BEWARE THE OLD COWBOY

Once in a while a bad guy gets his comeuppance in spades, and it’s always good for a laugh. Those shitty young men who prey on old people make most of us angry, so this true story will make you smile, if not laugh out loud.

My father was active his entire life. Tall and slender, in his omnipresent cowboy hat, most people underestimated his strength. At the age of nineteen, he worked as a horse trainer for the Douglas Lake Cattle Ranch in British Columbia, Canada. He had the fastest reflexes of anyone I’ve ever known, and he caught the attention of a Golden Gloves champion in Douglas Lake. I don’t think Dad remembered the guy’s name years later when he told me about his boxing experience.

Although not heavy enough of build to be a professional boxer, at nearly six-two, Dad loved the sport and became the Golden Glove’s sparring partner. Now, for someone who was actively boxing, you’d have expected visible scars on his head and face, but Dad never had a mark on him. His nose was never broken, and his lightning-fast hands must’ve posed a challenge to the champion, because he kept asking Dad to spar.

After three years, Dad moved back to Alberta to get married and start a family, so that was the end of his boxing, but he retained an interest and followed the sport on television. His active lifestyle of managing a cattle ranch kept him strong and his reflexes sharp.

Here’s a warning to those young thugs who think all old men are potential victims. Believe me, if you piss off an old man to the point that he feels the need to defend himself, he’ll show you absolutely no mercy.

All this leads to the gist of this story. When Dad was 85 years old and needed a walker to get around, he and his wife liked to frequent a casino in Medicine Hat, Alberta. They’d take a few dollars to bet, and when it was gone, they were done for the night. Of course, once in a while they won a couple of thousand which kept it interesting. Although he was nearly blind by this time and Dad’s hearing wasn’t great, that didn’t stop him.

One night Dad was finished earlier than his wife who was playing the slot machines, so he pushed his walker to the foyer to wait, and being a social person, chatted with whomever he came across.

As the crowds thinned out, a young man sidled over to Dad and growled, “Give me your money, you old bastard!”

Dad turned to him. “Excuse me? I’m blind as a bat and I can’t hear very well, so you’ll have to get closer. What did you say?”

The guy pushed his face close and repeated his snarling demand. As for Dad, he just needed to see the guy. When he saw a face-shaped object in front of him, he shot a right jab so fast and so hard into the middle of it, the guy dropped to the floor without a sound. His nose was broken and bleeding profusely, and he was barely conscious. Believe me, Dad wasn’t planning on getting into a fist fight, so he made that shot count.

Of course, people started yelling, “Fight! Fight!” and somebody called the cops. Dad stood there, a skinny old cowboy with a tremor leaning on his walker while a young man bled on the carpet in front of him.

Before long a couple of uniformed police officers came in to survey the situation, and they were understandably confused.

Witnesses put in their two bits of explanation, but it was clear the young man had approached what he saw as an easy mark, and to his profound surprise, was on the floor seconds later. Dad’s hat hadn’t even been disturbed.

Of course, after he could mumble a few words, the would-be thief tried to blame Dad, but even a moron could see what had happened. And there was no way in hell the police officers were going to charge an old man in a walker for attacking a thief. The police kind of smiled at each other and hauled the guy to his feet trying not to get blood on their uniforms. One turned to Dad and said, “Good job, sir. Enjoy your evening.”

“Thanks,” said Dad. “I will.”

The police hauled the bully out the door, stuffed him into the back of their cruiser, and drove away. I can imagine the stories they told and the laughs they got at the station over the next few days.

After things had settled down, Dad’s wife came out of the casino and asked if he’d been bored. Of course, she hadn’t seen any of the kerfuffle, so he said not really. He’d been talking with a couple of police officers, and as a matter of fact, they’d just left.

When she asked if he was ready to go, he said, “Sure. Let’s go home.”

The moral of this story? Don’t assume old guys are helpless, and like my dad, most of them have no patience for bullies. Old men used to be young men, and some have training you’d never suspect.