Word: cowboying
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Lloyd Center would probably never have been built if the initiative had been left to Portlanders. It is a monument to the vision and tenacity of a wiry, blue-eyed cowboy named Ralph Bramel Lloyd, who died in 1953 when his dream was only on the drawing board. The son of a Missouri Confederate Army officer, Lloyd moved to California at eleven when his family bought several thousand acres of ranch land in Ventura. One day his father, out riding, came across a grass fire, spurred his horse to the bare ground of a knoll for safety. When the fire...
Poppity-Pop. A lean and toothless old man with a long nose that had been broken twice by fists and at least once by a horse's hoof. Cowboy Kelly hated the 20th century. He went to his last movie in 1929. He would fall dumb when confronted with a telephone, flatly refused to ride in airplanes, insisted that all substitutes for the horse were a danger to life and limb ("They will kill you off! They go like hell, poppity-pop and hellity-scoop"). Like Pieter Brueghel the Elder, whom he admired so much, he filled his canvases...
...time he died at 71 in 1955, Harold Osman (H.O.) Kelly had won a strange sort of fame for a man who was called by the nickname, "Cowboy." People came from far and wide to visit him at his rickety little house outside Blanket, Texas. They would listen to him reminisce, sit while his ancient phonograph scratched a favorite polka. But mostly they came to buy one of his bright and lively paintings of an oddly remote Old West (see color). Sometimes the old man gave them away as gifts-and fine presents they were, too. No less a person...
Liniment & Snake Weed. He went to Arizona, then to Oklahoma and Kansas, where he had to beg for food. He tried being a cowboy in Wyoming, a homesteader in Nebraska, a farm hand in Missouri and a stock farmer in Texas-all attempts petered out. In Arkansas, where he worked as a bullwhacker, he came down with malaria, which he tried to treat with a patent medicine called Orang Utan Liniment and teas brewed from rattlesnake weed. At 45 he bought a ranch in the Panhandle that quickly became part of the great Dust Bowl. Finally, in 1946 he turned...
There, on the sixth tee, he waited: a towheaded, barefoot boy with a cowboy pistol dangling at his hip and a sawed-off ladies' driver in his hands. Everyone around the Latrobe, Pa. Country Club knew Arnie Palmer, the club pro's five-year-old son. Coming up to drive, the women players would chuckle at the kid, then look with dismay toward the drainage ditch that lay 120 yards down the fairway. At that point, Arnie would make a sound business offer: "I'll knock your ball over the ditch for a nickel...