so that no plates were visible. Each vehicle was occupied by a single, white, adult male. Something isn't right here. Dope or human smugglers would have been perfectly understandable in that part of the country. But, damn. Homos in the cat claw? What is the desert coming to?

Now, my personal feelings about homosexuality are that it is deviant and disgusting behavior, particularly in the raw physical mechanics of the relationships. My visual exposure to their antics over 40 years ago as a young vice officer are images not easily erased. However, what consenting folks want to do in privacy is of no concern to me. I could care less. Weirdos. And, it beats the ragheads doing donkeys and goats, but not by much.


I exited my vehicle, made sure my Glock .40 S&W was in place under my vest and that my backup weapon was also available. Locking my rig, I wandered towards the trail head. I had proceeded down the trail 30 yards or so and was screened by the chaparral and mesquite when I heard vehicle doors opening about ten seconds apart. I must be looking better than I thought. I turned down a fork in the trail to where an interpretive plaque was placed alongside a bench. It allowed me to turn and face back up the trail in a neutral position but where I had the advantage of using the bench and the plaque as a blocking mechanism if need be. I assumed a benign position of apparently reading the interpretive information, placed my left hand on the backup in my pocket and, using the advantage of my sunglasses and slouch hat, watched my back trail.


Sure enough, here comes suspect number one. He was a sort of Baby Huey type. He stood well over six feet, in his early 40s, fat and soft. No doubt a favorite on the local scene. These folks have to have some degree of sensitivity to their environment and the people in it as it can be hazardous. This is still mostly cattle and mining country. A demographic that will take a very intolerant and unenlightened direct action approach to homosexual activity. I made eye contact with Baby Huey when he was about fifteen feet away and he immediately recognized that I am definitely a pitcher not a catcher. He sidled over to the far side of the rather narrow trail and continued on. I'm sure he was thinking how inconvenient it was to have to continue the charade and go look at a bunch of rocks where cavemen hung out 13,000 years ago rather than immediately returning to his vehicle. Who knew what opportunities he might miss? As he passed, I know a bemused look crossed my face which added to his consternation, disappointment or both. I also noted that the left ear piece to his sunglasses was missing.


Two minutes later, along comes suspect number two. He is a nice looking man, about my age, with beautiful silver hair, and an obviously very expensive haircut. He was trim and dressed in layered clothing as it was a mere sixty degrees down there and the folks in that part of the country thought another ice age was approaching. I noted his long underwear shirt had little roses or some such thing on it and he wore a fine gold chain around his neck. And a brave one was he, or really steamed up. He approached to within normal American social distance and attempts to engage me in conversation. He was an educated and successful fellow based upon his syntax. Because of his outer clothing, I'll call him Red Shirt.


I was dressed in field clothes: camouflaged bdu trousers, black bdu top, black cotton vest, hiking boots, dark glasses and my old, battered and stained canvas "go to hell" Indiana Jones type hat. I was travel worn with a weeks growth of beard. I looked a bit rough and was certainly not going to win a GQ award or turn the heads of the ladies. Just my luck. Some nice old queen decides I am just the ticket.


Red Shirt begins to query me about where I was from, etc. I don't answer many questions even from folks that I like so I immediately claimed that I had a hot date that was getting off work in the mid-afternoon. Not to be dissuaded, and apparently thinking I had not noticed, he removes his sun glasses and shows me that the left ear piece is missing. Well, what do you know. The local "recognition" signal for the Murray Springs homos. I have seen the colored handkerchiefs strategically placed in different pockets to advertise various acrobatic specialties, particular types and placement of ear rings, denim on denim dress, pant leg rolled up shorter than the other, certain types of bracelets, a system of coughs and toe taps, etc. over the years as a means for these perverts to recognize one another. But taking a perfectly good pair of sun glasses apart was a new one for me.

 I suspect that by now, if they have gotten this far, most of my Progressive acquaintances, and probably my one Progressive friend, have their nickers in a bunch due to my descriptive language. Allow me to point out that most of the gay folks I have known and become friends with would make better neighbors than a good many of the church going folks I know. So, give it a rest, calm down and eat some fruit or something.


I made my excuses to Red Shirt and departed with the cheeks to my bottom squeezed very tightly together - just in case.


After my patrol, I returned to the parking lot and only Red Shirt remained. As I was unlocking my rig, he came up and asked if I "would give him a jump." WHAT? Good grief.


"My battery is dead" he explained .


Whew. I thought I was going to have to defend my honor, not to mention my bottom.


I dragged out cables, got him started and he politely offered to pay me. I countered with my common response of "you do somebody else a favor some day and it all works out."


He went into great detail as I was hooking up the cables about how his "girlfriend" was "at the doctor's for an hour long appointment", etc., etc. I must have "stupid" written on my forehead. We are at least half an hour from Sierra Vista, and he had been there 2 hours since I had arrived. I think he got nervous when I took my vest off and my Glock and spare magazine was visible along with my ID, which I wear around my neck and has my driver's license and Concealed Weapon Permit showing in the window (hopefully, it will keep some idiot cop from shooting me if I am in the middle of an event where guns are present). Some folks think anybody with ID around their neck is some sort of cop.


It was apparent that Red Shirt was a nice fellow. A queer. But, a nice queer. The behavior of homosexuals is still stigmatized in western culture (unless you are in the arts or living in California). Their social behavior is often a product of self-loathing and guilt. Has to be a hell of a way to go through life.


I am familiar with all of the biological and medical model explanations for homosexuality, but the jury is still out in that regard. My problem is that alcoholism, drug abuse, pedophilia, wife beating, beastiality are or have been advanced as being cause for the abandonment of criminal or social sanctions. The restrictions on free speech, the nonsense of hate crimes where folks are punished for what they think rather than what they do has had a deleterious affect upon the very basis of our individual liberty. That, in and of itself, is sufficient for me to be opposed to any mitigation of moral, criminal, or social sanctions for any of the behaviors described above. I don't have the answer and I am not going to join the Pink Pistols anytime soon, but I do feel a twinge of sympathy for anyone that has to carry a burden of unhappiness.


See to your weapons and stand to your horses,
Far Rider