I grew up in the mythical age of the cowboy hero. Randolph Scott continues to hold a high position in my pantheon of gods. But despite the western morality plays of Bob Steel and Hoot Gibson, I often found myself trapped in a nightmare straight out of High Noon … on the way to the Third Grade would I be challenged by some punk out to get a reputation and shot down in cold blood on the decomposed granite under the shadow of the monkey bars?
Of course even back then I knew that no one was packing heat (oh have times changed) so the fear of having to face down three varmints with scatterguns armed only with the small cap gun I had stuck in my belt was certainly just fantasy, but it still was frightening. Having visited Tombstone I could easily imagine the return of the OK-Corral to the strip Mall not far from my home and school. How scary would life be if everyone went around with a six-shooter strapped to their hip and hot lead was the ultimate decider of any dispute or disagreement?